Miles’s hospital room looking like he’d aged ten years.
“He’s high as a kite.” He rubbed his face and groaned. “They’re taking him in for surgery to remove the bullet, but he told them not to stitch it up too neatly because, and I quote, ‘Chicks dig scars.’ My brother, he—”
He broke off, and Elliot didn’t hesitate to pull his oldest friend into a tight hug. Elise stationed herself to the side, rubbing them both up and down their backs.
Miles was going to live. He’d be fine. A gunshot to the ass wouldn’t stop him for long. But there had been long, harrowing minutes where none of us had known where he’d been hit. All we saw was blood. So much blood.
Miles had passed out from the pain and blood loss, and I’d watched Weston crumble. He’d fallen to his knees and cried over his brother’s body. Luca and Elliot had been right there, on their knees with him, but what could they have said? Done?
It wasn’t until we’d gotten him to the hospital that it was determined the bullet had hit him in the meatiest part of his butt and lodged there.
The thing left unsaid was how lucky Miles had been. Donald Rockford had made a wild shot. A few inches higher, it could have lodged in his spine or a vital organ instead of his ass.
I was certain that weighed heavily on all of us. I knew it did me.
I was only grateful my father hadn’t stuck around once he’d weaseled my phone number from me. Dealing with him would have been a bridge too far. A part of me hoped he’d just stay gone, but a microscopic sliver was still curious to hear him out.
I’d once been curious to find out what would happen when I stuck my finger in a flame, though, and that resulted in a pus-filled blister.
Assuaging my curiosity wasn’t always worth it.
Miles’s room door swung open, and his bed was pushed out by a nurse. He lay on his side, attached to tubes and monitors, a blanket tucked around his waist.
I kissed my hand and blew it at him. “Good luck, Miles.”
He gave me a lazy thumbs-up. “Thanks, Kit. Take care of all the babies. You’re good at that, you know.”
He pointed to his brother and Elliot to make sure I knew which babies he was referring to.
“You got it. The babies are in good hands,” I promised.
We stayed until one a.m. after Miles woke up from surgery. He was groggy and pissy, but the prognosis was good, and the doctor assured him he’d always have a scar, so he fell back to sleep with a smile.
At home, we took a shower together. Neither of us had much energy left, so all we did was hold each other under the hot water and do a cursory scrub.
Wrapped in my robe, I started toward our bedroom, but Elliot pulled me into the study with him. He stopped next to the couch, me in front of him, running his hands over my damp hair and down my shoulders. Tears glistened in his eyes as he checked me over, squeezing my arms and sides, running his fingers along my spine and over my hips. His movements became more frantic, opening my robe to see my bare skin.
And I let him. Because he needed it, and maybe I did too. Each pass of his hands reminded me I wasn’t hurt. I was in one piece. Things had been scary at the end, but we’d made it through.
“I could have lost you,” he whispered as if he didn’t want to voice his fear too loudly into the universe.
“We could have lost each other, but we didn’t.” I mirrored the movements he’d just made, squeezing his arms, sides, back, then covered his beating heart with both hands. “We’re both okay. Unscathed.”
He closed his eyes, and twin tears trailed down his cheeks. Rising on my toes, I kissed them away and touched my lips to his.
“I love you so much, Elliot.”
He fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his face to my middle. “I love you to the moon, Catherine. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened tonight.”
“No, no.” I drove my fingers through his hair and cradled the back of his head against me. “Sometimes, life is crazy and chaotic, and you can’t control it.”
“I want to,” he gritted out.
“Yeah, but let me tell you something. Tonight, when my dad and Gavin were confronting me, my first thought was I had to get to you.” I tangled my fingers in his hair and tugged his head back so he was looking up at me. “You and I can’t control what happens outside of us, but I’ve never been more sure we can handle whatever life throws at us as long as we’re together.”
He exhaled, his eyes lowered to half-mast. “I’m certain of that too, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss below my belly button. “You stole most of the things I wanted to say to you, but I’m relieved to know we agree.”
“What—?”
He reached into the pocket of his joggers and brought out a small, black velvet box. “This was supposed to happen differently, and maybe I should wait, but I can’t.”
I shook my head, my heart slamming in my chest. “No, don’t wait.”
“I’m not.” He flipped the box open, revealing a dazzling diamond on a platinum band. “Catherine Warner, my sweetheart, my love, I will love you with every single breath in this life, and when I go back to the earth with you, I will love you in every flower that blooms, every seed that brings fruit, each gust of wind, drop of rain, and snowflake that falls. Always, Catherine. Always.”
“Always,” I agreed with a fathomless sense of belief. In him, in us, in the life we would have with each other.
“Will you marry me now and love me forever?”
I nodded, a smile sneaking into the corners of my mouth. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes to all of it. As soon as possible.”
“Of course,” he agreed, rising to his feet and taking me in his arms. “Why waste any more time when I could make you mine now?”
“You would never waste time.”
Running his thumb over my ring, he pressed his mouth to mine. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Had to love a man who believed in efficiency.
And I did.
P.S. You’re my forever.
