Page 79 of Claiming Genevieve

“Rowan,” she pleads, sobbing. “Rory!”She screams the other man’s name, over and over, until I hear the slam of a door and the sound of footsteps running toward us.

Dimly, I hear her telling him to call the emergency line. I feel her hands against my stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. And I see her eyes, filling with tears as she looks down at me, her mouth forming the shape of words that I can no longer hear.

I’d like to think that she’s telling me she loves me, before I die.

But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

31

GENEVIEVE

Ican’t think. I can’t breathe. All I can feel is the dead weight of Rowan in my arms, his breathing so shallow that there are moments when I’m not sure it hasn’t entirely stopped. Standing beside me, Rory is talking to the dispatcher for the ambulance, and then he drops to his knees next to me, grabbing Rowan’s hand.

“I’m so sorry,” he says over and over. “I was out back, talking to a couple of the men?—”

“Where were they?” I demand, my hands still pressed against Rowan’s stomach, covered in blood now. I don’t think anything that I’m doing is helping. “Where was all the fucking security?”

“On a shift change.” Rory’s face is stark white. “He must have watched, known when they’d be changing out—” He swallows hard, glancing over at the dead body and the guns. “I’ll get this cleaned up. I’ll make sure it’s all taken care of.” He looks up as we hear the wail of the ambulance. “Go with him. I’ll take care of everything, I promise.”

I have no choice but to trust him. Rowan trusted him, so I do too—and there’s no way in hell I’m leaving Rowan. It takes everything in me to step back long enough for the paramedics to get him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.

“I’m his wife,” I tell them in a rush as they start to jump back in. “I’m coming with him.”

Two of the paramedics glance at each other and then nod, one of the men reaching out to help me up into the back of the ambulance as the siren wails again, and they slam the doors shut as I sit down next to Rowan.

There’s a flurry of activity around me. Monitors, IVs, blankets thrown over him as they pack the wound and try to stop the bleeding. It’s all a vague blur to me, because all I can see is him—his waxy, pale face, his closed eyes. His hand feels cold in mine, and I can feel tears streaming down my face.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so fucking sorry, Rowan. This is my fault—I should have told you from the beginning. I should have told you about the threats from the start, and then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe it wouldn’t have escalated so far…”

I squeeze my eyes shut, tears dripping down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper again, as I cling to his hand, holding tight to him during the entire ride to the hospital.

I’m pulled aside the moment we arrive. “You’ll have to wait,” one of the paramedics tells me, as Rowan is wheeled inside. “He’s going to be taken straight to emergency surgery. We’ll find you a place to wait, alright? Just come with me.”

I nod numbly, staring after Rowan as he’s taken inside. Everything in me is screaming to go with him, to not let him out of my sight—that if I do, I’ll never see him again. But I follow where I’m led, sinking down into one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room as I stare out into the middle distance, numb and hollow.

Rory joins me, eventually. I hear him talking about cleaners and how Chris’s body is taken care of, and how he called Dimitri and Rowan’s father back in New York and updated them. I nod and shake my head where I’m supposed to, but I hardly retain any of it. All I can think of is that Rowan is in surgery right now. Rowan is fighting for his life.

Myhusbandis fighting for his life, and it’s all my fault.

When a nurse calls for me, I spring to my feet, my heart pounding. “He’s in a hospital room now,” the nurse says. “You can come see him if you like.”

He doesn’t look right, in the hospital bed—too peaceful, too perfectly quiet, surrounded by beeping machines and cold, stark white everywhere I look. I sink down into a chair next to the bed, half-hearing the nurse’s explanation of the surgery and recovery time as I reach for Rowan’s hand. It’s not quite as cold as it was before, and a small flicker of hope lights up in my chest.

I want to be here when he wakes up. That’s the only thing I know. I can’t leave until he’s awake, and I’m able to tell him all of the things that I should have said before it ever got this far.

I stayed in the hospital with him for two days, sleeping in the chair next to his bed, eating the terrible hospital food, and holding his hand every moment that I could. And sometime during the second night, as I wake up blearily to see a nurse coming in to check his vitals, I think I see him blink.

“Rowan?” I whisper his name as the nurse walks out, leaning close to the bed. “Rowan, can you hear me?”

His tongue darts out to lick at his lips, his eyes blinking again. “Genevieve?”

“I’m here.” I squeeze his hand, gripping it tightly. “Rowan, I’m so sorry?—”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, lass.” His fingers curl around mine. “You were so fucking brave. You shot that bastard right as he was going for me. Who knows? Maybe he would have put one in my heart or my head if you hadn’t shot him as he was pulling the trigger.” Rowan manages the smallest, faintest of smiles. “Maybe you saved my life,taibhseach.”

My eyes well up with tears. “If you hadn’t met me, none of this would have happened.Allof it is my fault. And if I’d told you sooner?—”

“Aye, you should probably have told me sooner,” Rowan agrees. “But there’s nothing that can be done about it now, Genevieve. You did what you could, in the moment. And as far as whether it’d be better if I hadn’t met you?—”

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