Page 146 of Mile High Daddy

I watch him for a moment.

Even in sleep, his face is tense, like he’s been on edge for hours. There’s bruising along his jaw, a faint scratch on his temple, and his shirt is untucked where I can see he’s bandaged. But I know—he hasn’t left my side.

His eyelashes flutter, and then he lifts his head, his gray eyes locking onto mine.

Relief floods his face. “You’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken in hours.

I try to speak, but my throat is too dry.

The first thing I feel is the aching emptiness in my belly.

The babies.

“Where are they?” My voice comes out raw, panicked. I try to sit up, but a sharp pain slices through my abdomen, forcing me back down.

Mikhail is beside me in an instant, his hands firm but gentle as he presses me back against the bed. “Lila?—”

I grab his wrist. “Where are they?” My heart is pounding. My hands shake. “Are they okay? Mikhail, tell me?—”

For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

Then, his lips part.

“They’re beautiful,kiska.”

I freeze.

My heart stops.

Tears prickle at my eyes.

“The babies?” I whisper, my voice breaking.

Mikhail nods, his expression softening in a way I’ve never seen before.

“Yes, yes, baby, they’re perfect.”

He reaches for a cup of water on the bedside table, bringing the straw to my lips. I sip slowly, watching him.

“How long?” I manage.

He swallows, his grip on my hand tightening. “You were out all night.”

My gaze flickers over his tired, beaten face. “And you stayed here?”

My throat tightens. He stayed despite the fact that he’s injured, and he must be in so much pain. And yet, he stayed because of me.

Mikhail’s breath is warm against my temple, his hand cupping the back of my head, pressing me against his chest.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like the words are pulled from deep inside him.

I shudder against him. “You got shot because of me.”

Mikhail exhales, his grip on me tightening. “I couldn’t lose you,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Not you. Not them.”

His free hand comes up, cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin with surprising tenderness.

I shake my head, my throat burning. “How did you even get me to the hospital?”

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