Page 173 of Deacon

“You think you want that?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I want that.”

Gently, I shift her around to lay in my lap and lean back against the pillows. My leg is bleeding through the handkerchief, but I don’t feel it. Maybe there’s nerve damage, but it’s more likely the warmth burning in my chest.

She lit a fire in me. My heart was nothing but an empty hearth, and no matter how hard I struck the tinder and fanned the flames, it was always so cold until I laid eyes on her.

I let my lips fall to her hair.

My family, right here in my arms.

“What do you think it is?” she whispers.

“I think it’s a boy,” I say.

She smiles, and I feel it against my chest. “I think it’s a girl.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

A shuddering breath slips out of her. She wipes her cheek. “Bittern?” Her voice cracks.

“He’s safe, in the hospital,” I say. “He’s just fine, but I’m sending him to rehab outside the city as soon as it’s safe.”

“Deacon—”

“Freya, let me handle this.”

“Are they gone?” There’s a clear note of panic. “Ryland? Aiden?”

I bend in, holding her, and kiss her forehead. I keep my lips to her skin until her breathing slows.

“Yes,” I say. “But that’s not your worry. You need to rest and do what’s right for you and the baby.”

I see it in her eyes, the complexity of grief. I know it well. Grieving an abuser is grief all the same, even when it goes hand in hand with anger and relief.

“Okay,” she whispers.

There’s so much exhaustion in that word. She nestles her head against my shoulder, one arm slung over my neck. I close my eyes and lean back, my body exhausted from my fight with Aiden. I’m glad she’s in my arms, just letting me hold her, because I couldn’t move off this bed if I tried.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

FREYA

The doctor comes at noon. He checks me over carefully and lets us listen to the baby’s heartbeat. Deacon sits in the chair by the bed, eyes exhausted. When the littlethump-thumpfills the room, he drops his head. His hand comes up over his face, covering his eyes. I weave my fingers into his, holding tight.

I think Deacon Ryder might be in tears.

My heart breaks, and warmth like starlight spills out. This man is going to be the best father when this baby comes.

He doesn’t want to leave me for a second, but the doctor forces him into the bathroom so he can clean his wound. I hear them arguing through the door. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Even at forty, Deacon still thinks he’s invincible. He’d just as soon spit on his hand, rub the blood off, and say it’s fine.

When they return, Deacon’s wearing a pair of Gerard’s old sweatpants, a bandage just showing over his waistband. The doctor leaves, and Keira comes back upstairs, this time with more food.

“What are your plans?” she asks Deacon.

He sits on the edge of the bed. “I thought we’d head out. I’d like to get back to Ryder Ranch as soon as we can.”

“You can stay as long as you need to,” she says.

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