Chapter 26 – Adrian #2
And then, quietly, she whispers against my lips, “Thank you for giving me the world, Adrian. But I’d still choose you even if you had nothing.”
God help me, I believe her.
“Come on,” I murmur. “Let me take you to bed.”
But she shakes her head, stubborn as always. “How do you expect me to sleep after dropping that on me?” Her voice is still laced with disbelief, her hand resting over her rounded belly.
I laugh softly, cupping the back of her neck. “Fair point. So what now? You ready for your lesson?”
Her eyes narrow. “You mean…?”
I smirk. “Yes, that lesson.”
She blinks once and groans. “It’s exhausting, and I already did it yesterday. How about we watch a movie instead? Please.”
I push up from the couch and offer her my hand. “You’re already doing so well, baby. And you’re the heir now. Can’t have you pointing a gun backward.”
She groans playfully. “It was one time, Adrian.”
“And you almost killed yourself,” I say dryly, hating the memory of that scary moment.
She takes my hand and gets up, eyes sparkling despite the emotional rollercoaster we’ve just been on. I grab the jacket draped over the back of the chair and toss it around her shoulders before leading her out.
It’s late morning when we step outside. The sun is soft, casting a golden hue across the yard. The custom range is already set up in the far corner of the back garden—targets lined up, weapons cleaned and ready on the table. Zalar must’ve done a sweep earlier.
I guide her across the lawn, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back.
“You remember your stance?” I ask, reaching for one of the lighter handguns.
She smirks. “Feet shoulder-width apart, weight balanced, grip firm, no wrist flopping.”
I hand her the gun and tilt my head. “Show me.”
She takes the pistol, breathes out slowly, and settles into position. Her stance is confident. Not perfect—but close. Damn close.
I step around her slowly, studying every angle. “Don’t lock your elbows.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She scowls and adjusts. I nod.
“Better.”
She takes a shot.
It hits just off-center—close enough to make me smile. “Again.”
She fires again. And again. Each shot tighter, more controlled than the last. I say nothing. Just watch. She’s focused, dialed in, and it’s a sight that both thrills me and terrifies me. Because if she ever has to use this for real….
I shake the thought from my head.
Jennie finally lowers the gun, her arms shaking slightly from the recoil.
“Not bad?” she asks, tilting her face up to me with a mix of pride and hope.
“Not bad?” I echo, stepping in front of her. “Babe, you just killed a man three times in under fifteen seconds.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s cardboard, Adrian.”
“And that cardboard never saw it coming,” I deadpan, making her laugh.
I lean in and kiss her forehead, right between her brows. “You did good.”
She exhales, pleased. I can see the confidence blooming in her—replacing the fear, the helplessness. That’s what I want for her. Not just to feel safe with me—but to be safe, even without me.
We reload together in silence, and for a moment, it’s just the sound of nature and the sharp click of magazines sliding home.
She breaks the silence. “You trust me now?”
I glance at her. “I’m getting there.”
“You’d let me walk into a meeting with armed enemies?”
I pause. “Ask me when I’m dead.”
She grins. “Dramatic.”
I take a step back again and let her have her floor, hoping a time never comes when she’ll call on these lessons and hope it saves her.
***
Months have passed.
And I’ve never known this kind of peace.
It’s in the way Jennie hums when she walks around the house barefoot, her belly round and heavy in front of her.
It’s in the way she insists I rub her feet at night—even when she pretends she doesn’t need me to.
It’s in the stupid, soft little arguments we have over what to watch on TV while she eats ice cream like the world’s about to end.
Tonight is no different.
Jennie is curled into the corner of the couch, a pint of strawberry swirl balanced precariously on her bump.
She’s wearing one of my shirts again—because apparently pregnancy gives her the right to claim half my wardrobe.
I’m on the other end of the couch, flipping through channels with the remote, trying to find something that doesn’t involve slow-motion kisses and a weepy orchestral score.
She groans. “Adrian, just put on Love in Lisbon. I swear, it’ll make you feel things.”
I narrow my eyes. “I feel things already. Mostly pain and boredom. These people fall in love after one date and act like it’s fate. It’s not even realistic.”
She gasps. “Are you mocking romance? In my ninth month of pregnancy?”
“I’m not mocking romance,” I say, scoffing as I toss the remote aside. “I’m mocking bad plots. There’s a difference.”
She narrows her eyes and scoops another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “You have no soul.”
“Correction—I had no soul. Then I married you, and now I cry during car commercials.”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “That was one time.”
“It had a puppy in it, Jennie. A puppy.”
She opens her mouth to respond—and suddenly gasps.
My body goes still. My eyes are on her immediately. “What?”
Her spoon clatters to the floor.
She grips the edge of the couch and looks down at herself. “Oh my God.”
“Jennie.” I’m already halfway to her, my pulse kicking up. “What’s wrong?”
She blinks up at me. “I think…my water just broke.”
I stare at her. At the little dark patch spreading on the couch. Then at her eyes, wide and blinking and slightly stunned.
We’re not supposed to panic. We took a class for this. A class where a woman named Bethany from the hospital told me to breathe and “keep your partner calm.” But the class didn’t account for the fact that my wife is now in labor on my couch. Hypothetical situations are no match for reality.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing hard. “Okay. Alright. That’s fine. That’s normal.”
She winces. “It hurts.”
“Okay, not fine. Um—hospital. Hospital bag. Car.” I’m muttering as I spin in a frantic circle. “ZALAR!”
She grabs my arm, her breath sharp. “Adrian, stop yelling. You’re scaring me.”
I immediately crouch in front of her, cradling her face. “I’m not scared. I’m—okay, maybe I’m a little scared, but I’ve got you, alright? I’m here. We’re going to have our baby, and it’s going to be perfect.”
She exhales shakily. “Promise?”
“Promise,” I say, kissing her forehead. “Now let’s get you to the hospital before you give birth on my designer rug.”
She laughs through a wince. “That rug is hideous.”
“Your hormones are clearly out of control.”
“Adrian.”
“Right. Hospital.”
The car ride is chaos—and I’ve survived gunfire, betrayal, and ambushes that didn’t shake me like this.
I’m in the back seat with Jennie, breathing hard, one hand clenching the edge of the door, the other wrapped tightly around mine. Zalar’s driving like the road owes him money, weaving through traffic like he’s chasing a mark.
I keep glancing at her. Her face is flushed, her forehead damp, and she’s biting down on her lip to keep from crying out.
I hate this. I’d do anything to take the pain for her.
“I’m fine,” she says, clearly not fine. Her voice trembles. “Don’t look at me like I’m dying.”
I brush her hair back, my heart pounding so loudly it’s in my throat. “You’re not dying. You’re having our baby. But if you were dying, I’d kill Death myself.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “That sounds like something you’d say.”
“It is something I’d do,” I mutter. “Zalar, faster!”
“We’re almost there!” Zalar yells.
Jennie groans, her hand tightening around mine like a vice. “Adrian—oh God—this one hurts—”
“I’m right here.” I lean over the seat, pressing kisses to her hand, her knuckles, her temple. “You’re doing so well, baby. So fucking well. Just hold on a little longer.”
We finally screech into the hospital parking lot. Zalar barely parks before I’m out of the car, scooping her into my arms.
“I can walk,” she mutters.
“No. I’m carrying you.”
Inside, nurses rush to meet us. The moment they see my face, my reputation clearly precedes me—because they snap into action like a well-trained militia.
They usher us into a private delivery suite, one that Lukin probably paid for months ago. Jennie’s settled onto the bed, her breaths coming faster, and the machines start to beep around us. I don’t let go of her hand for a second.
Jennie turns her head, sweat on her brow, but a soft smile on her lips. “You look terrified.”
“I am.” I lean down, brushing her lips with mine. “But not of this. Just of anything happening to you. Or the baby. I’ve never loved anything the way I love the two of you.”
She whispers something.
I lean closer. “What was that?”
“I hope it’s a girl.”
I smile against her skin. “Boy or girl. They’re already perfect.”
The doctor enters. “It’s time.”
I kiss her knuckles one last time. “Let’s meet our baby, sweetheart.”
The hours blur.
I’ve sat through torture sessions and assassinations that didn’t last this long. But nothing—nothing—prepared me for the helplessness of watching the woman I love scream in pain, body arching, fingers digging into mine.
She squeezes so hard I think she might break my hand, and I want her to. I want her to hurt me instead, if it means she can hurt less.
Her eyes are shut tight, her face drenched in sweat, and I don’t know if she hears a word I’m saying—but I keep whispering to her anyway.
“You’re doing so well, baby. So, so well.” I’ve never seen anything more powerful in my life.
Her scream cuts through the room, and I flinch.
I can’t take this.
Tears burn behind my eyes. I blink quickly, but one escapes, trailing down my cheek as I kiss her hand. My chest aches. This is what destroys me—her pain.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, forehead resting against hers. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’d take it if I could. All of it.”
She cries out again, her back arching.
The doctor’s voice is steady. “He’s almost here. One more push, Jennie. Come on.”
Her head falls back, exhausted, but something in her eyes blazes.
“I’ve got you,” I breathe. “One more. That’s all. I’m here. You’re safe.”
She screams again—and then—
A baby’s cry fills the room.
My breath catches. My world stops.
The baby is here.
I watch, stunned, as the nurse lifts him—squalling, wrinkled, perfect.
Jennie sobs beside me, her body collapsing against the pillows, and I lean over, pressing kiss after kiss to her face.
“You did it,” I whisper. “God, you did it. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
A nurse places the baby—our son—on her chest. He’s still crying, fists balled up, but the moment he hears her voice—soft, breathless, trembling with emotion—he quiets.
And that’s when I lose it.
Tears roll down my cheeks as I lean over both of them, brushing a kiss to his tiny head, then to hers.
“He’s beautiful,” I choke out.
Jennie smiles through her tears, her fingers brushing his cheek. “He looks like you.”
“Oh God.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, curling an arm around her as she cradles him. I touch his tiny back—warm, soft, alive—and press my lips to her temple again.
“You gave me a life I never thought I’d have,” I whisper. “You gave me a reason to believe in something other than blood and vengeance. Thank you.”
She turns her face up to mine, eyes shining. “We did it, Adrian.”
I nod. “Yeah. We did.”
And right there, in that hospital room with the woman I love and the son I never thought I’d deserve, I finally feel it.
Peace.
Real, honest, beautiful peace.