Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Refrains.
Pushes my brow to furrow in tandem with me asking, “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m not sure now is the time.”
There’s no stopping my glare from darkening. “Hamilton.”
He gives the waiting room that’s primarily filled with only those I trust – including Evie and Jenny who are correlating damage control with Pham regarding the press nightmare in the opposite corner closest to the elevator – a good visual sweep prior to whispering, “Bryn was pregnant.”
“What?!” I thoughtlessly roar.
“Volume,” he scolds on a calming hand motion.
With Clark and Lauren out to grab coffee for everyone – meaning they didn’t just witness this outburst – the only attention in the room besides my PR team is our entire main security detail – Park, Holmes, Hill, and Hurst – who all instantly snap their stares to me.
Despite my insistence that Hurst get some rest after spending hours with HPD and then hours more being interrogated by Park, he’s still here.
Refusing to leave until Bryn is awake.
Offering to turn in his resignation every other time we cross paths.
Swearing to Park any punishment for his fuck up – including firing – he’ll gladly take.
The truth of the matter is…he didn’t make a mistake.
He maintained the safe agreed upon distance.
He cased the entire playground repeatedly.
He spotted no suspicious activity until Jessie spoke up at which time all the proper protocols went into effect.
There was no way he knew someone was going to try to kidnap my kid.
And he damn sure had no way of knowing a lost tourist was going to hit my wife with her car.
As much as I want someone to blame, someone to pay for why my wife is lying in the hospital unresponsive, it’s not him.
However, he will do whatever it takes to help me find who it is.
“Bryn’s pregnant?!” comes out a volume just above a whisper. “You’re certain?!”
“She was, Weston. When she arrived.” His hold on his bottle of water tightens. “But according to her latest bloodwork…she’s…miscarried.”
Any ability to breathe is instantly obliterated.
She was…pregnant?
Was she aware?
Was this something she was waiting to tell me?
Is this the deeper reason why she was so upset about me missing what seemed like trivial family time?
We hadn’t talked about expanding our family since the first time Wy asked for a sibling – and then immediately changed his request to that of a dog – but it wasn’t off the table.
Yes, she had been steadily taking her shot – never missing a scheduled one again – yet was willing to discuss the idea of planning to stop it if that’s what we both wanted.
Which at the time it was.
But now that someone has tried to steal our only son, I’m not so sure.
How can I be expected to protect more children when I failed so miserably to take care of the one?
Of his mother?
My. Wife.
I give the back of my neck another squeeze, anxiousness to bury the building anger underneath a bottle of whiskey aggressively increasing. “How far along was she?”
“I’m not an expert in that department, but if I had to venture a guess, based on her hCG…three or four weeks?”
My mind momentarily thinks back to her behavior, curious if there were signs, I missed much like the first round, only to find I’m drawing a blank.
Unsure if that’s because I’m barely thinking straight or was occupied with reviewing documents for the pending quarter is what has me remaining silent.
Slumping further into the seat.
“It was likely triggered by the trauma of the impact,” Hamilton quietly explains. “There’s a high probability she had no clue.”
And now I have to be the one to tell her.
To explain that she sacrificed herself and our unborn to save the little hero who still needs us.
Heartache hastily hurls into hatred that once more narrows my gaze.
This will not end well for everyone and anyone who was fucking involved with this orchestration.
I am a very powerful man.
And it will be felt.
“You are soooooo top cheddar,” Jenni gushes loudly enough to warrant my attention. “Just like your daughter.”
“I feel like that’s a compliment,” Lauren replies in a puzzled fashion while handing over the covered beverage.
“It is,” Evie sighs prior to receiving her own beverage. “It’s my girlfriend’s way of saying she thinks you’re incredible.”
“Then why doesn’t she just say that?”
“I did!” squeaks Jenni in obvious confusion.
“She primarily speaks puckhead,” my publicist casually informs. “It takes a bit of adjusting to get used to.”
Before another retort can be made a familiar voice calls out, “Mr. Wilcox? Mrs. Baker?”
Our faces all instantly turn the direction of Stefan Howard, the primary doctor that’s been tending to Bryn since her transfer out of the ER.
“May I have word, please?”
Hamilton rises along with me and crosses to the small space near the front desk that he’s occupying.
Upon our arrival, he offers a small respectful nod to the other physician in his presence. “Hamilton.”