Chapter 101 #101
Chapter 101
~Dwayne's POV~
The lounge was dark except for the single lamp in the corner.
I sat there, whiskey untouched, staring at nothing.
Marcus's words kept replaying. Cynthia. The fingerprints. The offshore account.
My mother deserved justice.
And I was going to get it. No matter what it took.
My phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen.
Shailyn.
My heart did that thing it always did when her name appeared. That stupid, reckless flutter that I couldn't control no matter how hard I tried.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
"Hey"
Nothing.
"Shailyn?"
A sound. Barely audible. Like someone trying to breathe through a straw.
"Shailyn? Can you hear me?"
Nothing. Just that breathing. Ragged. Desperate.
Every nerve in my body went cold.
"Shailyn! What's wrong? Talk to me!"
A choked sound. Not words. Something broken trying to form itself into something recognizable.
"Shailyn! SHAILYN!"
The line went dead.
I was on my feet before the silence fully registered, legs moving before my brain had fully processed what was happening.
I took the stairs three at a time.
Their bedroom door was closed.
I didn't knock.
I threw it open.
"Shailyn!"
She was on the floor.
Her cardigan twisted around her, her hair splayed across the carpet. Her skin was white. Not pale. White. The kind of white that made my stomach drop straight to the floor.
"No. No, no, no—"
I was on my knees beside her in a second, my hands on her face, tilting her toward me.
"Shailyn. Baby, look at me. Open your eyes."
Nothing.
I pressed my fingers to her neck. Her pulse was there. Barely. A faint pulse, and it was getting weaker by the second.
Then I saw it.
Blood.
Between her legs. Dark and wet, soaking into the carpet.
"Jesus Christ." The words came out strangled. "Our babies."
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip my phone.
Then my eyes caught something else.
A piece of paper on the floor beside her. White. Folded once. Handwriting visible on the outside.
I reached for it without thinking, tucking it into my jacket pocket in one swift motion.
Later. I'd deal with it later.
Right now, I need to get her out of here.
I scooped her up carefully, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She weighed nothing. Too light. Something about that terrified me more than the blood.
"Hold on," I whispered against her hair. "I've got you. Hold on."
I carried her down the stairs as fast as I dared without jostling her.
Father appeared at the bottom of the staircase the moment I reached it, his face draining of color when he saw Shailyn in my arms.
"What happened?" His voice cracked.
"I don't know. I found her like this. Call an ambulance. Now."
He fumbled for his phone.
Gramps appeared from the hallway, leaning on his cane, eyes sharp and calculating even as his face arranged itself into something that looked like concern.
"Good heavens," he said. "What's going on?"
"She collapsed," I said, not slowing down. "She's bleeding. Father, the ambulance—"
"I'm calling. I'm calling."
"Is she alright?" Gramps stepped forward, reaching toward Shailyn.
"Don't touch her."
His hand froze midair. Something flickered across his face. Something cold. Gone before anyone else would have caught it.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "Whatever you say, son."
I didn't have time to unpack that.
The ambulance arrived in four minutes. It felt like four hours.
The paramedics took her from my arms, and the moment she left my hands, I felt like someone had ripped part of me out of my chest.
"She's pregnant," I told them immediately. "Twins."
"We'll take care of her," the woman said, already working. "We need to move. Her blood pressure is dropping."
"Save her." My voice came out raw. Broken. "Save her and the babies. At all cost. Do you understand me? At all cost."
"We're doing everything we can, sir."
They loaded her into the ambulance, and I climbed in after her.
Father appeared at the door. "I'm following. The driver will bring us."
I nodded, unable to speak.
The doors closed.
I sat beside her, holding her hand. It was cold. Too cold.
"Stay with me," I whispered. "Please. Stay with me."
\---
The hospital was a blur of white lights and sharp voices.
They took her through double doors I wasn't allowed to follow.
"Sir, you need to wait here—"
"I'm family."
"Are you her husband?"
"No, I'm—" The word stuck. "I'm her brother-in-law. But I'm the one who brought her in. I have her medical information."
They let me fill out the paperwork. I gave them everything I knew. Her allergies. Her blood type. The pregnancy. The twins. I know about my woman of course.
"Her pulse is dropping," one of the doctors said, appearing briefly. "We're taking her into surgery."
"Surgery? What kind of surgery?"
"We need to stabilize her. The bleeding isn't stopping. We're doing everything we can."
"The babies—"
"We're focused on all three of them. That's all I can tell you right now."
He disappeared behind the doors again.
I stood there, frozen, in the middle of the hospital corridor.
My hands were shaking.
I pulled out my phone and texted Luke: “Shailyn collapsed. Come now, to the hospital now.”
Then Hannah: Shailyn is at the hospital. Emergency surgery. Come immediately.
Hannah's response was instant: ON MY WAY. Is she okay?
I couldn't answer that.
I sank into one of the plastic chairs lining the corridor and pressed my palms against my eyes.
The letter.
My hand moved to my jacket pocket. It was still there. I could feel the paper against my chest.
I looked around. The corridor was empty. Father hadn't arrived yet. No one was watching.
I pulled it out with trembling hands.
The paper was old. Slightly yellowed. The handwriting was elegant. Feminine.
I unfolded it.
My eyes moved across the first line.
Then the second.
The color drained from my face so fast I felt dizzy.
I kept reading.
Line by line, sentence by sentence, the words carved themselves into my brain like they were being branded there. Each paragraph hit harder than the last. Each revelation more devastating than the one before it.
By the time I reached the end, my hands were shaking so violently the paper rattled.
"Jesus Christ," I breathed.
I read it again. From the beginning. Every single word.
The same.
Everything that somehow connects every single piece of this nightmare.
I sat there, the letter gripped in both hands, staring at the words without seeing them anymore.
My mind was racing. Trying to process. Trying to make sense of something that made perfect, horrifying sense.
"Dwayne?"
Father's voice.
I looked up.
He was wheeling towards me, his face pale and drawn.
I shoved the letter back into my jacket pocket in one swift motion.
"What's going on?" Tyler asked, stopping in front of me. "They won't tell me anything. Is she—"
"They took her into surgery," I said, keeping my voice steady. "She was bleeding when I found her. Her pulse was dropping."
"Bleeding? From where?"
"I don't know. I just found her on the floor."
Tyler's face crumbled. "The babies?"
"They're working on all of them."
He sat down heavily in the chair, his hands covering his face.
I watched him.
And for the first time, I wondered exactly how much I knew about my father.
Just then, a voice disrupted the whole hospital. I sighed inwardly.