Chapter 23

TWENTY-THREE

PRESENT

T he gunshots still echo in my ears as I watch Devin crumple to the ground, her blood staining the concrete. Time seems to slow, my world narrowing to the sight of her pale face, her eyes fluttering closed.

"No, no, no," I mutter, dropping to my knees beside her. My hands press against her wound, warm blood seeping between my fingers. "Devin, stay with me. Don't you dare leave me."

The bodies of my uncle and cousin lie nearby, their unseeing eyes a testament to my rage. But I can't focus on them now. All that matters is the woman in my arms, her life slipping away with each passing second.

"Daniel!" I roar, my voice raw with panic. "Get the car. Now!"

I scoop Devin into my arms, cradling her against my chest as I rush toward the waiting vehicle. Her blood soaks into my shirt, a visceral reminder of how close I am to losing her.

"Drive," I bark as soon as we're inside. Daniel doesn't hesitate, peeling away from the scene with tires screeching.

I keep pressure on Devin's wound, my eyes never leaving her face. "Stay with me, love," I murmur, my voice cracking. "You're not allowed to die. You're mine, remember? Mine."

The drive to the hospital is a whirl of fear and desperate prayers to a God I've never believed in. When we slide to a halt at the emergency entrance, I'm out of the car before it fully stops, Devin limp in my arms.

"I need help!" I shout, bursting through the doors. "Gunshot wound. She's losing blood fast."

A flurry of activity erupts around us. Doctors and nurses swarm, taking Devin from my arms and rushing her away on a gurney. I try to follow, but a firm hand on my chest stops me.

"Sir, you need to let them work," a doctor says, her voice calm but firm. "We'll update you as soon as we can."

"Please," I beg, something I've never done in my life. "Save my wife."

She gives me a sad look. "We'll do our best." And leaves me behind.

I want to argue, to force my way through, but I know it would only waste precious time. Instead, I stiffly watch as they wheel Devin away.

The waiting room is a special kind of hell. I pace relentlessly, my clothes still stained with Devin's blood. Time loses all meaning as I wait for news, any news.

Olivia arrives first, her face pale with worry. "Hawk," she says, rushing to me. "What happened? Is she-"

"Surgery," I cut her off, unable to bear the thought of the alternative. "No word yet."

She nods, sinking into a nearby chair. We wait in tense silence, both lost in our own fears.

It's not long before Max appears, looking decidedly out of place in his rumpled clothes and thick-rimmed glasses. His presence surprises me – I knew he was more than just Devin's assistant, but I hadn't realized how close they were.

"Any news?" he asks, his voice tight with concern.

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. "Nothing yet."

The minutes crawl by like hours. Finally, a doctor approaches, his face grave. "Mr. Rivers?"

I'm on my feet in an instant. "How is she?"

"Ms. West is still in surgery," he says. "But we've run into a complication. She's lost a lot of blood, and with her rare blood type – RH negative – we're not sure we have enough in our bank."

My heart clenches. "I'm RH negative," I say immediately. "Take mine. Take as much as you need."

The doctor nods, relief evident on his face. "That could make all the difference. Follow me, please."

I turn to Olivia and Max. "Stay here. Let me know the moment there's any news."

They nod, and I follow the doctor, ready to give every drop of blood in my body if it means saving Devin.

The blood donation process seems to take an eternity, but finally, I'm back in the waiting room. Olivia and Max fill the silence with quiet conversation, but I can't focus on their words. My entire being is centered on Devin, willing her to survive.

After what feels like days, the surgeon appears, looking tired but satisfied. "Mr. Rivers?"

I stand, my heart in my throat. "Yes? How is she?"

The surgeon smiles slightly. "Ms. West is out of surgery. We were able to remove the bullet and repair the damage. Thanks to your blood donation, we were able to stabilize her."

Relief floods me, so intense it nearly brings me to my knees. "Thank God," I breathe.

"There is one more thing," the surgeon adds, his tone careful. "We were very fortunate that the bullet didn't hit any vital organs... or cause a miscarriage."

For a moment, I'm sure I've misheard. "Miscarriage?" I repeat, my voice low. My heartbeat slows to a crawl.

The surgeon nods. "Ms. West is approximately eight weeks pregnant. The fetus appears unharmed, but we'll be monitoring closely."

The world seems to tilt on its axis. Pregnant. Devin is pregnant. With my child. After all these years of separation, of waiting, we're going to have a family.

"Can I see her?" I ask, my voice rough with emotion.

The surgeon nods. "She's in recovery now. I'll have a nurse take you to her."

As I follow the nurse down the sterile hallway, my mind races. A baby. Our baby. Life finally feels right.