Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,335

impatience, breathing down the back of my neck.

“Bris, it’s gonna be . . .” The word “okay” congeals in my mouth. Bristol and I don’t lie, not to each other. Our relationship is built on uncomfortable conversations, shitty odds and, in Bristol’s words, love without walls. I’m not erecting walls between us now with anything less than the truth.

“I don’t know if it’s gonna be okay,” I admit quietly.

Her weary eyes spark and latch onto my confession, to my unexpected honesty.

“I’ve never made you promises I can’t keep, Bris, and I’m not gonna start bullshitting you now.”

I gulp back the trepidation that would keep me from saying what has to be said before they make the cut that will bring Zoe to us, for minutes, hours, or days.

“Shit’s about to get real,” I say. “And the only thing I can promise you is that I will love you for the rest of my life, and I truly believe we can survive anything together. Do you believe that?”

I’ll never forget this moment when, through the abject fear and despair and exhaustion saturating her eyes, I glimpse her trust in me. It’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received.

“Yes.” Her voice comes out frail, but that steel that reinforces her character. It’s there. It defies the shitstorm we’re flying into. I like to think it defies it because we are flying into it together. I’m not God—I can’t promise her miracles, and as badly as I wish I could, I can’t save Zoe. When it’s time to let her go, I’ll be as shredded as Bristol. I am her husband, though, and she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved. All I can promise is that through everything, we’ll have each other.

Chapter 41

Bristol

I WAKE UP DISORIENTED and numb in some places, vaguely aching in others. My last lucid memory is the concern etching lines into Grip’s face as he promised me everything would be okay.

No, that’s not right.

He didn’t promise everything would be okay during the C-section or afterward. He promised to love me, and I know he still does.

But is everything okay?

“Grip?” Briars clot my throat and make my voice rough.

“Hey.” He comes into view, and my heart pounds at the sight of him and then stops when I see him holding a tiny swaddled bundle. “You’re back.”

I remember now. My mind fights through the haze of drugs and exhaustion. I remember struggling to stay awake. Between the drugs and fatigue, I just needed to hear her cry. There was an incredible pressure below the curtain that blocked the lower half of my body, and then a sharp cry. Then, as if my body had held out as long as it possibly could, as soon as I heard that cry, everything went dark.

“Is she . . .”

Alive? Still here? Did I miss her? Is she already gone?

The questions clamor for first place in my head, muddling my thoughts. Tears aren’t far behind, burning my eyes and making my lips tremor.

“She’s right here.” I can’t figure out if Grip’s eyes are more tender when he looks down at our baby girl or back to me. “You wanna hold her?”

Syllables and sounds jumble in my throat, and something close to a whimper then an uncertain nod is all I can manage.

“Zoe,” Grip says, leaning down to the bed with his little bundle. “Meet your beautiful mama.”

He transfers the sweet weight to my arms, leaving a kiss in my hair, which I’m sure is mangled and matted all over my head, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, his lips linger.

The tip of a tiny hat peeks from beneath the striped blanket. I hesitate, knowing when I pull the blanket back, when I see her, there’s no going back. I slowly peel the cover away. My heart was braced for something gruesome. The pictures I found online promised nothing like what I’m holding. Her eyes may bulge a little more than typical, but they’re the same gray that stares back at me each morning in the mirror, and her little mouth, even at this stage, bears the wide fullness and sculpted lines of her father’s. I know what Dr. Wagner told me, what all the research says—that she has no cognitive function. How could she, missing most of her brain? I know any movement is just instinctual twitches, reflexes, not responses to stimuli. Maybe my heart just wants to fool itself into thinking there’s an awareness simmering in her eyes, that somehow she knows I’m