“Oh my God!” I cry. “You’re bleeding.” I try to get up. Asher’s face is as white as a ghost and he starts shaking his head, pulling me closer. “Let me go. We have to see where you’re hurt.”
“Not me, it’s not me.” His face is etched in worry. He picks me up and I start to squirm. Then I realize I feel wet between my legs.
“No,” I whisper, looking at Asher. “No,” I repeat, begging him to tell me that this is not happening. That I'm not bleeding.
“I'm taking her to the hospital. It will be faster if I drive her,” he says to his dad, but it feels like a dream. This cannot be happening.
“I'm driving. Get her in the cruiser,” Mr. James says quietly. I feel us moving but I'm numb. No tears, nothing. I don’t even know if I'm breathing. All I can think about is our daughter.
I hear the sound of beeping. My eyes flutter open. I can see the white of the hospital ceiling and everything that happened yesterday comes back to me. When I got here, my dad and grandmother arrived ten minutes later. He was ready to go down to the local jail and kill my mother. My cousins and uncle had to physically restrain him so he didn’t get arrested. The police still had to come in to take our statements, but from what I understand from Asher’s dad, my mom had been trying to find a way to get the money my grandparents left for a very long time. My ex-fiancé was her boy toy long before I met him. She said they had been sleeping together for two years when she came up with the plan that he would date me, get me to fall in love with him, ask me to marry him, then something else. She didn’t say what that something was, but it would happen to me. He would get the money and they would start a life together. Unfortunately for her, that plan fell through when I found out they were sleeping together.
Apparently, my grandparents left strict instructions that, if I was to die before I had any heirs, the money was to be donated to different charitable organizations. My mother had been scheming for a long time trying to get me out of the way. I guess she was on a roll during her questioning, and told the police that she set up the attack that happened to me in New York with the hopes that I would be left in a coma when it came time for me to receive my inheritance.
She figured that if I was in a coma, she would automatically be granted power of attorney and would have access to the money when it became available. Then she could transfer it to herself. She also admitted that she sent the flowers to me and paid the kid who dropped them off a few hundred dollars to get my signature on the transfer papers that she took to the lawyer.
I move my head to the side and look over to where Asher is asleep. He always looks peaceful in his sleep. His mom brought him another pair of sweats yesterday when she showed up, so he could get out of the one’s that were covered in my blood. His ankle is crossed over his fleece covered knee. He has on a black thermal that is so tight, I can make out every detail of his chest. His hands are intertwined and laying on his abs. His sleeves are pushed up, the tattoos on his arm on full display. His jaw is darker than normal. He never shaves over the weekends. He worked from home yesterday, so he’s extra scruffy.
Over the last few weeks, his skin has turned the color of caramel from working out in the sun. I bet a lot of women drive by his job sites just to see him without his shirt on. I know he takes it off to work, at least, occasionally. His tan is everywhere. He’s always beautiful, but asleep, he’s stunning. I wonder if I will ever get tired of looking at him.
My hand absently moves to my stomach. When I feel a slight flutter, I say a silent prayer that my daughter is okay. They were worried yesterday when they saw how much blood I lost. After lots of tests, the doctor found out that my cervix was bleeding due to the way I fell when I went for the gun. When I continued to bleed, they decided to keep me overnight for monitoring and put me on bed rest for a few weeks. This morning when they came to check on me, the bleeding had stopped and her heartbeat was stronger. The night doctor said that everything should be fine as long as I don’t push it. He also told me that I could be released as soon as my doctor showed up to sign me out.
“You awake?” Asher asks softly and I smile.
“Yeah,” I say, looking over at him. His eyes have dark circles under them from being awake most of the night, harassing anyone who came into the room with a million and one questions.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, sitting up and placing his hand over mine.
“Better. Tired, but much better.”
“Good.” He smiles and kisses my hand.
“Why don’t you go get a coffee?” I ask him.
“Nah, I'm good.”
“Babe, seriously, you look exhausted. Go get a coffee, walk around, and see if you can track down my doctor. This bed is really uncomfortable and I would like to go home.”
“I don’t know. We don’t have that machine at the house,” he says, pointing at the monitor for our daughter’s heartbeat. I look over at the machine and watch as her heartbeat thumps away. Then, I look back at him and can tell that he’s still worried.
“The doctor won’t let me leave if he thinks it’s too risky,” I tell him softly.
“I know, baby,” he says, bringing my hand to his mouth and holding it there after kissing my fingers. “I could have lost you both yesterday,” he says so quietly that I almost don’t hear him.
“You didn’t. We’re here and we’re safe.”