CHAPTER 306

CHAPTER 306
ALINA

Eventually Alexander eased himself off the bed, moving more slowly than usual, every shift of his weight just a little too careful. He bent to press one last soft kiss against my forehead.

"I'm going to freshen up," he murmured. "I'll be right back."

I watched him straighten, and that was when I saw it — the careful way he shifted his weight, the faint tightening around his mouth, the unmistakable limp as he took his first step toward the bathroom.

My stomach dropped. "Alexander."

He paused, glancing back. "Yeah?"

"You're limping."

His expression shifted immediately, something guarded sliding into place. "Wife—"

"How badly are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"Don't you dare." I pushed myself higher against the pillows, ignoring the dull ache ripping through my side, and the monitor beside me responded with a faster series of beeps that made his eyes flick toward it instantly.

"Forget the monitor. Your leg is bleeding, or shot, or broken, or something, and you're standing there telling me you're fine?"

"I'm not bleeding."

"That isn't the reassuring answer you think it is."

He stared at me for a second. I stared right back, refusing to blink first, and eventually he sighed and turned around, coming back toward the bed.

"What happened?" I demanded, sitting up further despite the ache it cost me. "When? How? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Because you were unconscious."

"That is not an excuse."

"It's a fairly good one."

"Alexander."

He was back at the side of the bed in two uneven steps, leaning down until his face was level with mine, one hand coming up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath my eye.

"Hey. Look at me." His voice stayed calm, steady, the tone he used when he needed me to actually listen.

"I'm okay. It was taken care of. Rogers checked it, and Alexis stitched it. It's nothing compared to what you went through."

My eyes went wide. "Alexis stitched it?"

He hesitated half a second too long. "Yes."

"Are you insane? She's not a nurse, Alexander!"

"She's perfectly capable—"

"Capable of what? Playing doctor with actual human skin?"

"She knows exactly what she's doing."

"She's your sister."

“She insisted, for the record. I told her I’d wait until Rogers finished with you and have him deal with it. She refused.”

“And you just let her?” I stared at him incredulously. “You let your sister stitch your
wound, freehand, like she was hemming a shirt?"

"She's stitched me up more times than I can count over the years, which, frankly, should worry you more than it reassures you, but here we are." he said, entirely too calm for a man currently under interrogation.

I dragged a shaky breath into my lungs, barely hearing him anymore, eyes moving over his leg searching for blood, swelling, anything that might tell me how badly he'd actually been hurt while I lay here unconscious, oblivious, useless to help him.

"Alina." His thumb brushed my cheek again, grounding. "Calm down. No stress, remember? Doctor's orders."

"I'm trying."

"You're doing a terrible job."

"I'm aware, thank you." I ignored the small twitch of his mouth and pressed on, heart still hammering. "Was it a bullet?"

His silence lasted half a second too long, and my face fell before he even answered. "Oh my God."

"It's not serious."

"You got shot?"

"Grazed."

"You got shot."

"Technically—"

"Do not say technically!" I reached for his wrist before he could pull away, holding tight. "How bad?"

"It went through." A beat, and I felt my breath catch entirely. "Entry and exit."

"And you just—" I stared at him, disbelief and horror tangled together in my chest.

"You just sat here all night, and this morning, with a gunshot wound, worrying about me, and you didn't say a single word about it?"

His jaw tightened. "You were unconscious. There wasn't exactly a good moment to bring it up."

Panic climbed higher in my chest, irrational and immediate, fueled by everything the last twenty-four hours had already thrown at both of us. I grabbed at his shirt with both hands, needing physical proof he was actually standing here, solid and warm and real. "Let me see it."

"Alina—"

"Let me see your leg, Alexander."

"I just told you it's fine."

"And I just told you I don't believe you."

His mouth twitched despite himself, some reluctant amusement sneaking through even now. "This is exactly why I didn't tell you."

"Why? Because I'm your wife, and you got shot, and apparently that's supposed to be information I don't need?"

"Like I said. Minor gunshot wound."

"You're limping." I narrowed my eyes at him, half fury, half something closer to fond exasperation despite everything.
"And you were hiding it."

"Yes."

"You're an idiot."

"That one's fair," he admitted, and something about the honesty in it briefly derailed my anger entirely, leaving something softer, more frightened, in its place.

I glared at him anyway, eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall yet. "Sit down."

"Wife—"

"Sit. Down."

Something in my voice must have finally landed, because after a moment he lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the mattress. I reached immediately for his leg, and he caught my hand before I got there.

"Careful," he said, and that single word made my heart lurch harder than anything else he'd said so far.

"It's hurting you right now."

"Not badly."

"You should've told me." My voice cracked, all the fight in it giving way to something more fragile.

"The second I woke up. Before the baby, before any of it — you should have told me you were hurt, instead of letting me lie here thinking you'd walked away untouched."

"Again," he said carefully, watching my face, "you had other things to worry about."

I stared at him for several long seconds before my eyes finally filled completely.

“What if it had hit you somewhere else? Somewhere vital?” My voice shook. “What if it had been a few inches higher, or lower? What if it had hit something important and—”

"What if I'd woken up and you—" I couldn't finish it, too terrifying to give a voice to.

My chest tightened just imagining it, and suddenly the fact that he was standing in front of me—alive, breathing, looking at me with those familiar eyes—felt like the only thing keeping the room from spinning.

"I could have lost you. Because you were too busy saving me to save yourself."

His entire expression changed, something raw breaking through the careful composure he'd been holding onto since the moment he walked back to this bed. "Wife—"

My hand found his wrist, gripping tighter than I probably needed to.

"I woke up and found out we were having a baby, and then I looked at you and thought you were okay." My voice trembled, cracking around every word.

"And this whole time you were sitting beside me with a bullet wound, letting me believe you'd come through last night untouched."

“And had you panicking about my leg instead of resting?” One eyebrow lifted, a flicker of amusement breaking through his exhaustion despite everything.

“Which exactly what’s happening anyway. Doctor’s orders be damned—you’d be halfway out of this bed already, dragging the IV pole behind you like some kind of one-woman medical parade, demanding to inspect my leg yourself.”

"...That's not entirely untrue."

"It's completely true, and we both know it." He moved closer, cupping my face between both hands. "I'm okay..I promise. "

"You could have died."

"So could you."

"That isn't comforting!"

A tiny, helpless smile touched his mouth despite everything. "No. Probably not."

I swatted weakly at his chest. "Stop smiling."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Maybe a little."

I glared at him through the tears finally spilling over. "You're impossible."

"And yet you married me."

"I'm beginning to seriously question my judgment."

"That makes two of us," he said, and despite everything, my mouth twitched too, betraying me completely.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine. "It went clean through," he murmured, voice low and steady now, all traces of humor gone.

"Missed the major vessels. Rogers checked it, Alexis stitched it, and both of them agreed I'll be fine. It hurts. I'll limp for a while. That's the whole story. Nothing you need to lose sleep over."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

I searched his eyes for any crack in that, any sign he was still protecting me from something worse hiding underneath the easy explanation. "You're not lying?"

"No."

"Because if you are, I swear to God, Alexander, I will drag myself out of this bed and find out for myself. IV and all. I'll make a scene. Rogers will have to sedate both of us."

"You will do absolutely nothing except lie down." His thumb brushed beneath my eye, catching a tear before it could fall any further. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"You should be."

"I know."

"I'm still mad."

"I know."

"Very mad."

"I gathered that much, yes."

"And I'm going to inspect that leg myself later," I added, narrowing my eyes for emphasis, daring him to argue.

His eyebrow lifted immediately. "You are absolutely not."

"I am."

"Wife."

"Don't wife me." I pulled back just enough to fix him with my sternest look, though it probably lost most of its authority given the tears still tracking down my face and the IV line taped to my hand.

"Now go clean yourself up before I decide to call Rogers back in here and have him check whether you actually have a functioning brain left in that skull of yours, because clearly something's not working right if you thought hiding a gunshot wound from your pregnant wife was a good idea."

His mouth curved, something warm and relieved moving through his exhausted expression despite the lecture. "Yes, ma'am."

“And Alexander?”

He paused at the edge of the bed, already turning toward me.

“Come back quickly.”

Something softened in his expression. He understood what I wasn't saying—the fear underneath those three little words, the same fear we'd both been carrying since last night, only wearing different faces.

“I will.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead, lingering there for a moment.

“I always come back.”

“You'd better.”

I caught his hand before he could pull away and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles, right over the faint scrape still healing there from last night.

His mouth curved.

“You're very bossy for someone who's supposed to be resting.”

“I'm your wife. It's practically in the contract.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. He gave my fingers one last squeeze before finally letting go.

I watched him limp toward the bathroom, my eyes following every careful step.

The second the door clicked shut,
I sighed and sank back against the pillows.

“Great,” I muttered to myself. “I'm married to an idiot who thinks getting shot is a minor inconvenience, and his sister apparently thinks she's Florence fucking Nightingale.”

I froze. My eyes slowly dropped to my stomach.“Oh.”

A tiny wince crossed my face.
“Sorry, baby.”

I rested my palm protectively over the blanket, lowering my voice as though we were sharing a very serious secret.

“Pretend you didn't hear the 'F' word. That was your mother having a difficult morning.”

I paused. “And definitely don't tell Daddy.”

My mouth twitched. “He'll use it against me forever. He'll probably start giving you speeches about your mother's terrible influence before you're even born.”

I stroked my stomach gently.
“So we're keeping that between us, okay? You and me. No snitching.”

I stared at the bathroom door.

“He's definitely going to regret leaving me alone with my thoughts.”