Page 87 of Captivating

“Killian, honey...” Nattie Ryan pulls up a chair next to me and places her hand over mine, so we’re both holding Lilah’s hand. “Noah said he got you to shower earlier. Is there any chance I can get you to eat something? I picked up some soup from The Busy Bee.”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

Brady watches us from the door. Standing guard over his daughter and wife.

Strong enough to let me be the man sitting next to Lilah, even though I know he’s got to wish it was him holding her hand.

“She’s going to wake up,” Nattie chants, pushing her thoughts out into the universe. “She has to. Our girl has too much to live for not to wake up.”

“She’s your daughter, sweetheart. She’s never been on time for anything in her life.” Brady moves behind Nattie and kisses the top of her head, then places a hand on my back. “I hope you’re prepared for a lifetime of living at her whim.”

“I don’t care what she does, so long as she gives me a lifetime.”

Icrack open my eyes and rub my face when something tickles my cheek.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” her beautiful soft voice whispers, and I lift my head from her bed. “Lilah...? Oh God, baby. You’re awake. I’m not dreaming?” I press my lips to her forehead. “We’ve got to call the nurse.”

“Wait,” her voice cracks. “What happened?”

She runs her fingers through my hair, and I could cry, I’m so goddamn happy to feel that simple touch.

I pull back, so I can look down at her face. “What do you remember?”

“I remember... Zoe.” Her eyes scan my face before they close. “I came back from The Busy Bee, and Zoe was at the house.”

Her beautiful blue eyes pop back, confusion written in every line on her face.

“What else?” I ask, not wanting her to have to relive that hell but knowing she’s better off hearing it from me than the police, who are going to want to question her in a few hours, once they know she’s awake.

Tear-filled, those eyes grow wide with fear that I wish I could take away. “She had a gun... Oh my God, Killian. Did she shoot you? Are you okay?”

I kiss away the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m fine, baby. But you weren’t. She shot you. The bullet hit your liver. They rushed you into surgery, but you’re going to be fine,” I promise her, vowing it from the depths of my fucking soul. I press my lips to her forehead. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I remember thinking she was going to shoot you. I had to stop her.”

Her voice takes on a hysterical tone, and I push out of the chair that’s been my bed for the last four days and climb into bed with her. “Never again, Lilah. You never step in front of anyoneor anything for me. You let me protect you. Not the other way around.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t let her hurt you. I don’t even know what she was doing there. She was talking about loving me and protecting me. It was—she sounded like you.”

I run my hand over her hair and kiss her head. “She shot you, Lilah, because you stepped between her and me, and then Xander shot her. When the police searched her house, they gathered so much evidence. She was obsessed with you. She’d been obsessed with you for years. She had scrapbooks and pictures and pieces of your costumes. She had plans for the bomb they found in your dressing room on her computer and a panic room built into her basement with enough tranquilizers stored there to put down a whole fucking football team. They found forged passports that never would have passed security checks for you and her.”

Lilah gasps, and the sound destroys me.

“How did we not know?”

I hold her tighter to me. “She was delusional, princess. They think in her mind, you two were in love. Us getting engaged sent her into a rage.”

“It was her? The bomber? The stalker? It was her?” Her voice trembles and guts me.

“Yeah, it was her.” I tuck Lilah’s head against my chest and press my face to her hair. “According to a journal they found, the bomb was supposed to take out enough people that the tour would be canceled, and you’d be sent home to her. She thought that would be her chance to get you away and have you to herself.”

“How long have I been out?” she whispers.

I kiss her again, so fucking scared of the things I still have to tell her. “You’ve been out for four days, baby. But you’re going tobe okay. The tour is going to have to be canceled though. Your recovery is going to take at least six months.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” The words are soft and slow and scared, and I know this is going to be one of those moments in my life I’ll never forget, and I’ll always hate myself for it.

I wait as long as I can, trying to force down the emotion building in my throat as I stare into her frightened eyes.

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