Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The ambulance ride to the hospital was a blur of sirens and flashing lights.
Dominic refused to be separated from me despite his injuries, sitting beside my gurney and holding my hand when he really needed to be on the gurney himself.
The paramedics had given up trying to treat him properly, settling for temporary bandaging while shooting him looks that said stubborn alpha louder than words ever could.
“Sir, you really need to let us give you something for the pain.” The medic tried again. “I know you said you didn’t want to be sedated, but—“
“I’m fine,” Dominic said, not taking his eyes off me. His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, the repetitive motion seeming to calm him more than it did me.
Through our bond, I felt his barely controlled terror warring with relief—the emotional whiplash of almost losing everything and then finding it safe in his arms. My own emotions were too tangled to separate: residual fear, bone-deep exhaustion, and a fierce protective love for this alpha who’d literally thrown himself between me and death.
At the hospital, they finally managed to separate us long enough for proper examinations.
I was wheeled to obstetrics while Dominic was taken to surgery for the metal fragments embedded in his shoulder.
I felt his panic spike through our connection when the distance grew too great, felt him fighting against the sedation they were trying to give him.
I’m okay, I pushed through to him as hard as I could. The baby’s okay. Let them help you.
The response was wordless but clear: reluctant acceptance.
Then, his presence faded to a faint whisper as he succumbed to the anesthetic.
My examination took over an hour. The on-call obstetrician was thorough and patient despite clearly being roused from sleep for this emergency.
“Everything looks perfect,” she said, moving the ultrasound wand over my belly. “Strong heartbeat, no signs of distress, placenta looks healthy. You both got extraordinarily lucky.”
I watched the screen, seeing our baby moving—little flutters that made my chest tight. That tiny life had survived a building collapse. Had been protected by a Victorian potting table, sheer stubborn luck, and his or her father’s willing to give everything to protect us.
“Can I see my alpha?” I asked when she finished. “Please.”
The obstetrician’s expression softened. “Let me check on his status.”
She left, and I was alone with the steady beep of monitors and the overwhelming need to see Dominic, to touch him, to confirm through more than just our bond that he was alive and safe.
Thirty minutes later, a nurse appeared. “Your alpha is out of surgery and in recovery. He’s asking for you.” She smiled slightly. “Well, demanding might be more accurate. Let’s get you into a wheelchair.”
They put us in a private room—probably Blake’s doing, some strings pulled to ensure we could be together.
Dominic was propped up in the hospital bed, shirtless beneath the light blanket, his torso wrapped in fresh white bandages.
His right arm was in a sling, and I could see the edges of surgical tape peeking from beneath the gauze on his shoulder.
But his eyes were clear and alert, tracking me from the moment the nurse wheeled me through the door. The relief that crashed through our bond was so intense it made my breath catch.
“Baby,” he said, and that one word held everything.
“I’m okay,” I assured him as the nurse helped me from the wheelchair to the bed beside him. “We’re both okay. The obstetrician on call said the baby is perfect.”
I glanced at the nurse, gesturing toward Dominic. “Can I get in his bed?”
How bold you’ve become, Leo!
But I didn’t care what anyone thought. I wanted to hold my alpha close. I could feel his body calling to mine as surely as mine yearned for his.
The nurse’s eyes softened, crinkling at the corners as she nodded. “Just be careful not to jostle him.”
I reached for the edge of his blanket, the thin fabric rustling between my fingers as I gingerly eased myself onto the narrow mattress beside him.
Dominic’s good hand immediately went to my belly, pressing gently as if he needed the physical confirmation.
“Thank god,” he breathed against my neck. “Thank god.”
The door clicked shut behind the nurse, the soft sound barely registering as my senses filled completely with my alpha’s presence. We stayed like that for a long moment, his hand on my stomach, my hand covering his, both of us breathing through the reality that we were alive and together and safe.
“Your shoulder?” I asked quietly.
“They removed three metal fragments. Stitched up the lacerations. Said I was lucky nothing hit anything vital.” His lips quirked slightly. “Blake’s been texting. Apparently I’m not allowed to do ‘cowboy shit’ anymore. Said he’s putting it writing. Gonna have Katherine draw up a contract.”
Despite everything, I laughed. Then immediately winced as it pulled at my bruised shoulder.
“Easy,” Dominic murmured, his hand moving from my belly to cup my face. “You’re hurt too.”
“Just a bruise. Nothing serious.” I leaned into his touch. “You took all the damage for me.”
“I’d do it again,” he said simply.
His lips gently brushed my temple. “And again.”
A soft kiss on my cheek. “And again.”
His lips caressed mine, so achingly tender my heart clenched. “And again.”
They kept us for observation—me for twenty-four hours to monitor the pregnancy, Dominic for forty-eight because of potential internal bleeding from his bruised ribs and the need to ensure no complications from the surgery.
Blake became a constant presence those two days, visiting multiple times with actual food to supplement the hospital meals.
Between bites of decent coffee and real sandwiches, he provided updates on the investigation.
Adelaide had been formally charged with first-degree murder, attempted murder, and a litany of other charges that would likely keep her imprisoned for the rest of her life.
She’d lawyered up immediately, refusing to speak to anyone, but the physical evidence was damning: my phone in her possession, the forged envelope, the sabotaged greenhouse, and dozens of witnesses.
“Richard gave a full statement,” Blake said quietly during his second visit, standing by the window with his arms crossed. “About Thomas’s letter, his father’s missing hunting knife, Adelaide’s access to everything. He sent flowers and a card.”
Blake nodded toward the vase of Holly Ferns, Snowdrops, and Baby’s Breath, his jaw tightening. “He blames himself, I think. For not seeing what Adelaide was capable of. He looks like he’s aged twenty years overnight.”
“It’s not his fault,” I said firmly. “Adelaide fooled everyone for a long time.”
Blake nodded. “He’s taking it hard. I don’t think he’ll be attending any public events for a while.”
The rest of the community descended in waves throughout those two days—the kind of overwhelming support that only happens in small towns where everyone knows everyone.
Penny cried when he hugged me, careful of my injuries but unable to contain his emotion.
Rosie arrived with enough baked goods to feed the entire hospital floor and scolded Dominic for his “heroic and stupid” behavior before thanking him with tears in her eyes.
Sarah and Jake came together to assure me my assistant had the shop handled.
Mrs. Henderson bustled in with flowers and the latest gossip.
Even Sheriff Hawkins stopped by briefly between interviews to confirm Adelaide was in custody with round-the-clock guards.
By the time Abigail arrived with Dominic’s tablet and a stack of documents—“There’s nothing urgent, Mr. Steele.
It really can wait.” Stubborn alpha—the room had transformed into a garden of flowers.
Cards covered every surface and containers of food were stacked on the windowsill like offerings at a shrine.
“We’re lucky,” I said that evening, looking at the evidence of community love surrounding us.
“Very lucky,” Dominic agreed, pulling me closer with his good arm.
They released me first, with strict instructions to rest and follow up with my regular obstetrician within the week. Dominic was discharged twelve hours later, his arm still in a sling, pain medication prescribed, and orders to avoid any strenuous activity for at least two weeks.
Marcus took us home to our apartment. The building looked exactly the same as when we’d left for the party—was it really only two days ago?—but everything felt different. Sharper. More precious.
The shoemaker’s elves had apparently already been here.
The apartment was stocked with groceries, the heat turned up, fresh linens on the bed.
Dominic’s medications were organized on the kitchen counter with detailed instructions, and there was a note in Blake’s precise handwriting outlining the doctor’s orders and emergency contact numbers.
“He’s good at this,” I said, reading through the note.
“He’s terrified I’m going to drop dead and leave him to run Steele Industries and Harrington Development Corporation alone,” Dominic said dryly. But there was affection in his voice.
Dominic headed toward the bedroom. I trailed behind, watching his careful movements, my good hand already half-raised to help steady him if needed.
He froze mid-step at the bedside, looking at the sheets and blankets with an expression of mild frustration.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I want to build you a nest,” he said. “But I can’t fucking do it one-handed, and asking you to build your own nest feels wrong.”
My heart squeezed. “Then we’ll build it together.”