Chapter 159 That sound's More Believable
Chapter 159 That sound's More Believable
By ten-thirty the next morning, Amelia had been examined by two physicians, questioned about her pain three separate times, given another list of symptoms that would require an immediate return to the hospital and informed, very firmly, that being discharged did not mean she had permission to behave as though the previous forty-eight hours had never happened.
Bryson listened to every instruction as though he were preparing for an examination.
Amelia listened to approximately half of them before turning her attention to the clothes Samantha had brought from home.
She was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed in a soft cream sweater and loose black pants when Bryson returned from speaking with the discharge nurse. The bruising along her shoulder had darkened overnight, and another ugly patch of color had begun blooming over her hip where Jason had thrown her against the tiled wall. She moved carefully because twisting too quickly still pulled along her side, but the lower abdominal tenderness had eased considerably.
Most importantly, there had been no bleeding, no cramping and nothing overnight that had concerned her doctors about the pregnancy.
Bryson set a folder of discharge papers on the table.
“You are not lifting anything.”
Amelia looked at him. “Good morning.”
“We already said good morning.”
“That was several hours ago. I feel like we're starting a new shift.”
He ignored that. “No strenuous activity until your obstetrician clears you. You need to call immediately if the abdominal pain increases, if you start bleeding, if you become dizzy—”
“Bryson.”
“—if you experience significant cramping, unusual discharge or anything that feels different from what you're experiencing now.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
“You memorized the paper.”
“I read it.”
“You memorized it.”
“I retain information well under pressure.”
Amelia's mouth twitched. “You are absolutely going to drive me crazy for the next two weeks.”
“Only two?”
She laughed softly and reached for him.
Bryson stepped between her knees, allowing her arms to settle carefully around his waist before he bent and kissed the top of her head.
For several seconds, neither of them said anything.
It was still strange how quickly quiet could become precious after fear.
Amelia rested her cheek against his stomach. “I want to see Marcus before we leave.”
Bryson's hand moved gently over her hair.
“I know.”
“He's awake?”
“He was awake for about twenty minutes earlier. The nurse said he's drifting in and out because of the pain medication, but he's alert when he's awake.”
“Then I want to see him.”
“I already cleared it with his nurse.”
Amelia looked up.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
A smile touched her lips. “Look at you, anticipating my unreasonable demands.”
“There was nothing unreasonable about that one.”
He helped her stand.
Amelia waited until the brief pull in her side passed before taking his hand.
Marcus was three floors above them.
The hallway outside his room was quiet, and Evan was sitting in a chair near the door when they arrived. He stood immediately.
There were shadows beneath his eyes that hadn't been there two days earlier, but otherwise he looked composed.
Amelia stopped in front of him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she wrapped her arms around him.
Evan stiffened in surprise before carefully returning the embrace.
“I'm glad you're okay,” Amelia murmured.
“So am I.”
She pulled back and looked at him. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
Bryson gave him a look.
Evan amended, “Tired.”
“Better.”
Amelia studied him for another second. “You saved my life.”
Evan's expression changed.
“I did my job.”
“You shot an armed man before he could fire again.”
“He was pointing a gun at people I care about.”
That answer settled somewhere deep in Amelia's chest.
She squeezed his arm.
“Thank you anyway.”
Evan nodded once, clearly uncomfortable with being thanked for something he didn't view as optional.
“Marcus has been asking for you,” he said.
Amelia's throat tightened.
Bryson opened the door for her.
Marcus looked smaller in the hospital bed.
That was the first thing Amelia noticed, and she hated it.
He had always seemed physically impossible to diminish. Even when he was sitting quietly in a corner or leaning against a wall, Marcus carried himself with the contained weight of someone who was always prepared to move.
Now there were monitors beside him, an IV line disappearing beneath the hospital gown and a dressing beneath the blanket where the knife had entered his abdomen.
His face was pale.
But his eyes opened the moment Amelia stepped inside.
For several seconds, Marcus simply stared at her.
Amelia knew what he was doing.
He was checking.
Making sure she was still there.
Her eyes immediately burned.
“Hi.”
Marcus swallowed.
“You're okay?”
His voice was rough and weak.
Amelia crossed the room carefully.
“I'm okay.”
His gaze dropped instinctively toward her stomach.
“The baby?”
“The baby is okay too.”
The relief that crossed Marcus's face was so immediate that Amelia had to look away for a second before she lost whatever control she had left.
Bryson remained near the door, giving them space without leaving.
Amelia pulled the chair closer and sat beside Marcus.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
A faint trace of his usual expression returned.
“Sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
“No.”
She smiled through the tears gathering in her eyes.
Marcus watched her for a moment before looking at the bruising visible near the collar of her sweater.
His expression changed.
“I should've gotten you out.”
Amelia's smile disappeared.
“Marcus.”
“I knew something was wrong.”
“You did.”
“I felt it before we got there.”
“You did.”
“I should've pulled you out when I first felt it.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“Amelia—”
“Look at me.”
He did.
She held his gaze.
“I'm still here.”
Something flickered behind his eyes.
Amelia leaned forward slightly.
“You told me that every time you looked for me, you were checking to make sure I was still there. So look.”
Marcus's throat worked.
She placed a hand gently over her abdomen.
“I'm still here, and so is my baby.”
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, Amelia thought he might turn away.
Instead, when his eyes opened again, they were wet.
“Jason still got to you.”
“Yes.”
“He got you into that bathroom.”
“Yes.”
Marcus's expression tightened with each word.
Amelia didn't let him retreat into it.
“But when you couldn't get to me anymore, I remembered what you taught me.”
He stared at her.
“You told me what to do if someone grabbed me from behind. You told me not to waste energy fighting just because I was scared if fighting wasn't going to help me. You told me to watch, listen and wait for an opening.”
Marcus said nothing.
“You told me never to let someone move me to a second location if I had any possible way to prevent it.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I remembered all of it.”
Amelia's voice softened.
“When Jason tried to get me to leave that building, I refused because I heard you telling me not to go anywhere with him. When he held the gun against me, I didn't start fighting blindly because you taught me better than that. I waited.”
Marcus stared at her.
“And when Amy created the opening, Bryson reached me.”
Her fingers tightened around his.
“So don't sit there and tell yourself you weren't protecting me because you were unconscious by the time I needed half of what you taught me. You were still protecting me, Marcus.”
His eyes filled.
Amelia's voice broke slightly.
“You couldn't change what happened to Mariel.”
Marcus became very still.
She continued carefully.
“But everything you carried with you after losing her changed what happened to me.”
He looked away.
Amelia let him.
There were some truths that didn't become easier simply because they were spoken aloud.
After several seconds, Marcus whispered, “I kept seeing her.”
Amelia's chest tightened.
“When?”
“When I couldn't get up.”
His voice was barely more than air.
“I knew it was you. I knew where I was. But I kept thinking, not again.”
Amelia squeezed his hand.
“You didn't lose me.”
Marcus nodded, though he still wasn't looking at her.
“No.”
“And you are not allowed to turn what happened to me into another reason to punish yourself.”
His eyes finally returned to hers.
“That sounds like something people say when they want me to stop doing something.”
“It is exactly what I'm saying.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
Amelia smiled.
Then she leaned closer.
“And now that we've established I'm still here, you can stop checking for me every thirty seconds when you're back at work.”
Marcus looked at her.
“No.”
She blinked.
Bryson laughed quietly from the doorway.
Amelia turned toward him. “You heard that?”
“I did.”
“Your employee is insubordinate.”
“I'm considering a promotion.”
Marcus almost smiled.
The small piece of normalcy was exactly what Amelia needed.
She stayed until the nurse came in and told Marcus he needed to rest.
Before Amelia stood, Marcus tightened his fingers weakly around hers.
“I'm sorry.”
She shook her head.
“No more apologies.”
His gaze dropped toward her stomach once more.
Amelia understood.
“We're okay.”
Marcus nodded.
This time, he seemed to believe her.
At least a little.
That would have to be enough for now.
Ethan was halfway through arguing with a nurse about whether he needed the sling when Amelia found him near the discharge desk.
He looked better than he had the night before, although his upper arm was heavily bandaged and there was stiffness in the way he held it against his body.
The nurse looked relieved when Bryson and Amelia approached.
“Good,” she said. “Maybe one of you can convince him that the doctor knows more about gunshot wounds than he does.”
Ethan looked offended.
“I never said I knew more.”
“You said the sling was unnecessary.”
“It is annoying.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Amelia crossed her arms.
“Wear the sling.”
Ethan stared at her.
“You're siding with her?”
“You got shot yesterday.”
“Yes, everyone keeps reminding me.”
“Probably because you got shot yesterday.”
The nurse handed him a packet of papers. “Imaging showed no fracture. The bullet passed through soft tissue without damaging the major vessels, and there is no current evidence of significant nerve injury. That does not mean you get to pretend nothing happened.”
Amelia looked pointedly at Ethan.
He sighed.
“Yes, ma'am.”
The nurse walked away looking deeply satisfied.
Amelia's expression softened.
“You really are okay?”
“I'm sore, but yeah. They cleaned everything, stitched what needed stitching, loaded me up with antibiotics and gave me a list of reasons Bryson is apparently going to call me every two hours.”
Bryson frowned. “I was not planning to call you every two hours.”
Ethan looked relieved.
“I was planning to have Samantha do it.”
“That's worse.”
A quiet voice came from behind them.
“Ethan?”
Amy stood several feet away.
She looked exhausted, and Amelia immediately noticed the way her attention went to Ethan's bandaged arm.
Ethan looked at her.
Amy hesitated before approaching.
“I heard the bullet went through.”
“It did.”
“And you're okay?”
“I will be.”
She nodded but didn't seem to know what to do with her hands.
“I am so sorry.”
Ethan's expression changed.
Amy swallowed.
“That bullet was meant for me.”
“No. The bullet was fired at you.”
Her eyes lifted.
“There is a difference.”
“If I'd never moved—”
“You would've been standing in front of an armed man who was pointing a gun at you.”
Amy stopped.
Ethan shifted slightly against the sling.
“I'm pretty attached to my arm, Amy, and I'd definitely prefer not to get shot again. But I'm not going to stand here and tell you that you should've stayed upright so the bullet hit you instead.”
Her eyes filled.
“I didn't mean for anybody else to get hurt.”
“I know.”
Amy nodded and looked away before the tears could fall.
Ethan studied her for another moment.
“Next time you decide to rush a man holding a gun, though, maybe give the rest of us a little warning.”
A startled laugh escaped her.
Ethan's mouth curved.
“That's all I'm asking.”
Bryson shook his head.
“There will not be a next time.”
“Even better,” Ethan said.
Amelia watched Amy's shoulders loosen slightly.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't absolution.
It was simply one less piece of guilt for Amy to carry that didn't belong entirely to her.
Sometimes that was enough.
James was waiting in a private conference room near the hospital's administrative wing before Amelia and Bryson left.
Evan joined them, as did one of the investigators working the gallery case.
The meeting was short by design.
Amelia was going home.
Bryson had made that clear before they entered the room.
James began with the information Amelia cared about first.
“So far, the public story is holding.”
Lila had been the person most adamant about that once she'd understood what had happened.
Before the confrontation in the restroom reached its worst point, gallery staff had moved the guests out under the explanation that there was a suspected utility problem near the rear of the building. Fire personnel, EMS and police had subsequently been routed through the service side, and from the front of the gallery, the increased emergency presence had appeared consistent with the evacuation guests had already been given.
No guests had seen Jason's body.
No one had seen Marcus being treated for a stab wound.
Ethan's shooting had happened after the public spaces were cleared.
Amelia had been removed through the secured service access rather than the main entrance.
James folded his hands on the table.
“There have been a few social posts about the evacuation, but nothing beyond speculation about a gas leak or damaged pipe. No legitimate outlet has reported the assault, Jason's death or Amelia being taken hostage.”
Amelia exhaled.
“And Lila?”
“She released a statement this morning saying the gallery opening was interrupted by a building emergency, everyone was evacuated safely and the gallery will reopen once the necessary inspections are complete.”
Amelia looked at Bryson.
“Good.”
Bryson nodded toward James. “Keep it that way.”
“That is the intention.”
James was careful with his wording.
Law enforcement had not been deceived. Investigators had full access to the gallery, the evidence, Jason's body, medical information obtained through the appropriate channels and every security recording relevant to the attack.
The containment was about the public.
Not the investigation.
Bryson looked toward the investigator. “How did Jason get in?”
“We have a preliminary answer.”
The investigator opened a folder.
“The catering company submitted a verified staffing list before the event. One of the employees originally scheduled for the opening received a message several hours before his shift telling him the assignment had been canceled because staffing had changed.”
Evan's expression hardened.
“From the catering company?”
“It appeared to be. It wasn't.”
Bryson leaned forward.
“Jason took his place.”
“Yes. He had the employee's full name, shift information, reporting location and enough details about the catering operation to present himself as a legitimate replacement when another staff member questioned him.”
Amelia frowned.
“But wouldn't security have checked him against the original list?”
“They did. The name was on it.”
Bryson's jaw tightened.
The investigator continued.
“We don't yet know whether Jason intercepted information independently or received the staffing details through the person Ashley used to communicate with him. After Amy's recorded conversation yesterday, we're treating that connection as a priority.”
“So security wasn't simply waved past,” Amelia said.
“No. Someone exploited legitimate information.”
Evan looked furious anyway.
Bryson knew why.
Competent security could still be beaten.
Knowing that didn't make the violation easier to accept.
“What about another attacker?” Bryson asked.
The investigator shook his head.
“At this time, we have no evidence that anyone else was tasked with harming Amelia. We know Ashley used some form of intermediary to communicate with Jason, but being a conduit does not automatically make that person part of the attack. We need evidence before we decide what they knew.”
Amelia looked toward Bryson.
He understood the question she wasn't asking aloud.
“January twelfth?”
The investigator nodded.
“The wedding security plan is being reassessed, but nothing we've recovered so far indicates another active plot.”
That mattered.
Bryson didn't relax completely.
Amelia doubted he would relax completely until approximately six months after their wedding.
But something in his expression eased.
James closed the folder in front of him.
“The district attorney is handling Ashley from here. The murder charge involving Elysa will be formally processed, and investigators are continuing to build the gallery case through the recording, digital evidence and whatever communications they recover.”
“And Amy?” Amelia asked.
“Cooperating.”
Bryson glanced at her.
“She gave a full statement?”
“Yes, including the hotel incident.”
His expression changed slightly.
Amelia squeezed his hand beneath the table.
That was another thing they would eventually have to process.
Not today.
Today already had enough in it.
Amelia knew something was wrong the moment the elevator doors opened onto the penthouse.
The apartment was too quiet.
She looked at Bryson.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“That answer sounded guilty.”
“I haven't said anything yet.”
“Exactly.”
He guided her forward with one hand resting lightly at her back.
The apartment remained suspiciously silent until Amelia rounded the corner into the living room.
Then everyone started talking at once.
“She's home.”
“Don't crowd her.”
“I told you people not to stand directly in the entrance.”
“Bruce, move the food.”
“Why would I move the food?”
“Because there are nine containers on one table.”
“There should be twelve.”
Amelia stopped.
Samantha was already approaching with tears in her eyes. Martina stood near the sofa with Maya, while Cole was attempting to rearrange the mountain of food Bruce had apparently spent the morning preparing. Evan had beaten them home somehow, although Amelia suspected he'd come only long enough to check that everything was secure before returning to the hospital later.
Lila and Claire were there too.
Amelia's eyes immediately went to Lila.
“Oh, honey.”
Lila crossed the room before Amelia could say anything and wrapped her carefully in a hug.
Amelia closed her eyes.
“I'm sorry about your opening.”
Lila pulled back so abruptly that Amelia nearly laughed.
“No.”
“Lila—”
“My gallery had a building emergency.”
Amelia stared at her.
Lila lifted one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“As far as anyone outside the people who need to know is concerned, we smelled something suspicious in the back, evacuated everyone and called emergency services because I am a responsible business owner.”
Claire folded her arms. “A responsible business owner who apparently has the worst luck in Chicago.”
Lila ignored her.
“The gallery is fine. The artwork is fine. The children's pieces are fine. The opening will be rescheduled.”
Amelia's eyes filled.
“Your first opening.”
“And I will have another one.”
“But—”
“Amelia.”
Lila took both of her hands.
“A man tried to take you while you were pregnant, Marcus got stabbed, Ethan got shot and somehow you think I'm standing here mourning hors d'oeuvres?”
Amelia laughed wetly.
Lila's expression softened.
“My gallery is still standing.”
She leaned closer.
“And quite frankly, half the people who attended have already posted about how dramatic it was being evacuated from a Hearst gallery opening. Apparently a possible gas leak has made me mysterious.”
Claire nodded solemnly. “One woman called it immersive.”
Amelia blinked.
“What?”
“I wish I were joking.”
The laugh escaped Amelia before she could stop it.
It hurt her side.
Bryson immediately frowned.
She pointed at him. “Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“Yes.”
Bruce appeared with a bowl.
“Sit.”
Amelia stared at him.
“You too?”
“You haven't eaten enough.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know.”
She looked around the room.
There had been a time when this many people in her home would have exhausted her.
A time when she would have smiled politely, thanked everyone for coming and begun calculating how quickly she could reclaim silence.
Now Samantha was fluffing pillows she didn't need, Maya was quietly asking whether she wanted to see the latest sketch she'd finished, Bruce was offended by hospital food on principle, Lila was describing increasingly ridiculous social-media theories about the evacuation and Claire was correcting every exaggerated detail.
Cole handed Amelia a blanket even though she hadn't asked for one.
Martina brought her tea.
Nobody asked permission to care for her.
And Amelia didn't ask them to leave.
She sat in the middle of all of it and let herself be loved.
People drifted out naturally over the next several hours.
Evan returned to the hospital.
Claire and Lila left together after extracting a promise that Amelia would call if she needed anything.
Maya and Martina disappeared toward their rooms.
Cole finally stopped hovering after Bryson threatened to assign him something useful if he continued pacing.
Bruce left food labeled with instructions so detailed they bordered on hostile.
Eventually, the penthouse settled.
Not empty.
Just quiet.
Bryson walked Amelia upstairs slowly.
When they reached their bedroom, she stopped near the foot of the bed.
“What?”
Amelia looked around.
Nothing about the room had changed.
Everything had.
Bryson came up behind her and rested his hand against the small of her back.
“We're getting married in thirteen days.”
He smiled.
“Yes, we are.”
Amelia turned within his arms.
“Thirteen.”
“I know how calendars work.”
“I don't think I've actually thought about the wedding in days.”
Bryson brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
“We've been busy.”
“That is one word for it.”
Her smile softened.
For months, January twelfth had seemed to exist on the far side of something.
Carl.
Ashley.
Threats.
Security.
Another crisis.
Another person determined to make their love part of someone else's anger.
They had kept moving toward the date while constantly looking over their shoulders.
Tonight felt different.
There were still investigations happening. Marcus was still in a hospital bed. Ashley still had charges coming that would take months, perhaps years, to resolve. Carl would eventually leave jail and have to discover what remained of the life he'd repeatedly set on fire.
None of it was magically finished.
But for the first time, Amelia didn't feel as though another disaster was waiting behind the next door.
She looked up at Bryson.
“Do you think Lila is going to survive thirteen more days of wedding planning?”
His expression became thoughtful.
“No.”
Amelia laughed.
“She has been waiting her entire life for this wedding.”
“Which is precisely why I think the rest of us are in danger.”
“That sounds more believable.”
Bryson bent and kissed her.
There was no urgency in it.
No fear.
No desperate need to reassure himself that she was still there.
Just Bryson.
Just Amelia.
When he pulled away, his forehead remained against hers.
“Thirteen days, sweetheart.”
Amelia smiled.
“Thirteen days.”
And for once, neither of them wondered what might happen before they got there.
They simply allowed themselves to look forward to it.