Page 113 of Entangled

Wrapped in medical gauze and ow.

But almost as soon as she remembered the events that had gotten her in a hospital bed—being run off the road, the shooting that followed—the morphine chased the memory away again with its cold sweetness.

Still, Cara breathed deeply.

That hurt, too.

Worse than the hand.

It was only Gian coming in through the automatic doors of her room that distracted Cara. His attention was focused on Marcus, and a bottle of milk. He didn’t notice Cara was awake as he tried to feed the baby.

“Come on, Marcus,” Gian murmured, teasing the baby’s lips with the nipple. “You have to eat, principe. I know it doesn’t taste good, but it’s good for you. It’s not like Ma, I know. You have to eat, little man. What am I supposed to tell Ma, that you won’t eat for Daddy? No, don’t spit it—”

Gian sighed, his shoulders dropping as he used a burping cloth slung over his shoulder to wipe around Marcus’s face. Then, the wailing started. Marcus’s high cries resounded with his frustration and hunger.

“Okay,” Gian soothed, “no crying. Ma’s sleeping. Another walk around the hospital, more formula to spit on the floor while we go. Maybe you’ll drink enough on the way to fill your stomach.”

Gian turned around to leave the room, and Cara’s panic flared. She forced herself to sit up in the bed, despite the pain in doing so.

“No, don’t go, Gian.”

How Gian heard her, she wasn’t sure. Her voice was all but gone—too soft to make any impact. Somehow, he had.

Gian was already heading for Cara’s bedside with one of his smooth, charming smiles firmly in place. Something was wrong. She could see it. His smile was forced.

Cara chose not to ask for the moment, instead, wanting her son. She held her arms out, ready to take the baby. “Let me see him.”

Once Marcus was tucked into Cara’s embrace, his gold-flecked brown eyes locked onto hers, she was finally okay. She could breathe, because all was right in her world. Her baby was okay.

Cara held Marcus a little bit tighter.

“I’m sorry,” Gian said, keeping a hand on the baby’s back to steady him. Cara hadn’t realized it, but thin lines of tears streaked down her cheeks. With careful touches, Gian swiped the wetness away. “I tried, but he won’t eat. I don’t know if it’s me or the shit they keep trying to shove down his throat.”

“Probably both,” Cara whispered through her tears.

“He doesn’t want to sleep, either.” Gian laughed hoarsely. “I just think he knew someone important was out of reach for a while.”

“I thought he was a daddy’s boy.”

“Not when his mother isn’t within crying distance, apparently. Kept his whole wing up last night.”

Cara tucked the side of her face into Gian’s palm, feeling his thumb rub soothingly across her cheekbone in rhythmic strokes. He kept her drowsiness at bay, and calmed her.

“I’m sorry for this, mon ange,” Gian added quieter. “It never should have happened.”

“I know.”

And she did know.

She knew without him needing to tell her. Why would he want or wish for someone to hurt her and their child? He loved them; he protected them as best he could.

Cara knew all of those things because she saw him do it every single day. Sure, this was her greatest fear. It was all the reasons she didn’t want to be in this life, attached to a man whose tomorrows were not guaranteed.

She also couldn’t be without Gian. It wouldn’t be living. It had just taken Cara a long damn time to settle those things with her head and heart.

Marcus turned into Cara’s chest as he rooted for what he wanted to fill his stomach.

“Here,” Gian said, handing the small bottle of formula over. “They said the narcotics will transfer through, so formula and bottles it is.”