“BP is strengthening,” his nurse announced, calling out the numbers.

“Excellent.” He breathed out in satisfaction. “That’s it, son. Fight. Fight for her. She’s worth it.”

The commentary continued. Fierce and demanding when it needed to be, determined and encouraging as Graham responded with that fierce will to live.

He would live. Caine refused to allow him to do otherwise.

—

Lyrica was aware of her brother, her cousins, her sisters.

Her mother sat beside her, her lips split, one eye nearly swollen shut from where Dorne had struck her.

She hadn’t realized Tim was limping at first. His leg was fractured. How he’d managed to walk like that amazed her. How he was still sitting in the waiting room, she hadn’t figured out.

Even Zoey was there, her pale green eyes damp with tears, her broken arm casted, the deep bruising at the side of her face swelling her eye nearly closed.

Jimmy Dorne had been determined to force Tim, Mercedes, or Zoey to reveal where Lyrica was hiding.

They’d sworn they didn’t know. Even Zoey, the one who feared pain the most, had fought him back, daring him to shoot her, sneering at him when he hit her. She’d declared she wouldn’t tell him even if she did know. Her brother, she’d informed Dorne, had hidden Lyrica, and she’d dared him to try to force the information from Dawg.

They’d all suffered to keep Lyrica safe.

Curled in the corner of the hard plastic couch, she turned her head back to where she had rested it in her bent arm, and she continued to pray.

To wait.

She felt ragged inside.

Her soul felt shredded, destruction held back by the thinnest thread.

Graham.

Tears fell from her eyes again, pouring from her when there shouldn’t have been tears left to shed.

She could live without him. If he was just alive. If he was just somewhere in the world finding happiness, even if it meant finding that happiness with another woman, then she would survive.

She would get up every morning, she would make herself go through each day, and she might even find a measure of peace.

Somewhere.

Without Graham . . .

What reason would there be to get up every morning?

Her mother rubbed at her shoulder and Eve and Piper sat close, trying to comfort her. But there was no comforting her.

He’d taken that bullet for her, knowing what he was doing. If he hadn’t thrown himself in front of her then she would have been the one lying there in that operating room.

She would have much preferred it to be her.

“Hey, little sister.” Natches’s voice had her head lifting quickly, her gaze meeting his immediately as he squatted in front of her.

He and Rowdy both referred to her and her sisters as their own.

She looked around quickly. Neither the surgeon nor the doctor was standing there.

“He’ll be okay,” he said, the somber belief that gleamed in his eyes pulling a harsh sob from her chest.

Covering her trembling lips with her fingers, she fought to hold back the cries and was even mostly successful. The tears were another story.

“I love him,” she whispered, her voice so hoarse she barely recognized it. “If he’s just okay, then I can live without him, Natches. I can.”

Reaching out, Natches tucked the long, mussed strands of her hair over her shoulder and thought he must really be getting old. Only one time in his life had he ever wanted to cry as much as he wanted to cry for this grown-up version of his precious Bliss.

“Did I tell you I used to know his parents really well?” he asked her gently.

Lyrica shook her head.

“Yeah.” He grinned, a flash of the wicked sensualist she’d always heard he was gleaming for a second in his eyes. “There was a time, before Chaya returned to Somerset, that I wasn’t the man I am today. Rowdy had married. Dawg and Christa were engaged, and I was a little lost,” he stated, then grinned again. “Hell, I was a lot lost, I guess. I was skunk drunk, had just wrecked yet another motorcycle on some back road, was puking my guts up because my Chaya had just left town again, and I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do.” He winked with a flash of amusement. “Never occurred to me to just go get her. Right?”

Lyrica shook her head. Natches had never done things the easy way, she knew.

“Anyway.” Rising, he sat beside her, and Lyrica didn’t even question why she was turning to him, letting him draw her into his arms and against his chest.

He kissed the top of her head gently.

“So, here I am, about three days drunk, reeking of booze and probably my own b.o. My motorcycle was totaled, handlebars bent to hell and back, and this four-wheeler comes bouncing down that dirt track I was on. Seemed I’d done strayed onto Brock property, and Garrett Brock was real particular about having a Mackay around. He stared at me like I was scum, all distasteful and disgusted. And well, let’s just say I was spewing more F-bombs than social niceties that night.”

Someone gave a brief snort of laughter.

“So Garrett drags me to this pond, throws me in a time or two, laughing at all my Mackay rage, then drags me back out and pulls me back to his four-wheeler, where he starts pouring hot coffee down my throat. Seems he knew I was there before he started out from the house. Brought coffee, lots of it, a few sandwiches, and sat there with me till dawn while I poured out my itty-bitty heart.” He rubbed at her shoulder. Her back. “Then he proceeds to tell me how butt stupid I was for letting my woman out of my life. And how he hoped his son wasn’t too damned dumb to claim what was his when he finally met her. Then . . .” He paused, drew a deep breath, and lowered his voice. “Then, he made me swear on my honor, my life, my firstborn, and whatever else he could come up with that I might actually care anything about, that if his son did turn out that damned dumb, then I’d do what he was going to do. Put all my Mackay calculation and love of games into making sure his son smartened up and realized what he was losing. A week later, Chaya was back. He’d pulled a few strings, called some friends, and made sure I had another chance to make sure she never got away from me again.”

“I knew what you were doing,” she whispered when he paused. “I figured it out.”

He grunted, then whispered low enough that no one else could hear. “Don’t tell Zoey, ’kay? She’s still a work in progress.”

“He doesn’t love me, Natches,” she told him then.

This time, pure amused devilment filled the chuckle that sounded from him.

“Oh, Lyrica, sweetheart, that dumb-ass is so in love he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground and doesn’t want to know the difference if it means losing you.”

Lifting her head, Lyrica pulled back, staring back at him, knowing not to hope. Knowing she didn’t dare hope.

“Now, whether or not he’s smart enough to realize it, we’ll see.” He sighed. “But I’m going to tell you what his father told me to tell the woman he loved if he acted that stupid. A message he wanted me to give her.”

“For me?” she whispered.

He nodded at that. “For you, sweetheart. Don’t give up on him, he said. Graham will always be strong, always be stubborn, and letting go of himself enough to take what he needs above all things won’t be easy. But if you have to, he said, tell him to remember what his mother told him before he left for the Marines.”

“What did she tell him?” She frowned back at him.

“Hell if I know,” he admitted with a grin. “But now, Mary was a smart one, don’t think she wasn’t. Knew what she wanted the first time she saw Garrett Brock, and even Mackay charm couldn’t sway her. So whatever it was, remind him of it.”

“If he wakes up,” she whispered.

“He’ll wake up,” he promised her. “If he’s Garrett Brock’s son, and trust me, he is, then he’ll wake up.”

The operating room doors swung open and the surgeon, accompanied by Graham’s doctor, stepped into the waiting room.