Chapter 125
Sophia
"Move! Get the fuck out of my way!" I screamed, pushing past a small crowd that had gathered, my hands covered in Blake's blood as the paramedics worked frantically to stabilize him on the stretcher.
"Ma'am, please step back," one of the paramedics ordered, his voice firm but not unkind.
"I'm coming with him," I insisted, my voice breaking as I tried to climb into the ambulance. "Please, I have to be with him."
"I'm sorry, but we need all the space possible to work on him," the paramedic replied, blocking my path. "His condition is critical, and every second counts."
"But he took that bullet for me!" I shouted, tears streaming down my face. "That fucking bullet was meant for me! You don't understand—he stepped in front of me. Please, I can't leave him!"
"The best thing you can do for him right now is let us do our job," he said, his tone softening slightly. "Meet us at St. Mary's. We'll take good care of him, I promise."
I stood frozen, my entire body trembling as they loaded Blake into the ambulance. This can't be happening. Not again. Not when we've just found our way back to each other. The doors slammed shut with a sickening finality, and the siren wailed to life, the sound cutting through me like a physical pain as the vehicle pulled away.
"Sophia." Caroline Winters appeared at my side, her normally pristine appearance slightly disheveled from the chaos. "I'll drive you to the hospital. My car is just outside."
I nodded numbly, unable to form words. My mind kept replaying the moment on an endless, torturous loop—Amanda's wild eyes burning with hatred, the gun pointed directly at my chest, Blake stepping in front of me without a moment's hesitation. The deafening crack of the gunshot. His body jerking backward into mine. The warm wetness of his blood seeping through my clothes.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. So much blood. There was so much fucking blood.
"The police have Amanda in custody," Caroline continued as we walked. "After this, all charges against you will be dropped. The surveillance footage clearly shows she was the aggressor, and your ankle monitor proves you were exactly where you were supposed to be."
Freedom. The thing I'd been fighting for all this time suddenly seemed meaningless. What good was freedom if Blake died because of me?
As we reached her car, I noticed Blake's iPhone on the ground—he must have dropped it when he fell. I picked it up, a sob catching in my throat when it unlocked with his thumbprint. Of course it would; it was still wet with his blood. His fucking blood on my hands, on the phone, on everything.
"I need to call Juliana," I said, scrolling through his contacts with shaking fingers. "She has to know. She can't find out from the news or some goddamn hospital call."
Caroline gave me a concerned look but didn't argue. I found Juliana's number and pressed call, my heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe. What would I say? How do you tell a mother her son has been shot protecting the woman she hates?
She answered on the second ring. "Blake? I was just about to call you. I wanted to—"
"Juliana, it's Sophia," I interrupted, my voice steadier than I expected, though my insides felt like they were being shredded. "Blake's been shot. Amanda had a gun, and she—" My voice finally broke, a harsh sob tearing from my throat. "He stepped in front of me. The bullet was meant for me. I'm so sorry."
There was silence for a moment, then a sharp intake of breath. When Juliana spoke again, her voice was tight with control.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes. The paramedics just took him to St. Mary's."
"He must love you very much," she said, and the unexpected response stunned me. No accusations. No blame. Just a simple acknowledgment that cut straight through me like a blade. "I'm on my way."
The call ended, and I sat back, trying to process Juliana's reaction. It was the last thing I'd expected from the woman who had once orchestrated my destruction. Is this some kind of twisted game? Or has seeing her son nearly die shifted something fundamental in her?
Caroline drove through Manhattan with a speed that suggested she'd done this before, weaving through traffic with practiced ease. I stared out the window, watching the city blur past, my mind racing with prayers I hadn't uttered in years.
Please don't take him. Not when we've just found each other again.
The hospital loomed ahead, its emergency entrance ablaze with lights. Caroline pulled up, and I was out of the car before she'd fully stopped, nearly stumbling in my haste.
"Where is he?" I demanded at the reception desk, my voice sharp with panic. "Blake Sterling. He was just brought in with a gunshot wound. I need to know where he is!"
The nurse looked up, her expression carefully neutral. "Are you family?"
"I'm his—" I stopped, unsure how to define myself. Ex-wife? The mother of his child? The woman he took a bullet for? "Please, I need to know if he's alright. I was there when it happened. His blood is all over me, for Christ's sake!"
"Dr. Harriman is with him now," she said, her eyes softening slightly at my obvious distress. "If you'll take a seat in the waiting area, someone will update you as soon as possible."
I was about to argue—to scream, to threaten, to do whatever it took to get information—when another nurse approached, her eyes widening as she took in my appearance.
"Oh my God. Are you injured, ma'am?" she asked, her gaze fixed on my blood-stained clothes.
"It's not my blood," I said, the words catching in my throat, making me want to vomit. "It's Blake's. It's all Blake's."
Her expression softened. "Come with me. You should be checked out."
I followed her mechanically, too exhausted to resist. She led me to a small examination room and took my vitals, murmuring reassurances I barely heard. My mind was with Blake, picturing him on an operating table, fighting for his life because he'd chosen to save mine.
Why did you do it, you stubborn idiot? Why would you risk your life for me after everything?
"Is there someone who can bring you a change of clothes?" the nurse asked gently.
"I'll arrange it," Caroline said from the doorway. She'd followed us in, her phone already in hand.
"I'll try to get you an update on Mr. Sterling," the nurse promised, patting my hand before leaving.
I sat on the edge of the examination table, staring at my blood-stained hands. I should wash them, I thought distantly. I should do something. But my body refused to move, as if staying perfectly still could somehow keep Blake alive.
"Sophia."