Page 56 of Holding His Hostage
While their marriage wasn’t something she cared to fix, he would always belong to Fiona, Lucas, and April. She could help him embrace that role. Be a friend to him when he needed it most.
She would like that.
To think, a week ago she was planning a funeral he would have hated, purely out of spite. She wasn’t proud of herself for that, and she swore, if David lived, she would find a way to get along better with him, if only for the kids’ sake.
She curled up on a comfortable chair, letting her leg dangle over one side. Where was Sloan? Mac had been here earlier to check on her, and Evelyn had called. But Sloan was notably missing, and she was oddly hurt by his absence.
Whereas she knew what she wanted from David, she had no such understanding about Sloan. She knew she loved him. She had always loved him. But did he want to be with her?
She wasn’t the same person she’d been then. She was a grown woman with a family and responsibilities he might not want to share, especially with David tucked awkwardly in the picture.
Baggage. She came with a lot of baggage, and she needed to learn to stand on her own two feet. She bit her nail, staring into space as time stretched indefinitely.
“Jo.”
She turned at her name, finding Sloan standing in front of her, showered and clean with his good arm in a sling. “What happened?” she asked.
“No big deal. Just a little scrape.”
“You needed a sling for a scrape?”
“A little bullet scrape.”
She huffed. “Then why would you say it was only a scrape?”
“Because I didn’t want you to worry.” He sat down in the chair next to her. “How is he doing?” His voice cracked.
“Still in surgery.”
“Is he going to make it?”
The emotions she’d been holding inside suddenly rose up to the surface. Her eyes burned. “I don’t know. He’s been in there a long time.”
He held out his prosthetic arm and she leaned into it, but the material was cold and the contact awkward. She pulled away. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Sure.”
“At his funeral, I was glad he was dead.” She wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “How awful is that? I was bitter and so full of hate. Now I’m sitting here praying he lives.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“Can’t I?” She shook her head. “We were married more than a dozen years, and I couldn’t see his side enough to even care if he was alive. I’m ashamed of those feelings now. I don’t know what I’m going to do if he doesn’t pull through. The kids need him. I need him.”
A tall woman in blue scrubs and a cap pushed through the double doors that led to the surgery department. “Mrs. Regan?”
She stood and stepped forward, away from Sloan. “Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Winslow. I operated on your husband. He had two bullet wounds. Each bullet passed completely through his upper torso.” She sighed heavily, then smiled. “He’s a very lucky man. He’ll be in recovery for an hour or two, but then you can see him.”
She instantly began sobbing, happy tears filling her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. “He’s going to be all right?”
“Yes, he is.”
She hugged the doctor with all her might. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much for taking such good care of him.” She turned to Sloan. “Isn’t that gr—”
She could just see him at the far end of the hall, the strap from his sling standing out from his dark shirt as he pushed through a swinging door. “Isn’t that great?” she whispered, but Sloan was gone.
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