Gutted.

Shredded.

Broken.

That barely scratched the surface of how Brock felt sitting in the hospital room, staring at Krista as she slept. Her face, her beautiful porcelain face was all purple and bruised from that bastard Slade, and cuts above her eye were held together with butterfly bandages.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, but he couldn’t fight it any longer and let them drift shut.

“Where is she?”

His eyes popped open to meet confused blue orbs of perfection.

“Where is she?” she asked again.

A lump bounced thick and heavy in his throat. “She’s in the NICU.”

“Is she … ” She batted away a tear. “Is she going to live?”

Krista licked her lips, and Brock leapt to his feet, bringing a straw to her mouth so she could drink. Staring up at him with conviction, she chugged her water. She had more to say, but her thirst was winning the war at the moment. Goddamn, his woman was fierce.

She finished and pushed the cup away. “Brock?”

He closed his eyes for a moment and felt a hand on his. She squeezed him tightly, and he opened his eyes. She moved over in the bed and invited him to join her. The springs and gears squealed and groaned from the strain of taking on his big, tired body.

She turned on her side with a groan of her own and rested her hand on his chest. “Tell me.”

“They say she’s strong and a fighter. She’s twenty-eight weeks; twenty-four weeks is viable, remember? She’s got four extra weeks of viability. She’s a fighter, just like her mama.”

God, his heart hurt. The baby was so tiny. And Krista, fuck, they’d nearly lost her. She’d tried for a natural birth, labored for hours, but just couldn’t, and they ended up rushing her into the OR for an emergency C-section. Then right after the baby was born, she started to hemorrhage and was losing too much blood. She was bleeding internally, and they needed to operate. The baby hadn’t even been born for five minutes before Krista was being put under and Brock and the baby were being rushed down the hallway to the NICU. All the while, Brock didn’t know if either of his girls were going to make it. His heart hurt from how close it’d come to shattering.

“I want to see her,” Krista whispered.

He fought back a yawn before kissing the top of her head. “You need to rest.”

“I want to see her. She’s my baby. I need to see her. I need her to know that her mother is here and loves her.” She looked up into his eyes pleadingly. “I need to see her. If she doesn’t make it, I … ” She choked on her words. “I at least need to know what she looks like.”

He nodded before prying himself up off the bed to go and retrieve the wheelchair.

“She’s so small,” Krista croaked moments later after they’d bullied and cajoled their way into the NICU. It was after hours, but like hell was his woman going to let them dictate when she could and couldn’t see her child.

Emotion choked him. “She’s a fighter,” he said once again. She had to be a fighter. Her mother was the strongest, most stubborn woman Brock had ever met, and if that little girl had even half the strength and ferocity of Krista, she was going to pull through and then give them all a run for their money. Challenging them at every turn.

He couldn’t wait.

Her hands were the size of a thimble, while her teeny tiny feet looked like no more than doll feet, pink and wrinkly and absolutely perfect. She had a chest tube and was intubated, as they said she was struggling to breathe on her own when she was born. A series of monitors were on her chest and head to check her heart rate and brain activity. But even preemie, she had a full head of red hair beneath the tiny pink and green toque, and her mother’s tight fists of determination.

“She’s perfect.” Krista put her hand on the glass. They both wanted so desperately to touch her, to feel her pulse beneath their fingertips.

He crouched down beside her and laced his fingers through Krista’s. They couldn’t touch their child, but they could still be connected to each other.

“So, Hannah?” she asked quietly.

Brock studied the baby. She didn’t look like a Hannah. Hannah was a pretty name, but it wasn’t the name of a warrior, and this little girl was a warrior. She had to be. He shook his head. “No, she doesn’t look like a Hannah.”

She nodded and pursed her lips together.

“What about Zoe?” he suggested.

Taking her eyes off their amazing little human for just a second, she looked at him. “Zoe?”

“Yeah. I found it in that baby name book you had lying on the coffee table. What do you think?”

“What does it mean?”

“It means Life. Which I think is quite fitting, don’t you? She’s our life.”

She blinked back tears and cupped his cheek. “Look at you being all sentimental.”

He smiled and leaned into her hand. “I have my moments.”

She nodded and looked back at the baby. “It’s perfect. Zoe … Zoe Elaine Joy Hart. I love it. It’s perfect, just like her.”

Brock took the opportunity of her distraction and dropped to one knee. “Marry me.”

Her head flew back, and she gaped at him. She shook her head with utter disbelief on her tired, beautiful face. “I told you not to ask me until you were—”

He cut her off. “I know. Marry me.”

“Brock, I—” But instead of waiting for her to answer, he took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. There was always going to be a power struggle between the two of them, he just knew it.

“I love you. I think I’ve always loved you. From the moment you asked me if my place was stumbling distance and then proceeded to pound back tequila like a frat boy, I’ve loved you. And yesterday you could have died, our baby could have died, and the thought of not having you or Zoe in my life makes me want to die, too. Marry me, Krista.”

She swallowed and traced the beautiful diamond solitaire with her finger. “Can we do it now? Like tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” There was no hiding the surprise in his voice.

She nodded. “I don’t want to wait. We can do a big ceremony later on if we want, but I want to be your wife now. I want to have the same last name as Zoe, as you. We can do the legal bit with the license later when I’m out of the hospital. But in the eyes of our family, in our hearts, I want to be your wife now.”

His head bobbed up and down with frantic conviction. “I’ll call Chase and have him come by first thing in the morning.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks. If it wasn’t for the big smile he’d be worried. “Why Chase?”

Brock quirked one eyebrow as he dug out his phone. “Because among other things, he’s also a marriage commissioner.”

Her laughter was music to his ears. “Well, that’s convenient.”