Then her mother is next to me, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes, and I pull her close. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Walker brushes my cheek. “My daughter is a fighter. She won’t give up.”

“They won’t give me any info.”

She nods. “I’ll go see what I can find out.”

Delia rocks back and forth, chewing on her lip, and while her eyes are on me, she speaks to Jess’s mother. “Be sure to ask about the baby.”

And then I sink to the ground, no longer able to hold myself up for the second time in as many hours.

Chapter 33

Grayson

I walk to her room and stand at the doorway, thankful that the curtain is drawn and I can’t see her.

I’m not ready. I’ve seen burn victims. I’ve watched people struggle to breathe after smoke inhalation, and I curse the knowledge that comes with this. They are preparing another short session in the hyperbaric oxygenation chamber because, even with her being pregnant, it’s the safest and fastest way to treat her lungs. They’ve already done several tests, and are finally allowing us to see her before they put her in this round.

The nurse stands behind me. “We gave her something for pain to help her rest easier, so she’s sleeping.”

I’m standing outside, terrified to see her in pain. I count to three and push the curtain over. The tears form instantly.

She’s on the bed, looking so small and frail. There are some burns on her arms, but overall, it’s not as bad as it could be.

The tests show she has moderate damage, and they are doing everything they can to help her, treating not only the smoke but also possible carbon monoxide poisoning. Because of the pregnancy, they are doing things meticulously and monitoring both of them.

I thank God for the fireman next door who smelled the smoke and was able to get her out quickly. That man . . . he saved her life.

I will never be able to thank him.

I get to the edge of her bed, taking her fingers that aren’t wrapped in mine. She moves subtly, and as much as I want to see her eyes, I keep my voice just barely a whisper so I don’t disturb her. “I’m so fucking sorry, Jessica. I love you so goddamn much, and I don’t deserve you,” I say, my head resting on the rail. “I messed up by pushing you away, and if you come back to me, I’ll give you the world.”

I move my other hand to her stomach, looking at the fetal monitor that silently blips along with the baby’s heartbeat. “You, you fight. You stay there, and you—” I break off. Words becoming too much. My palm covers our child. A baby we made and I want more than anything.