Mrs. Montgomery. She has barely been that for a few minutes. Will she be a widow already?

Jesus Christ.

“Sir, let’s go. I can check in and let you know what’s going on in surgery.”

I nod and let him lead me to a waiting room that is meant to be comfortable and welcoming. I doubt it provides either comfort or welcome to those who must wait here, though. And tonight, it’s all pacing and watching that damn screen with information that never seems to fucking update. I remember the last time I sat in this waiting room and watched the same board for news on Ivy. When I was sure I’d lost her.

Fate has been ugly to us.

“Santi?” Mercedes’s choked voice breaks into my dark reverie. I turn to see her still in her dress, blood still smeared on her face, dark across the chest of the crimson dress, the swell of her stomach. Her makeup is smeared, and she’s crying.

I go to her, take her in my arms and hold her tight as her body is wracked by sobs too violent for any human being to bear.

23

Judge

I wake with a headache that rivals any I’ve ever had.

A gasp nearby has me turn my head in that direction but opening my eyes seems to present a challenge I am not up for.

“Judge!” It’s Mercedes. Her voice breaks on my name as both of her hands close around one of mine. I drag my eyes open, the light so bright behind her it’s painful, but in that light, she looks so lovely, so like an angel with a sweep of dark hair cascading around her. I smell her shampoo when she leans closer to peer at me. For a moment, I wonder if I haven’t died. If we haven’t died. “Judge,” she says again more quietly this time as she sucks in three short breaths. Tears mar her beautiful angel’s face. She looks like she’s been crying for days.

“We must be dead,” I manage as I reach up to brush my fingers over her face and wipe away some of those tears. I have seen too many of them during these past months.

She laughs and shakes her head. Her hair caresses my cheek, and it’s the best feeling ever.

“We’re not dead, but you tried. Why would you do that? Put yourself in front of a bullet like that?” Here come those tears again as she sits down and lays her head on my chest, hands squeezing one of mine.

“What would you have had me do? Let you take it? Let our children—” I don’t finish that thought.