I was fully aware that somewhere in my periphery, our friends and family were watching us, so I refrained from causing a scene. As it was, Hunter and Cillian looked on high alert, ready to pounce on Mother and take her away from me, knowing she had a talent for stealing the limelight, no matter the situation.

Despite the initial shock and deep sense of betrayal, Dr. Doyle was right. There was nothing to be done about our pasts. The only way was forward. I could let what my mother did define our relationship or reinvent it.

And standing there, while Sam was in the operating room, hanging in the balance between life and death, everything was crystal clear to me.

If you loved somehow, you had to give them a second chance.

Not for them.

For you.

I took a step toward her, tilting my head up regally.

“I forgive you, Jane, not because you deserve it, but because I don’t deserve to live the rest of my life motherless because of your mistakes. You are going to make it up to me, though. Big time. You can start by bringing all of us coffees and pastries. The Brennans haven’t eaten all day, and I’m famished.”

She nodded, wiping her face quickly, sniffling.

“Will do. Right away. Oh, Aisling, thank you so much.” She grabbed my hands and squeezed them. “I will not let you down, love. You will see.”

She ran toward the elevators on her high heels, ignoring the disturbed glares of onlookers.

I was choosing me now.

Me … and the man I loved.

It had been six hours since I’d arrived at the hospital, and there was still no word from the operating room. I knew no news wasn’t necessarily bad news. It meant they were still working hard to save his life. I also knew that it didn’t matter.

I was dangerously close to a massive heart attack.

Nurses and doctors rushed in and out of the room, wearing bloodied uniforms and grave frowns. I shamelessly pounced on them, demanding answers, but they shook me off every time.

The waiting room thickened with people. At first, I failed to notice it, too wrapped up in running all possible scenarios and outcomes to Sam’s condition in my head, but now, lifting my gaze from my lap, I saw it.

Troy, Sparrow, Cillian, Hunter, Devon, my parents, and Sailor were here now, together but alone, each of us shaken to the core.

The distress for Sam’s well-being was thick in the air, hanging like fog above our heads.

Troy was on the phone, barking orders, demanding action, no doubt trying to find more information about the attack, planning how to strike back at the Bratva. Sparrow looked so frail, I was afraid if I reached out and touched her she would break.

I moved over to her. “It’ll be okay,” I whispered, trying to convince myself the same in the process.

Hunter had told me the bullets pierced Sam’s shoulder and chest. It was hard to estimate the damage when I had no concrete information.

Finally—finally—a middle-aged doctor in stained scrubs with sweaty temples came out of the operating room. I was the first to dart in his direction, with Sparrow following closely behind me.

“Hello, I’m Dr. McKinnley. Are you the wife?” He turned to me.

“I will be soon.” I jerked Sparrow close to me. “This is his mother. Please tell us how he is doing.”

He ran his gaze over me skeptically. He wasn’t supposed to hand out information to those who weren’t Sam’s kin.

“Aisling is a doctor here, too. An OB-GYN,” Sparrow explained, putting a protective hand over my shoulder. “You can tell her.”

The doctor shot me another look and turned his focus back to Sparrow.

“It was a close call. He is still not out of the woods yet. The main issue isn’t the shoulder wound. We removed the bullet, and although it’s still early to tell, it is my belief that the bullet did not tear through more than muscle tissue and did not touch any of the nerves. Our main concern was the chest wound. It hit too close to home, to put it bluntly. In close proximity to the heart. It took us three hours to remove the bullet alone. He lost a lot of blood. The next twenty-four hours will be critical. We’re moving him to the recovery room as we speak. He needs a good rest. I cannot stress that enough. For that reason, we would prefer if he sees one visitor at a time.”

Sparrow and I exchanged glances. I didn’t dare hope. She was his mom, after all. She deserved to see him first. My future mother-in-law squeezed my hand in hers.

“Over two decades ago I told Sam that one day a woman would walk into his life and prove to him that he doesn’t hate all women. He put up a good fight, I’ll give him that, but I think you finally broke him. It’s you he’ll want to see when he opens his eyes. In fact, I am told by Troy that he specifically asked for you when he was rushed here. You should go.”

“Are you sure?” I bit my lower lip.

She smiled, pain marring her expression. “Absolutely positive, dear.”

I followed Dr. McKinnley along the narrow linoleum hallway like a punished kid, not sure what was waiting for me at the end of the journey. When the surgeon pushed the door open, he said, “Remember, he is frail right now, even if he doesn’t look it.”

I nodded, closing the door after me and staring at Sam from a safe distant. I was a doctor. I’d seen blood and gore in my life. But there was something about Sam’s pain that was too intimate and real to me. He lay there with his eyes closed, this beast of a man, so imposing, so imperial, and yet so quiet and boyish right now.

“Oh, Sam.” I cupped my mouth, rushing to the foot of the bed, sinking down to the floor and burying my face next to his arm. “What have they done to you? Please make it through this. Please.”

Tears coated every inch of my face. I moaned loudly, howling, making noises I had no idea I was capable of. He was finally mine, and I was losing him.

It was the sort of cruelty I couldn’t fathom.

“There is so much I have to tell you. So much news. You can’t die on me now. It’s a highly inconvenient time, Sam. What kind of gentleman are you?” I huffed.

I thought I felt him move slightly next to me, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t even groan, so obviously I was just imagining it.

“I quit my job. I’ll be on the lookout for residencies. I need you to help me sort through them. And what about kids? I want a lot of them, and we need to start practicing. Then there’s the Cillian and Hunter matter. Who will annoy them, if you die?”

Another small movement. I jerked my head upright, studying Sam’s face closely. His eyes were still shut, his breathing labored. I stared at him as I opened my mouth, cautiously speaking again.

“Of course, if you die on me now, at some point in the future—very far in the future—I’ll be able to get over you and move on. But for now, I just want you to—”

Sam’s hand moved slightly. He grabbed my wrist and tugged me to him, his eyes snapping open. He groaned in pain at the sudden movement and flashed me a canine scowl.

“No one is going to get over fucking anyone, Fitzpatrick. Now shut up and let me rest.”

Surprised, I stared at him with open delight. My ploy had worked. I pouted, leaning backward and giving him some space. His hold on my wrist tightened, but he was still so very weak.

“Let me rephrase … let me rest where I can see you, feel you, and smell you.”