Page 148 of Anchor
Reid’s fists clenched. His lungs felt crushed, aching for air he couldn’t take in, but he could not move, could not speak, could only stare at Claire’s body as the team continued to work.
Finally, Patrick straightened slightly, his voice firm. “Bleeding’s slowing. She’s responding.”
The monitors steadied, sharp and certain, their rhythm strong again. The room itself seemed to breathe with them.
Rowan pulled back, his gown and gloves streaked with blood, and his chest heaving. “She’s back.”
Reid’s knees almost gave way, but Apex’s hand locked on his shoulder and held him upright.
Claire was alive. Their child was alive. And for the first time since the alarms had begun, Reid finally let himself breathe—but only a little. Vos was still out there.
ICU – PRIVATE ROOM – 1439 HOURS
Everything was soft. Not quiet, just soft like the world had put cotton between her ears and gauze in her throat. Claire’s eyes fluttered open.
The lights above cast a dusk-blue haze across the ceiling. Something beeped steadily to her right. Her chest felt heavy, not pain exactly, just pressure, as if someone had pressed pause on gravity. Her fingers twitched sluggishly.
A warm palm caught them instantly. “Claire,” came a low voice, raw and hoarse. “Hey, sweetness. You’re here.”
She turned her head slowly. Reid’s eyes were rimmed red, his jaw unshaven, and one hand was wrapped in a thin line of bandage. His fingers trembled where they gripped hers.
Her lips parted, cracked and dry. The first words scraped out of her throat were barely a whisper: “The baby… our baby girl?”
Reid leaned close, nodding quickly. “She’s here. She’s alive in the NICU. She’s tiny but strong. She’s breathing on her own with a little help.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “I need?—”
“Not yet,” Reid cut in gently, his voice breaking even as he tried to steady it. “You coded in surgery, Claire. They brought you back, but you lost so much blood.” He swallowed hard. “You almost didn’t make it. I almost lost you.”
Her free hand drifted weakly toward her belly. “Did they…?”
“No,” he shook his head, “they saved your uterus. Patrick, Rowan, Tuck… they fought hard for it. But you have to stay in this bed.”
Her breath hitched. “Vos?”
Reid’s jaw hardened as his voice dropped. “I wish the news was better. He’s still in the wind.”
Her face showed what she couldn’t say. She was afraid and angry at the same time. “And Heather?”
He hesitated, shaking his head. “I don’t know anything yet.”
Claire closed her eyes, but only for a heartbeat. They opened again, sharp with new tears. “Our daughter. Tell me again.”
Reid’s lips pressed to her hand. “She’s tiny, just one pound, nine ounces. She’ll be there waiting for you when your body is ready.”
A quiet knock pulled the moment apart. The door opened, and Rowan Vale entered with Tuck close behind him, both looking worn but steady. Rowan’s scrubs were wrinkled, his hair rumpled, his face unshaved. Tuck carried a tablet, glasses perched low, his calm threaded with exhaustion.
“You’re awake,” Rowan said, relief softening his voice.
Claire nodded faintly, then rasped, “Our baby…”
“She’s doing very well for a micropremie,” Rowan assured her. “And she’s a fighter, Claire. But so are you. Let us keep you steady a little longer, then you’ll see her.”
Tuck leaned over the bedrail, his tone gentler than she’d ever heard it. “Honey, you gave us a scare. You lost more blood than anyone should and came back anyway. But don’t push this. You stay flat and let us do the moving. You understand me?”
Claire’s eyes filled again. She nodded weakly, then whispered, “I just… I need her.”
Reid kissed her temple, his hand never leaving hers. “You will have her soon,” he murmured. “You’ll have both of us.”
