Page 106 of Resisting Isaac
We have a doctor appointment coming up soon. They said we can’t see the sex until twenty weeks, but we’ll be able to hear the heartbeat and make out the general shape of the baby on the sonogram.
We were going to tell everyone after, once we knew for certain the baby was healthy.
Wyatt’s jaw sets. Ivy goes pale.
Then my brother turns to me, voice deadly even. “Yours?”
I look up at him. The man I’ve looked up to my entire life. My older brother. My best friend. My impossible standard. And I say the only thing that matters, knowing it may sever something between us forever.
“Mine,” I say evenly, no regret and no apology in my voice. Just honesty and feral possessiveness.
Because this baby is mine and this woman is mine.
He nods once, something unreadable passing over his face. I don’t have time to worry if he’s angry or disappointed.
Elena stirs and I soothe her the best that I can, telling her help is on the way and she’s going to be fine, that the baby is going to be fine, because they’re both strong. Moments later, sirens ring out. The paramedics arrive and begin loading her onto a stretcher. I step back just long enough for them to work, but I don’t move far.
“Elena,” I tell her, walking alongside as they wheel hertoward the ambulance. “I’m coming with you, okay? I’m not leaving you.”
Her fingers clutch for mine, weak but sure as she nods.
Wyatt’s voice follows me as I climb in after her. “We’ll follow behind in my truck.”
And then the door shuts.
Inside, it’s a blur of tubes and blood pressure cuffs and barked medical orders. But all I can focus on is her hand in mine and the faint rise and fall of her chest.
I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “You’re okay. You’re both okay. You have to be.”
Because I’ve never wanted anything more than I want this woman. Our baby.
The family that belongs to me, the one I never saw coming.
And now—I’ve never been more terrified to lose them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
elena
The world comes back in pieces.
Soft beeping.
Cool sheets.
The smell of antiseptic and old coffee.
And then—his hand.
Warm and solid, wrapped around mine.
I blink against the fluorescent light above me. Everything aches in a dull, muffled way, like I’ve been dropped from a great height and padded by just enough luck to still be breathing.
“Elena?”
His voice is rough. Unsteady.
I turn my head and find him sitting beside me—Isaac. His hair’s a mess. His jaw’s tight. Eyes red-rimmed like he hasn’t blinked in hours.
