Page 119 of Triple Power Play 3
REECE
Faint, pained groans invade my oblivion.
Whispers slither in the darkness, and an icy dread seeps into my bones.
It’s pitch-black, and I try to move, but I’m paralyzed. A jarring alarm rips through the silence, and I fight to control my ragged breathing.
Panic hinders a successful rescue.
I inhale deeply, and the acrid sting of antiseptic fills my nostrils. A rumble vibrates in my chest, my dry throat prickles, and realization hits me—it’s me.I’mgroaning. I urge my eyes to open and my limbs to cooperate, but my fingers only jerk.
A flood of adrenaline intensifies the voices, and my surroundings come into focus. With immense effort, I force my eyelids apart. Everything is blurry. The pull of unconsciousness is relentless, and they fall shut.
“Mr. Abercrombie, do you hear me?”
A presence hovers over me, and I grab it, cloth twisting in my fist.
“Let go, or we’ll have to restrain you.”
I drag the hissing suspect closer, and he grunts. They’re in for a world of hurt if they think they can subdue me.
“You’re only agitating him further.”That voice.
She’s here and upset, and my struggles come to a halt.
“A—” Her name lingers in the haze, surfacing only as a hoarse tickle in my throat.
I focus intensely, yearning to hear her. Metal latches on to my wrist, and I swing—or at least try. My muscles are lethargic, and a heavy weight traps my arm.
“You’re in the hospital, Reece, and coming out of anesthesia.”Mercer.
“Let me go,” she cries. “He won’t hurt me.”
The tickle becomes a raw growl, and I grapple to free myself, to reach for her. The alarm sounds again—not an alarm, an incessant beeping—and the cuffs bite into my skin.
“Return to the waiting room.”
“Please, Ethan.”
Her soft voice fades, engulfed by the fog, and I fight harder.
A hand lands on my chest, and I flinch. “Calm down if you want her.”
“Mer…” I swallow thickly. “Mercer.” It comes out as a raspy whisper.
“Ethan is a bull right now. He’s worried you’ll harm her or the baby.”
The name resonates in my mind, unable to find its place. “Baby.”
“Yes, pregnant, and he’s hanging on by a tight thread.”
Vague memories flutter behind my eyes like pages falling from a book. My angel asleep on the couch with a tiny baby bump. Modeling flowy, white dresses, black and red lace, pink satin. In a bikini, slightly more rounded, with a brilliant smile on her beautiful face. Aurora talking in the passenger seat next to me while I fret over the seat belt. Her arms around my neck, herfingers in my hair, her lips pressed to mine—the taste of sugar on my tongue.
A soothing warmth washes over me, and my rigid muscles loosen. “I’m calm.”
I doubt he hears my mumbles. The commotion diminishes, the silence between the beeps lengthens, and sleep wins.
“Te amo.”
