Page 82 of Reckless Woman

With an icy jolt, I realize she’s trying to usher me into a side room.

“No.” I stop abruptly. “Do it here.”

She frowns and glances at Dante. “Are you family?”

“He’s my brother.”

She’s calling bullshit with her eyes, but I couldn’t give a fuck.

“We’ve stabilized your wife as much as we can, Mr. Grayson. Her injuries are life-threatening, but we’ve managed to remove all the bullets.” She pauses for a breath to consult her notes. “Okay, so she’s lost a lot of blood. We’ve hooked her up with a couple of pints. Right now, she’s in a very serious, but stable condition—”

“But she’s alive?”

She smiles slightly at the incredulity in my voice. “Yes, she’s alive. She’s a fighter, Mr. Grayson.”

No, she’s every fucking phase of the moon, Doctor Carlson.

“Now for the not-so-great news.” She rearranges her features into that damn social worker’s again, and I steady myself for the bullshit blanket.

“Two of the bullets struck her lower stomach. We’ve repaired her bowel, but her uterus…there was too much penetrating trauma.” She stops to flick her lower lip with her teeth a couple of times. “Did you know your wife was pregnant, Mr. Grayson?”

Fuck.

No.

The air comes rushing out of my lungs.

“We estimated at around five weeks. Very early days.”

Estimated

Past tense.

“Is…?”

I can feel Dante moving up behind me in silent solidarity. Today, he’s the shadow, not me.

She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Grayson. There was too much damage. She was hemorrhaging too badly. We had to perform a radical surgery to have any chance of saving her life.”

“Which…?”Jesus Christ, I can’t get my words out.

“It means we had to remove her uterus and some nearby tissue.” She offers me a sympathetic smile, as if it’s somehow going to shorten the drop of the hell hole I’ve just fallen into. “She’s being moved up to the ICU ward now. A nurse will be along shortly to show you where to go.”

“What…?”

She guesses at my question before I’ve finished.

“It means thatifyour wife manages to survive the shock, the trauma and the major surgery, Mr. Grayson, she’ll never be able to have children of her own.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Joseph

Past…

The bar is a dive.

Bad lighting. Broken pool table. Flickering red beer signs and Springsteen on heavy rotation. Circa 1984.