Chapter 78: The Weight of Hands
Trishelle’s POV
Mother? The word echoed in the sterile room, a foreign concept that felt both alien and achingly familiar. She was crying for her mother? She shook her head, trying to grasp the slippery threads of the hazy nightmare, but all that remained was the chilling residue of fear. Fear of what, she wasn’t sure, though a deep, instinctual part of her knew she didn’t want to find out. The very thought of probing deeper into that darkness made her stomach clench. "I’m not sure," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don’t remember."
James reached out, his fingers gentle as they stroked her hair, the tender gesture grounding her in the present moment. "I’m not sure what it was, but the baby was upset," he said, his voice tight with concern. "I felt it through the bond, a spike of pure distress. I rushed out of the meeting with Sam the second I felt it."
Trishelle’s hands flew to her belly, feeling how taut and rigid it was beneath her trembling fingers. It was as if her pup was holding its breath, frozen in fear, mirroring the terror she herself had just experienced. The thought of her child feeling such distress made her heart ache. "It’s okay, little one," she murmured, rubbing slow circles over the firm swell. "Mummy’s okay now. We’re safe."
Both Bradley and James placed their hands on her stomach, their large, warm palms covering hers in a gesture of protection and reassurance. The little one seemed to feel their combined presence, their strength, and finally relaxed against her with a soft flutter that brought tears of relief to her eyes.
Trishelle let out a shaky sigh, feeling the tension drain from her own body like water through a sieve. She looked up at Bradley, taking in the pallor of his skin, the shadows under his eyes, the way he held himself carefully despite trying to appear strong. "I’m so glad you’re alright, Bradley," she whispered, her eyes finding his.
James walked around to the other side of the bed and slapped Bradley on the shoulder, a little too hard, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "So am I."
Bradley winced, but a slow, tired smile crossed his lips, transforming his haggard features. "How could I leave?" he asked, his voice rough but laced with dry humor. "You let my mate walk straight into danger while that maniac is still on the loose. I have to kick your ass for that alone."
The two men began to bicker like brothers, their voices a low, familiar grumble that spoke of deep friendship and shared history. Trishelle watched them, a small smile touching her lips despite everything. They were fine. Her men were fine. The thought made her pause, and she bit her lower lip, feeling the weight of that possessive pronoun. Looking at them from under her lashes, she knew the feeling wasn’t wrong, but it was a tangled, confusing mess inside her - a knot of emotions she wasn’t ready to untangle. She shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside. Right now, the biggest thing, the only thing that mattered, was taking care of Bradley.
She stood, straightening his pillow and the thin blanket with careful hands, needing to do something useful. "James, can you call Lorenzo? Let him know Bradley’s awake." At his nod, she offered a grateful smile. Turning back to the man in the bed, she asked softly, "Are you hungry?"
Bradley shook his head, his hand fumbling for the button that would raise the bed. He gently tugged on her hand until she sat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle his injured side. The warmth of his fingers around hers sent a wave of comfort through her. "Baby, please talk to me," he said, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "My wolf was going insane. He was screaming that something was wrong with you. If not for him, I might have slept for another day."
Trishelle closed her eyes, trying to force the images to come, to make sense of the fragments that danced just beyond her conscious reach. All she could remember was the oppressive darkness, the soul-crushing fear, and... a wave of profound sadness that threatened to drown her even now. "I really can’t remember much," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "Just that it was dark and I was so scared. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life."
Her body began to tremble, the aftershocks of terror still rippling through her. Bradley wrapped one strong arm around her, pulling her head down to rest under his chin despite the sharp shot of pain that lanced through him. The movement cost him, but it didn’t matter. He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent - a mix of her own sweetness and the faint, sharp tang of her lingering fear. God, he had missed her so much. The days without her had felt like years. He hated the fact that she was here, in the middle of this danger, exposed to threats he couldn’t fully protect her from, but he and his wolf could not find the strength to send her away. They needed her too much.
Bradley’s POV
James came back into the room, informing them that Lorenzo and Sam were on their way. Nicole had stayed back at the hotel, completely exhausted from the emotional toll of the day. The pain was starting to register again, a deep, insistent throb that radiated from his side and seemed to pulse with every heartbeat. "Water," Bradley rasped, his throat feeling like sandpaper.
Trishelle poured him a glass, then another, her movements efficient and caring. He drained them both, his throat suddenly parched in a way that surprised him. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was, how his body was crying out for the most basic sustenance. Trishelle smiled at him, and that simple gesture made his heart skip a beat, made everything else fade into insignificance. She looked so beautiful, so alive, her eyes bright with relief and something else he couldn’t quite name. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would fight the devil himself if it meant spending one more moment with her.
He felt a stirring beneath the thin hospital blanket, a purely biological reaction to her presence, her scent, her proximity. Heat crept up his neck as he felt himself blush, mortified when James noticed, a wide grin spreading across his face like a cat who’d caught a canary. "Well, look at that," James laughed, clapping his hands together with undisguised amusement. "The Alpha’s all but healed."
Bradley scowled, and would have launched himself at the smug bastard, injured or not, if Lorenzo hadn’t chosen that exact moment to rush in, fully in mother hen mode, his medical bag already open.
Once again, he was poked and prodded, his vitals checked, the site of his surgery examined with clinical precision. He wished his wolf’s accelerated healing would just kick in already, would spare him this indignity. He was tired of being tired and achy, tired of feeling weak when he needed to be strong. All his grumbling did was earn him a fierce glare from Trishelle, her eyes flashing with a protectiveness that both warmed and chastened him. Great. Between her and the doctor, he’d be lucky if he could take a piss without them standing guard outside the bathroom door.
Trishelle’s POV
Trishelle hated to leave Bradley’s side, but the doctor was right. She and the pup needed rest, needed to recover from whatever had happened to her. She didn’t realize just how exhausted she was until she stood under the hot spray of the shower in the hotel room next to Bradley’s and felt every muscle in her body finally begin to unclench, the tension she’d been carrying melting away with the steam. Sam had ordered room service, and she attacked the food with an appetite that surprised her, knowing she needed to keep her strength up for both herself and the baby. While she picked at a decadent chocolate cake for dessert, savoring each rich bite, she called Sammy and gave him the good news, so he could share it with the rest of the pack who had been anxiously waiting for updates.
There was a soft knock at the door. "Come in," she called, thinking it was room service coming for the empty tray.
She continued rubbing the towel over her damp hair, working out the tangles, until a familiar, deep voice called her name. The towel fell from her numb fingers, landing in a heap at her feet.
"James? What are you doing here?"
He lifted one shoulder in that casual, confident way of his, though she caught a flicker of something uncertain in his eyes. "I wanted to check and make sure you were alright. Can I come in?"
Trishelle’s hand flew to her mouth as she realized she’d left him standing in the doorway. "Of course, I’m sorry. I thought it was someone coming to get the tray."
James stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. His gaze flickered to the empty plates on the table, noting how thoroughly she’d cleaned them. "Was it good?"
Trishelle laughed, a light, genuine sound that seemed to ease some of the tension in the room. "It was, but to tell you the truth, I miss your cook’s strawberry tarts." The admission surprised her with its intimacy, the way it acknowledged the life she’d briefly lived in his home.
James nodded, already making a mental note to have some flown in, to give her this small comfort. He stepped closer, and Trishelle stood, a flutter of nervousness in her stomach that she couldn’t quite explain. She wondered why. It’s not like they’ve never been alone before. Maybe it was the intimacy of the fancy hotel room, the closed door, the bed just a few feet away with its turned-down covers. She chuckled to herself, trying to dispel the sudden awareness. Maybe it was just time for bed, and her exhausted mind was playing tricks on her.
James came to a stop directly in front of her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He reached out, his hand warm and solid as it rested on her stomach, clearly visible under the thick hotel robe she’d tied over her protruding belly. He felt the pup kick against his palm, a strong, insistent movement, and a deep, primal satisfaction that couldn’t be explained in words spread through his chest. She looked beautiful carrying his pup, her hair damp and curling at the ends, her face freshly scrubbed and glowing, her cheeks rosy from the heat of the shower. There was something ethereal about her in this moment, something that made his chest tighten with an emotion he wasn’t ready to name.
He leaned closer, his voice a low whisper near her ear as he inhaled her clean, soapy scent, free of perfume or artifice. "Would you like me to help you dry your hair?"