Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
The list goes on and on, but mostly, the love of being a family and raising a child, the chance of being a father . . . all torn away in an instant.
Chapter 10
SOPHIE
A big hand twitches in mine, and due to its sheer size and texture, I know it’s Tank. Mmmm, my man. I don’t know why he’s still home, though. He usually leaves ages before I get up.
I open my eyes, or at least I try to, but it seems a lot harder than usual. Ouch, why does it hurt so much?
I let out a pained groan as my eyes register the sudden brightness of the room. Why the hell does Tank have the blinds open at this time of day? And why is it making my head hurt so bad?
Crap, I must be getting sick. Perfect. Just what I need. I’ll have to schedule an appointment with the doctor just to make sure there’s no harm to my little guy.
My eyes finally start adjusting to the room when I realize things are off. Way freaking off. The faint beeping in the background is my first giveaway. Then the clinical hospital room with my husband slouched in the chair beside me.
I try to squeeze my hand in his, but it feels too heavy. What the hell?
“Tank,” I say, though it comes out as the smallest whisper. My throat burns, but it gets the job done.
Tank flies out of his chair with wide eyes, searching for some kind of threat before his eyes come down on mine. Relief washes over his features as he takes me in. “Babe?” he questions, sadness shining through his red-rimmed eyes. “How are you feeling?”
My brows furrow, taking him in. What’s the matter? Tank doesn’t cry. This isn’t right. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever met.
I try to answer, but my throat is hurting too much, and knowing me so well, Tank reaches for a cup of water on the side table. I try to follow his movements, but it makes the pain behind my eyes get worse. He brings the cup up and guides the straw into my mouth and I take small sips, the cool water instantly soothing my throat so I can talk.
“I’ll call the doctor,” Tank says as he puts the cup back down.
“Wait,” I whisper. His eyes come back to me with concern. “What’s . . . what’s going on? What happened? Why am I here?”
Regret fills his features as he takes his seat and gently takes my hand in his once again. “You don’t remember?” he starts in a soothing voice, looking at me as though his whole world has burned to ashes at his feet, making my heart start to race in fear. I slowly shake my head, the movement causing a heavy thumping inside my skull as I try to remember anything about how I got here. “You were attacked.”
The second the words are out of his mouth, it all comes rushing back with a force greater than a freight train. I suck in a loud gasp.
Christian Baxter. The men. The heavy blows. Their twisted laughter.
My baby.
I let out a gasp, but Tank continues. “We think it was a home invasion. Miller checked out our place, and it’s been trashed. The cameras were wiped and unless you remember what he looked like, we’ve got no fucking way to identify the asshole,” he explains. “But I don’t want you worrying about it, okay? Whoever this fucker is, I’ll make sure he gets what’s coming for him, no matter what. I’ll make sure he pays for what he’s done to you.”
Shaking my head as tears begin to fall, I try sitting up, but Tank is right there, pushing me back down. “No, you need to stay still,” he tells me as I start to notice just how sore my body really is. “You’ve been through a lot. Internal stitches and a broken arm. You can’t move, okay? Promise me you won’t move.”
“No,” I cry as I try to lift my hands to my stomach, but they just won’t move. Why won’t they move? “Our son?” I question, heartbreak brimming in his dark eyes. “I can’t . . . I can’t feel him move.”
Tank’s eyes fill with sorrow as he looks at me and he starts to shake his head, almost as though too afraid to say what needs to be said. I can feel the next words that are about to come out of his mouth, but I don’t want to hear it. I can’t. “No,” I cry, a thick lump forming in my throat and making it impossible to breathe. “No.”
“Sophie,” he whispers as he reaches forward and wipes a tear from my eye. “He didn’t make it.”
My whole world comes crashing down around me, burning to ashes. I feel numb, unable to believe what I’m hearing, but I know it’s true. I remember the punches, remember the blows and the way they dropped me to my stomach.