Page 136 of Anchor
“Then you don’t beg,” Tuck said. “You lead.”
Reid turned to him. “What does that mean? Bed rest? Lock her in a room?”
Tuck gave him a look that cut clean. “It means you protect her from anything that raises her pulse. Stress. Fear. Conflict. And you.”
Reid stiffened. “You think I’m the problem?”
“I think you’re the one she’d die for,” Tuck said evenly. “And that means she’ll push herself further for you than for anyone else. If you so much as raise your voice, if you look at her the wrong way, if you even hint that she’s failing you, she’ll break herself in half to prove you wrong.”
Patrick stepped forward, arms crossed now. “She’s already carrying you almost dying. You want her to carry guilt too?”
Reid dropped his gaze, throat tight. “I should’ve told her the minute I knew Vos was circling,” he said. “I was trying to protect her.”
“You were trying to delay the inevitable,” Patrick said. “Now she knows, and it nearly cost her everything.”
Reid’s jaw flexed. “I won’t let it happen again.”
“Good,” Tuck said. “Here’s what’s next.” He stepped in closer, lowering his voice. “She stays in the suite. Full monitoring, both electronic and an OB nurse. I’ll move my office to the suite next door. All I need is a laptop and my phone. You and Claire can share the bed. You will not let her get up unless one of us clears it. That includes going to the bathroom. I’ll keep doing biweekly scans. We will push betamethasone early to prep the baby’s lungs.”
Patrick added, “I’ll rotate in with the maternal trauma team and help manage her emotional stress. But it has to be consistent with no new threats and no new fights.”
“And Vos?” Reid asked.
Tuck didn’t hesitate. “Tree Town One’s on him. Let them work. You keep her off the warpath and off her computer.”
Reid nodded, then finally spoke the truth he’d been holding since the moment he saw her collapse. “She and the baby are all I have.”
Tuck clapped a hand on his shoulder, grip strong. “Then let’s make damn sure they make it.”
As the monitors ticked softly,Claire blinked awake. The overheads were dimmed, and the world felt padded, muffled. It was a sterile hush with warm edges. The room smelled like lemon wipes, soft linen, and Reid.
He was in the recliner beside her bed, long legs stretched out, arms crossed—not sleeping. He was watching her. The dim lamplight made his features soft, but his eyes were anything but.
“You look like you haven’t moved in hours,” she murmured.
“I haven’t.”
She tried to sit up, but the pressure low in her pelvis reminded her of what had happened. The fear came back first and then the shame. “I should’ve called you with what I found.”
Reid moved to the bed. “No, I should’ve told you what we knew.” His hand found hers, warm and anchoring. “You were right to be furious. But I should’ve never let it reach that point.”
Claire’s eyes burned. “I don’t want to be fragile.”
“You’re not,” he said. “You’re fierce. But right now, you’re fierce on bedrest.”
She laughed once, weakly, against the lump in her throat.
He leaned in, kissed her forehead, then brushed a thumb along her cheek. His voice dropped lower, the way it always did when it was just the two of them. “I thought I lost you today.”
“You didn’t.”
“I almost did.”
Claire swallowed hard. “Reid?”
“Yeah?”
“If something happens to me… promise me you’ll protect her.”
