4. Catastrophic
CHAPTER 4
Catastrophic
IVY
“Holy fuck,” I pant, as Alistair pulls my panties up and gently turns me around to face him.
“Too hard?” he asks, brow furrowed. He’s concerned that he’s hurt me.
I smile, trying to stand up straight even though my legs feel like jelly. He takes my elbow to stabilize me. “No, not too hard. Just … intense. And incredible.”
“I never want to hurt you,” he says, sweeping my hair out of my face. “Never.”
I look into his eyes and see so much affection there. “Did you get what you needed?”
He leans his face into mine and kisses me long and slow. “Everything and more.”
I’m not the one who needed healing, but I feel like I got some, too. I feel simultaneously more grounded, yet lighter.
“Am I really the love of your life?” I ask.
Alistair scoffs and shakes his head as if he can’t believe I have to ask. “Of course you are. I thought I’d made that clear.” He gestures around the poky room. “I’m just sorry you had to hear it here, first. I’ll make it up to you. Take you somewhere amazing.”
My heart glows. “You know I don’t care about any of that.”
“The top of a mountain,” he continues. “Or the Eiffel Tower. Or a tropical island.”
“Okay, I do care about that. I’d love to be on the top of a mountain with you. Like one of those office motivational posters. Let’s do it.”
“Only if you let me yodel,” he quips.
I snort.
We go to our respective bathrooms and then rendevous in the waiting room. Alistair has arranged coffees and golden buttery pastries for us, which I gratefully gulp down.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask him. I’m unsure if he’s ready, and I don’t want to push. “About Moscow? The baby?” Ariana?
He sighs and puts his coffee down, scratches his temple. “God. I don’t even know where to start.”
“You don’t have to talk,” I assure him. “I’m just offering to listen.”
“No,” he replies. “I owe you more than that.”
I shake my head and put my hand on his thigh. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the whole truth. I mean, he did bring home a baby . A freakin’ baby. Who he named Ravenscroft. I wouldn’t mind hearing his thoughts on that. But I could wait. At the moment I’m sure all he can think about is his prodigal risen-from-the-dead sister.
“I missed my target in Moscow,” he says in a hushed voice. “The Glass Baron was arguably the most important of the targets, and I failed. His family is dead, but he is alive.” Alistair rubs his temples. “As you can imagine, we are now in significant danger.”
Holy shit. My heart starts pounding.
“Our regular security detail won’t be adequate.”
I gulp. “Okay.”
Obviously, none of this is okay.
I steel myself. “And the … the baby? Alexander?”
He’s quiet for a while.
I try to bring some humor to the conversation. “You do know that most people bring back tacky souvenirs from their travels. Fridge magnets. Keyrings. Matryoshka dolls. You really went above and beyond.”
Alistair doesn’t smile, and I don’t blame him.
His voice is so low I hardly hear him. “I’m responsible for his mother’s death.”
My stomach knots.
“I had to bring him back with me. It’s the least I could do. He’ll grow up without a mother because of me. Can you imagine?”
I feel the tears well up in my eyes, and my sinuses sting. No, I couldn’t imagine. My parents were my whole world growing up. They gave me everything they could and more. Jamie and I grew up surrounded by their unconditional love. I think of that sweet-cheeked baby I had only seen for a few moments and my heart breaks for him.
“I’m guessing the father is the Glass Baron?”
Alistair nods. I can see the distress in his face and in his body language. He can’t seem to lift his gaze from the floor. I wish I could make him feel better, but how do you get over something like this?
I have already given him my body, now I need him to know he has my whole heart, too.
“Alistair,” I say, and wait for him to look at me. It seems to take a substantial effort to tear his eyes away from the carpet. I speak slowly and clearly. “I’m in this with you.”
“You shouldn’t have to be,” he laments, pain brightening his eyes.
“No one is forcing my hand here,” I remind him. “I’m choosing this life. I’m choosing you.”Despite the danger and the hardcore life-altering new developments, it’s the truth. “Love doesn’t happen in a vacuum. I love all of you, even the messy chaotic parts of your life. The dark and dangerous parts I wish didn’t exist. But they do, and I love you.”
He closes his eyes, sighs, and pulls me out of my chair and into a hug so intense I can feel the emotions coursing through him.
We stay in the embrace, kissing and comforting each other, until we sense someone arriving. Judging by what she’s wearing—elegantly tailored ice-blue scrubs—I guess she must be the surgeon.
Her voice is calm and confident, and there is a tenderness to it. “Mr. Ravenscroft?”
“Yes?” Alistair’s voice is thick. He pulses his fingers, terrified that he’s lost his sister. I hold my breath.
“I’m Dr. Gibbon. The surgery was successful. Miss Ravenscroft has just been released from recovery. We couldn’t have asked for a better outcome, really, given her state when she arrived. The tourniquet did a good job of slowing the arterial bleeding. Probably saved her life.”
My cheeks flush. Alistair pulls me closer.
“Thank you,” chokes Alistair. “Can we have more … detail?”
Dr. Gibbon smiles and nods. “Sure. Miss Ravenscroft suffered a gunshot wound to her left thigh, which caused significant damage to her femoral artery. That’s the main artery supplying blood to the leg, and the hemorrhaging would have been catastrophic if allowed to bleed out. Upon arrival, she was in hypovolemic shock due to the severe blood loss. We transfused four units of packed red blood cells to stabilize her vitals. Once her condition allowed, we took her to the operating theater for an emergency vascular repair. We clamped the femoral artery proximally and distally to control the bleeding. Thankfully, the repair was successful in restoring blood flow. Miss Ravenscroft came through the surgery well, and her post-operative vitals—and perfusion—are satisfactory.”
I don’t know what to say, so I thank her, which Alistair echoes. I can see in his expression that he’s calculating how big a bonus to reward the surgeon with. Knowing him, it will be generous indeed.
She smiles again. “We'll be monitoring her closely in the surgical ICU for any complications, but I'm cautiously optimistic about her prognosis, barring any unforeseen issues.”
“Can we see her?” asks Alistair. “If she’s in the surgical ICU?”
“Certainly! She’ll be groggy from the anesthetic, but I’m sure she’d love to see you.”