Chapter 14 Knox #2
The tears came and I couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t control them. I stood there in the middle of the hospital waiting room and sobbed, my whole body shaking with the force of it. Everything I’d been holding back, all the fear and terror and desperate love, it all came pouring out at once.
“The baby is okay,” I managed to grunt between sobs. “Our daughter... she’s okay...”
Noah pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tight. I buried my face in his shoulder and cried like I hadn’t cried since I was a child. My brother held me, not saying anything, just being there. Being solid. Being the anchor I needed to keep from flying apart completely.
Hunt moved to Sarah’s side, one arm going around her shoulders.
She was crying too, silent tears running down her face as she stared at me with devastated eyes.
This woman who had raised Lina, who loved her like a daughter, who had rushed back from her vacation because I’d told her something was wrong.
Now she was standing in a hospital waiting room, learning that her girl might not survive the night.
“Everything will be alright, Knox.”
The words came from my father. I looked up, surprised by the gentleness in his voice.
He stood there, awkward and uncomfortable with emotion as always, but there was warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there a few years ago.
Being a grandfather had changed him. Meeting his grandchildren, spending time with them, watching them grow.
It had softened something in him that I’d thought was permanently hardened.
“She’s strong,” my father continued. “Lina is one of the strongest women I’ve ever known. She’ll fight through this.”
I nodded, pulling away from Noah and wiping my face with the back of my hand. I had to get a grip. I had to be strong for my family, for my pack, for my children who would need their father no matter what happened.
“She will be,” I said, forcing the words out. “They’re both strong.”
Then, despite everything, despite the terror and the grief and the uncertainty, I found myself smiling. It felt strange, using those muscles when my heart was breaking, but the words that came next were genuine.
“Our baby,” I said. “It’s a girl. We have a daughter.”
The mood in the room shifted slightly. Not happy, exactly. No one could be happy right now. But there was a glimmer of hope underneath the fear. A new life. A reason to keep fighting.
“A girl,” Sarah repeated, her voice thick with tears. “Another granddaughter. Lina’s going to be so happy when she wakes up.”
“She’ll get to meet her,” I said firmly. “She’ll wake up and she’ll hold our baby and everything will be fine.”
We moved to the waiting area and sat down. Hunt got coffee from somewhere. Noah sat next to me, a silent presence that I appreciated more than I could express. My father paced back and forth, unable to sit still. Sarah clutched a tissue in her hands, dabbing at her eyes every few minutes.
And we waited.
The minutes crawled by like hours. Every time a door opened, every time footsteps echoed in the hallway, I tensed. Waiting for news. Waiting for Dr. Hartley to appear and tell us whether my mate was going to live or die.
I tried to feel Lina through the bond, but the connection was muted. Faint. Like she was very far away, or like something was blocking us. The drugs, probably. Whatever they were giving her to keep her under during surgery. It made the bond feel strange and distant.
I hated it. I needed to feel her presence, needed the reassurance that she was still fighting.
I thought about Lina. About the first time I’d seen her at her book café in Pine Valley.
How she’d stumbled over her words when I walked through the door.
How I couldn’t keep away after that, finding every excuse to visit, to see her smile, to hear her voice.
How I’d been a coward and left her. How I’d found her again at Noah’s house, hurt and unconscious, and my entire world had shifted back into place.
I thought about our wedding. About the twins’ birthday party just a few months ago, how Thea had demanded a princess cake and Rowan had wanted a dragon and somehow Lina had managed to get both.
About every moment we’d shared since she came back into my life.
Every laugh, every fight, every whispered conversation in the dark.
I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t survive without her.
If Lina died, I would follow her. Not immediately, maybe. Not while our children still needed me. But eventually. Because life without my mate wasn’t life at all. It was just existence. Just going through the motions until I could join her in whatever came next.
Sarah and my parents and Noah and Hunt would raise our kids in a loving environment. I knew that. Our children would be cared for, protected, surrounded by people who loved them. But I wouldn’t be there. Not really. I’d be a ghost, a shadow of the man I used to be.
I shook my head, pushing the dark thoughts away. Lina wasn’t going to die. She was going to survive. She was going to wake up and yell at me for worrying too much and demand to see our daughter and everything was going to be fine.
It had to be.
I don’t know how many hours passed. Two, maybe three.
Long enough that the coffee went cold and Sarah fell asleep with her head on my father’s shoulder.
Long enough that Noah started checking his phone obsessively, probably updating the pack on what was happening.
Long enough that I started to go insane with the waiting.
Then the doors opened.
Dr. Hartley walked out, still wearing her surgical scrubs. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and her hair escaping from her cap. But when she saw us, when she saw me standing up so fast the chair nearly toppled over, she smiled.
“Luna is okay now,” she said.
I nearly collapsed with relief. Hunt caught my arm, steadying me.
“We stabilized her and stopped the bleeding,” Dr. Hartley continued. “It was touch and go for a while, but she’s a fighter. She’s in a drug-induced coma right now to help her body heal, so she’ll be unconscious for a couple of days. But she’s out of danger.”
“She’s going to be okay?” I asked, needing to hear it again.
“She’s going to be okay,” Dr. Hartley confirmed. “She’ll need time to recover, and she’ll be weak for a while. But yes, Alpha. Your mate is going to be fine.”
We all sagged with relief. Sarah burst into fresh tears, but happy ones this time. Noah clapped me on the back. Hunt grinned and muttered something about Lina being too stubborn to die. My father just stood there, nodding, his eyes suspiciously bright.
“And our daughter?” I asked.
“Your daughter is doing well in the NICU. She’s small, obviously, being six weeks early. But she’s breathing on her own and all her vitals look good. You can see her once we get you cleaned up and settled.”
That’s right. She was going to be fine. They were both going to be fine.
I closed my eyes and sent a silent thank you to whatever goddess had been watching over my family tonight.
We’d made it. We’d survived.
And soon, Lina would wake up, and I could finally introduce her to our daughter.