There's at least a hundred feet between us and the maniac at the front of the plane, but I hear him losing it just the same.

The cabin explodes in loud, rapid fire French for the thousandth time since he shuttled me into this jet, cuffed me to the bed behind the curtain, and left me alone with my baby boy and the panicked doctor.

I raise my head, and instantly regret it. Morphine shouldn't wear off this fast.

The doctor sitting on the stool across the small space from me looks up from his phone. He's a thin, young, disgruntled man, possibly Algerian by the thick French accent and olive skin. “Don't fret, madam. Please. We'll be calmer as soon as we're in the air, and –“

“Give me something for the pain,” I snap. “It hurts again. I'll scream if we have to take off like this.”

He looks more nervous than I do. For a second, I think he's going to fight me on it, but instead he just sighs, reaches for a pill bottle in the tiny box next to him, and shoves a couple small white ovals into my hand.

“Last you can take for a few hours. These won't help you sleep, I'm afraid. You'll have to suffer along with the rest of us while they sort out our schedule. Can't be too much longer before we're cleared for takeoff.”

I roll my eyes. Even he doesn't sound like he believes it when he talks about leaving. There's clearly something more going on.

We've been sitting here for hours. I overheard the security crew mention a wheel with retraction issues, and then get doubly heated when they said there was a 'hold' with the airport's control tower.

The doctor can't tolerate my angry, desperate eyes locked on him for long. He pulls open the curtain and steps out into the cabin for a walk.

I don't understand what's happening. Whatever it is, it's gotten the asshole holding me prisoner upset, and it can't be good for him.

I'm not sure whether I'm more hopeful we'll be saved at the last second, or terrified what Ethan will do if anyone tries.

With the painkiller numbing my blood, I struggle up, using my pillow stack for support. I have just enough strength to reach the baby carrier next to me where my little son doses, blissfully oblivious to the hellish life his mom's mistakes have given him.

“I'm so sorry, little guy,” I whisper. Gripping his tiny hand makes me forget my own discomfort.

This is it. Everything.

His life is all that matters now. I'll suffer through anything to protect it. Trade mine in a heartbeat if it keeps him safe and happy.

There's more shouting up front, something like a door creaking open. The commotion wakes my baby. He rolls, fidgeting his tiny hands against my finger, crying for a mother who's too screwed up and exhausted to even pick him up.

I'm new at this comforting a baby business. I do my best, whispering reassurance, squeezing his tiny palm, but it isn't enough. His screams drown out the furious chatter at the front of the plane. I know we're in trouble when I hear heavy footsteps approaching us at breakneck speed.

“What the hell is going on back here?” Ethan snarls, ripping the loose curtain aside. “Shut your little urchin up, cheri! We have enough fucking problems. Need to hear ourselves think! Make him stop, before I do it for you.”

I wince through the soreness in my body as I struggle, stooping low to pick him up. I'm thankful he can't understand this sadist's words.

Cradling my little man, I tuck his head under my chin. I'll become a human shield to protect the boy before I let him come one step closer.

“Sir, somebody's trying to get in!” There's more happening up front. One of the hired goons yelling to his master, and then a sound like metal shearing apart, maybe melting under a torch.

Ethan whirls around, bangs into the doctor, and grabs him by the shoulders. “Out of my way, fool!”

It's the last thing I hear before the enormous blast goes off near the cockpit. Men fly back through the cabin, twitching on the ground, stunned as wasps hit by a smoke bomb.

Oh, the analogy is perfect, too. Light grey smoke rolls through the cabin. I cover my nose as best as I can, and my baby's face, praying the plane isn't on fire.

“We have to move, madam!” The doctor holds out a hand, a scratch up the arm bleeding through his white coat. I'm reaching to grab it, grateful for a split second because the smoke is suddenly less thick, when more loud blasts ring out in quick succession.

Gunfire. The doctor stops holding out his hand and pulls me to the floor, careful to keep me on my side, protecting the baby. “Stay down,” he thunders in my ear.

I listen, struggling to breathe. I don't think it's possible for my heart to beat faster than this.

It must be a SWAT raid or something. A glimmer of hope, if I can keep my head down long enough, and survive with my little one.

Men fall several feet away, screaming as they hit the floor. I don't think the guys who went down with the first blast ever got up.

I'm grateful for the doctor's presence, one more shield around my baby, thicker than my own body if the worst reaches us. He breathes heavy in my ear, a cold mercenary who still has a shred of his soul somewhere deep in his body, praying quietly in hurried French.

I start counting the seconds. When I hit forty, it's eerily quiet, except for my baby son howling into my hand gently pressed to his mouth. I'm about to turn, and try to peer over the doctor, when a force like wind rips him away.

“Rebekah, come on! We'll go out the back.” Ethan's pale blue eyes roll wild in his head as he snatches at me desperately.

He's completely lost his mind. I'm picturing a long, sharp descent down a yellow emergency slide, and I know I'm too weak to hold my baby safely. “There has to be another way. I can't jump with the baby!”

Even the doctor rears up, grabbing at his leg as he seizes my hair, dragging me several paces across the narrow corridor. “No, sir! You can't! Can't do this with her. We're not equipped and she's in no condition! We should consider surrender if the only way out is to –“

“Quiet!” Ethan's polished toe hits the doctor's temple like a rock. His eyes wobble funny and flutter shut, his grip weakening. The lunatic kicks him away, grabbing at my hair with both hands, pitching me violently down the narrow space to the very back.

I'm screaming, or at least my mouth is open. My baby boy makes the noise for me, filling the plane with the terror I can't. Ethan throws us against the wall and pulls a metal handle shaped like a fire alarm in a building, except bigger.

It's so cold. Wind rushes in, fast and ferocious, as the plane's loading door opens, exposing the twenty or thirty foot drop into black night.

I don't see a slide, or any stairs to deploy. Oh my God.

“No! You can't do this, Ethan. For the love of –“ My voice cracks. I make one last attempt at reasoning with him because I can't do anything else, but I'm choked off because I know it's impossible.

It's hopeless.

There's no way they could've deployed a ramp for a proper emergency exit in the middle of this battle anyway, even if they had one.

He'll kill my baby, and quite possibly all three of us, if he thinks he's going to throw us out. His crazy eyes say he's way past caring, if he even understands me.

Worse, he sees the hesitation, the fear, in my eyes. His hand goes to his pocket, and when it comes out again, he's holding a switchblade. The silver tip gleams in the dim light, sharp and deadly, a fierce contrast with its gold handle.

“I need you to trust me, Rebekah. When I say jump, do it. You'll be perfectly fine.”

“Are you kidding? No...no, please!” He takes two steps forward, boxing me in, pushing me a little closer to the edge. “Please don't do this. Please.”

I open my eyes, and see the endless blackness before us.

Big mistake. The nighttime wind blows, colder than before, like feeling the breath of the reaper blowing its warning on my neck. Three, maybe four more feet, and we're done. My baby boy whimpers, as if he knows the peril we're in.

“You can't make me do this! I won't, you crazy asshole!”

“You will. I'm so sorry it's come to this, cheri,” he says, eerily calm as he tucks his hands under my shoulders, shoving me to the very edge. My heart, my lungs, my whole soul slow to a flicker. “It wasn't supposed to be this way, you understand. If we survive the fall, anything's possible. We'll run. I'll make it up to you when we're in Paris. I'll give you a new baby to replace him. I'll hand over the whole world for you, love. First, I just need you to close your eyes, lean forward, and –“

“You'll let her fucking go!” A human freight train slams into the maniac, pitching me against the wall as I'm thrown from his grip.

Scuttling backwards, I grab for the safety bar in the corner, hoping the crazy mass of snarling, punching, and kicking doesn't push us to our doom.

I'm in disbelief a second later, realizing what's happened. It's dark, but I'd recognize his voice, his body, anywhere.

Grant. My heart skips a beat.

I can't decide whether to be horrified or thankful. For now, it's a relief just knowing I'm not hitting the runway, clutching my helpless son as we plummet to our end.

If we live, we'll have all the time in the world to work this out. Right now, he's here, fighting for me.

Lover, cheater, and now my unlikely hero. And it isn't over.

Grant flings the wiry demon around in his grip, slamming Ethan's face against the metal floor as they roll, his beard smeared with grease or blood or maybe both. The men trade the upper hand every few seconds, barreling a little closer to the black chasm at the end of the plane that will almost certainly kill anyone who falls into it.

They're wild animals locked in a death match. It's blood, guts, and total war, with all the bone rattling punches and bloodcurdling screams a fatal contest entails.

It's a miracle my savior hasn't been cut to pieces yet. I see the knife come down near his face several times when Ethan is on his chest, stabbing erratically. Grant seizes his wrist, knocks the blade from his hand with a vicious grunt, but not before its edge nicks his cheek.

It's a small, but deep cut. Blood pours out like a thick red tear smeared across his cheek.

My baby can't see this. I hold my boy in his thin blanket a little tighter, pressing his forehead to my lips, his face to my neck.

Can't it just be over? I beg for it to just be over again and again and again.

Please, don't let them kill us.

Please, don't let Ethan walk away.

Please, make it fucking stop.

I close my eyes for a second, but it's too much to shut out. They're too violent for words. I watch Grant find the leverage he needs to pick the madman up, fling him against the wall, and scream while he does it. There's a deafening crack that's probably Ethan's shoulder dislocating.

The new disability just makes him more desperate. I think we're staring into the eyes of a frenzied bull as he crumples to his knees, his gross eyes on me, furious and determined as he summons one last burst of energy.

Men behind him close in, approaching us, calling Grant's name as they come closer.

“I'll never let him have you, cheri. If I can't have you in life, we'll go to our graves together,” he growls. “Together, as we're meant to be!”

“No!” Grant roars, grabbing him by the collar as he charges for me.

The violent recoil throws Ethan as he flies from Grant's hands, slams into the wall, and misses me with his arms. His foot stumbles over mine. There's no time to recover before he stumbles a step too far, disoriented, into the nothingness.

It seems like his lonely shriek never ends as he falls.

When it finally does, I hold my breath, summoning the energy to crawl to the edge where I can see, and look down.

It's so dark. Flashlights move across the pavement, swirling like tiny spotlights, illuminating his demon face. Ethan is still, blank, and twisted so awkwardly, he can't possibly be alive.

I have exactly one second to release the air from my lungs. Relief floods my body like anesthesia pulling me under. Soon, Grant's arms are on me, bringing me to him, his fierce eyes melting into mine.

“I can't believe you're here. Maybe you do care,” I whisper. Goosebumps pepper my skin now that my body knows it's safe, and it finally has the time to deal with the conflicted emotions storming through my nerves. “I'm so, so sorry, Grant. We have a lot to talk about...”

“I didn't come for an apology,” he says, more anger in his voice than I expect. His eyes glow flame blue, demanding answers. “Who's the little boy, moscato?”

Oh, he hasn't figured it out?

Apparently, tonight's surprises never end.

God help me, I'm laughing. Hysteria hits, sinks its teeth into me, and refuses to let go. I'm a blubbering, crying, chattering mess a minute later.

I can't breathe.

My stomach aches, tightens, and scrunches in on itself, threatening to knock out my knees. I hold onto my baby boy with all my might as the blackness closes in.

“Bekah?” He calls my name once. “Bekah, hey, stay with me!”

The last thing I remember before I pass out is how he slaps my cheek.

Well, technically not the last. I also recall he's a cheating, untrustworthy fuckboy, and even though he's saved my life, we aren't magically fixed.

If anything, it's more complicated than ever.

How the hell do I hate someone who ripped out my heart, only to keep it beating another day?

* * *

“Give her space, Mr. Shaw. We're bringing her out of it.”

I wake up feeling like I've just come up from an ocean cavern without a breathing mask. I'm groggy, hungry, and everything hurts. Especially from the waist down.

There must be six tubes poking into my arms. I sit up in the bed, clenching my teeth, and realize there's a hand closed like a firm blanket around mine.

“Welcome back, moscato. Take it easy. Easy. You'll be fine in about a week.” He watches me, patient and reassuring, just a handsome guardian angel in a dark beard and soft blue eyes. Not very different from the winged heroes mom used to watch on her silly paranormal soap operas.

“Fine?” Slowly, I remember what this angel did, and I rip my hand away, nearly pulling out the IV in my arm. “No, get away from me! Where is he? Where's my baby?”

“Sleeping down the hall. I'll bring him in later, if you'd like. We'll have to fill out the birth certificate together. I'd like to be listed as the father, considering what the paternity test showed.”

Oh, God. He finally knows.

It shouldn't feel like a dagger working into me when I imagine the look on his face as some random doctor read off the cold, clinical results. All while I slept dead to the world. I'm not even sure how long it's been since the fateful showdown on Ethan's plane. The clock says four. P.M., I'm guessing, but I don't really know.

“How long was I out?” I whisper, ignoring the long list of far more unpleasant questions.

“A good fourteen hours. Had time to nap myself for the first time in days.”

I slowly roll my head toward him. There's a thin, skin colored bandage on his cheek, just above his bearded jaw. Ethan must've done it.

I mentally estimate how many scrapes and bruises he has, how many cracked ribs. In a just world, maybe they'd make me re-think one of his sloppy affairs. Yes, one.

But not the three, or four, or who even knows. I saw at least three on camera. Four if you count the slutty duo slobbering all over him at Sanford's. My body must have replenished its fluids well enough to cry because there are tears welling up.

“What's wrong?” he growls, laying a hand on my shoulder as I try to roll away from him.

“Go away. I want to rest alone. I don't want to see you.”

“Really, moscato? You thought you'd just up and leave the father of your child forever?” His first words are angry, but he tries to soften them. “Whatever your old man said, he lied. I'm not the man you think I am. Everything I did to bring him down, to take out Ethan, was for you. Never stopped loving you, Bekah. Not even once. Would've come a whole lot sooner if I knew where to find you.”

“He had video, Grant,” I snarl, turning over, ignoring the sharp pain in my abdomen. “Do you think I'd take off to Maine and avoid you like the plague for the better part of a year on nothing but hearsay? I saw what you did. Living proof. Saw you with those women, dated to the months you were still my boss, back when I was in your condo, and I thought we meant something to each other.”

He sniffs angrily. I watch him stand, broody and magnificent. Even when I want to spit in his face, his lips still draw my eyes, tempting as ever.

“What? You've got nothing?” I haven't decided if I want to hear his BS defense. Maybe I just want to get this over with, do a proper birth certificate like he asks, and heal up so I can fight our next battles in court over custody.

But he's ignoring me. Pulling out his phone, I watch him dial someone, and turn his back as he whispers a few heavy words into it. “Yeah, put him on. Won't take long. I know I'm using the only ace in the hole you'll give me. I'm ready.”

I fold my arms, pouting, unsure what the hell this is about. He turns around a second later, pushes the little black box into my hand, and smiles. “It's for you.”

I blink, staring at the unfamiliar number on the screen, before I hold it up a second later. “Hello?”

“It's me, dear.” My father's voice sends an instant shiver up my spine. “I'm so glad you're alive.”

“Tell me what you want, or I'm hanging up,” I snap. I've officially hit my limit with the constant stream of crap the last forty-eight hours.

No woman who's had a baby should ever have to go through this. Ever.

“A pity,” dad says. “This might be the last time we talk for many years. I'm in jail, dear, looking at a lifetime sentence. Slowly paying the first of my many dues for the dirty deals I did with our earnest, dearly departed friend from Paris.”

“You almost got me killed, and your grandson, too, you fucking asshole!” I hiss through my teeth, shooting Grant a warning look with my eyes because I know he wants to come over, and comfort me. “Why do you think I care about you? About any of this? I'll be happy if I never hear from you again.”

He's quiet for longer than I like. “Because I have a confession to make. I wanted you away from the man who's next to you now. I went to extreme lengths to do it. Your mother was a test. After the fake videos fooled her, I knew you'd go down easy. She didn't have the emotional connection to him you did.”

“Fake? What the hell do you mean?” I'm clenching the thin hospital sheet in my hand so hard I think I'll tear it.

“The footage is real. It's incredible what a good editor can do these days. It wasn't hard to get the tapes I needed from the places he loved to frequent. The dates were even easier to change. Shaw's guilty of a lot with his women, but he never cheated. Not once, to my knowledge. Everything you saw happened well before he met you. Often years before.”

“No,” I whisper it once, and the second time I say it, I'm choking. “No! You've got to be fucking kidding. I heard what he said about me. I saw him with those girls. He called me young. Stupid. Said I'd never see his cheating crap coming.”

This can't be right. It doesn't make sense. I'm in shock and denial.

My eyes move sheepishly to Grant's, and I can't hold them in his gaze. The rotten shame coursing through my blood refuses.

“I picked the line myself.” There's no remorse when he says it. “I thought you'd be too caught up in a blinding rage of tears to notice. Apparently, I was right. I wanted my womanizer to drive the point home. Anything to make you leave him.”

“Christ.” My tongue tastes bitter, too much like the savage lie I've believed for the last eight months my life was ruined. I don't bother asking what's wrong with him. No one will ever know, and it isn't relevant anymore since he's ruined his life, and possibly mine, too. “Why now? Why tell me any of this?”

“Because I'm sorry. Words are cheap, I know. I've spent my life throwing them around like weights. I've used them to get my damned way, any which way I chose. I'm not asking for your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it. I just want you to know there was a time when I meant the best for you, and I made grave errors bringing you there. I told myself that's what I wanted, anyway, but truthfully? I wanted you to do what I said. I wanted to use you, one more piece of collateral for what I wanted. I forgot you were a human being, and you deserve your own life.”

I'm trapped. It's incredible I can still breathe between this monster in my ear, and this gorgeous man who, for some reason, remains next to me with love in his eyes, after I've treated him like a monster.

“You deserve the truth, dear, and here it is. Now forget me and live, damn you. Whether that's with Shaw or in a tent overseas, go live your own life. You're free. Know I'll spend the rest of my life behind bars being sorry...without excuses...for everything.” He ends the call. It takes me a minute to realize it through the hot, brutal tears flowing down my cheeks.

Grant finally lays his hand on my shoulder. He pulls up a chair, holding me like a human rock while I let it out ugly, too ashamed over everything to let myself lean into him, much less look him in the eye.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't know. Wish I'd asked more questions, Grant. I shouldn't have abandoned you.”

“Bekah, stop,” he says, his voice soft and heavy. I'm sure I look like a total mess as he runs his hand slowly up my throat, lifts my chin with his fingers, and I meet the blue eyes I want to drown myself in forever. “I've almost missed a year with you on his stinking lies. Missed your lips on mine. Missed you being pregnant, telling me the news, and bringing our son into the world with his father at your side. You think I've got time for more regrets, or more apologies over shit we can't take back?”

His eyes say it's a resounding no.

Fuck no.

“I'm afraid we've lost too much. Done too much damage. We can't just pick up where we left off, and continue...?”

He's smiling when he shifts his free hand into his pocket. “You worry too much, moscato. Always did.”

I forget all about his fingers as he lowers his face to mine. Our first kiss in seasons pours into me like summer sun breaking through a storm, rekindling fires I thought were out for good.

His lips smother me, suck every molecule of oxygen from my lungs. And I let him, whimpering into his mouth while his tongue attacks mine. What was impossible just a few days ago is real.

Raw, emotional, and inescapably real.

“There's something I need before we wheel the kid in and get to work on the birth certificate,” he says, excitement blinking like siren lights in his eyes. He pulls away, just enough to hold the little black box up to my face, and pops it open with his thumb. “Marry me, moscato. Here. Today. Wish we'd done this wife and family thing in the right order, but you'd better believe I wish more you'll do me the honor of never wasting another day without wearing my ring.”

Even with my jaw hanging on the floor, I'm smiling. I put my hand over his, touching my thumb to the ring, letting its golden warmth heat the heart that still hated him just minutes ago.

“Yes!” One simple, powerful word. “As soon as I'm out of here, Grant, I'll make everything up to you. I'll be the woman you always wanted.”

“Fuck waiting, moscato. You already are. No more distractions. Forget the last nine months and let's build the life we were always meant for.”

There's a rowdy noise behind us. Two men laughing through the small window outside my room. I look over his shoulder, and see the two Shaw brothers I met at the charity event before everything went nuts. Hayden and Luke look on, elbowing each other, whispering a few choice words we can hear through the glass.

“Never seen him like this. Didn't think he had it in him.”

“Hayds, the man's in love. Give him a damned break. We've said our share of flowery crap, too, ever since we got hitched.”

“You're right.” They fall silent, and look on.

We fall so deep into each other it's easy to ignore their prying eyes.

When he kisses me again, I tell myself we'll do this. I don't care how insane it seems on the surface, or how quickly it's happening. He's right about our future.

This time, I know he is. Believe it with a faith resonating deep in my bones.

I made the unforgivable mistake of doubting him once. I'll never, ever let it happen again.

* * *

I'm not well enough to stay up through all this excitement. Another long nap leads me into sweet nothing.

We don't get together until the next morning, when Grant carries in our baby, snug in his father's arms for the first time. I pull the birth certificate off the night stand as soon as our little family is together, ready to attack it again with a big black pen.

“He's a Shaw, all right,” he says, studying the little boy's identical blue eyes. “Can't believe he doesn't have a name yet.”

Yesterday, we left that part blank on the birth certificate, promising we'd have one by the end of the day. I run through my short list again, tapping the pen gently against my cheek.

I've lost my confidence. Neither Jackson or Tyler seem right. Not after everything that's happened.

Our infant reaches up, giggles, and presses his little fingers against his father's beard. “Easy, little man. Guess your ma never told you this scruff is where I get my magic powers from.”

Talk about adorable. I'm smiling like a fool as I uncap the pen with my teeth, press the pen to the blank spot, and scrawl the letters on the paper as neatly as I can.

“Whoa, moscato, I thought we'd talk about this first?” he says, rushing over to the chair, bouncing the baby on one knee.

“No need. I've made the right choice.” I hold it up for him to see.

He snatches it out of my hand with his brow furrowed, his eyes scanning it. “No way. You really want him to be named after...me?”

“Names are powerful. He should have a good man's name. Plus, Grant Junior just kinda rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?”

He's laughing, happier than I've ever seen him, baritone music busting out. He cradles our baby boy as he comes in to collect his kiss. I can't last more than ten seconds with his beard tickling me before I'm laughing just as hard.

If this is what it's like to be awake, at peace, and happy again, don't ever put me back to sleep.