text: Awareness crept into Blaine's mind. So did pain. A lot of pain. The side of her face thumped. She swallowed. The coppery taste of blood still lingered in her mouth. Tentatively, she prodded her cheek with her tongue. A fresh burst of pain radiated down her jaw to her neck.
  
  Gripping the sheets of the hospital bed, Blaine fought to contain her scream. Opening her mouth would subject her to the agony she'd endured at the show. She did not want to repeat that moment again. Passing out in front of a stadium full of fans had been horrible. Worse, though, was knowing Jack had likely watched her fall.
  
  Jack.
  
  His image flashed before her. Her heartbeat quickened. Did Jack know she was okay? Avery wouldn't have thought to call.
  
  Blaine pried her eyelids open. Her lashes stuck together. Her eyes felt dry. Bright light assaulted her. She quickly squeezed her eyelids shut again. Darn hospital lights. Why did they have to be so bright?
  
  "Hey. Are you awake?"
  
  Avery's voice reached her.
  
  She slowly opened her eyes, allowing herself a chance to adjust to the bright room. She inclined her head slightly. It was the best she could do. Opening her mouth scared her, quite frankly. She couldn't risk passing out again. At least not until she learned if Jack knew she was fine.
  
  "Good." Avery pressed the controls on the bedframe and raised the head of the bed, bring her to a reclined sitting position. He shoved pillows next to her, then handed her a notepad and pen. "The doctor wants you to avoid talking. He'll be back in soon to check on you. He wants to go over some options with you."
  
  She reached a hand to her aching face. Avery stopped her before she touched the bandages. She felt them. The tape irritated her skin.
  
  "Don't. They have you tapped up pretty good." Avery's gaze mapped her face. The concern in that single look set Blaine on edge. "Are you hurting? They wouldn't give you anything for it. I asked. Trust me, Blaine. I asked."
  
  She was hurting. A lot. The pain didn't concern her at the moment. Blaine scribbled one word on the pad, ripped the paper out, and handed it to Avery.
  
  "Jack?" Avery frowned. "Who's Jack?"
  
  Fisting the pen, she inwardly cursed. For two weeks, she'd moped alone. She should've mentioned something to her brother about Jack. Then again, Avery would've lectured her on the foolishness of longing for someone. She scribbled a few sentences, then turned the notepad for Avery to read.
  
  "Jack's the guy Alex mentioned, isn't he?" Avery's features hardened.
  
  She glared at her brother. The angry look was enough to express herself. Part of the rage she felt could be attributed to her pain and this situation. The rest stemmed from annoyance. Her brother had no business commenting on her love life. She'd kept her nose out of his even when she'd questioned his choice in lovers.
  
  Avery closed his eyes on a slow breath, then met her gaze. The judging look had been masked. She doubted his feelings had, though. "Iona called and left a message, asking for me to call her. I haven't gotten the chance. We're still in the emergency room."
  
  She knew that. The hospital staff had evaluated her, taken blood work, stuck an IV into her, then slapped a temporary bandage on her, sending another mind-numbing bolt of pain through her that left her unconscious. Now she was awake and aware. The important things needed to be taken care of.
  
  Blaine wrote three words: Call her now.
  
  Iona would relay everything Avery told her to Jack. Of that, Blaine didn't have any doubt.
  
  "In a minute. I need to talk to you about the attack." Anger slid into his eyes. "And I need to confess to you how I messed up. Again. The staff failed to lock up the metal detector before the show. I didn't know about that until afterward. It was tampered with. That's how someone got a throwing star past the security checks."
  
  Her frown tugged at her damaged cheek, sending more agony through her. She closed her eyes against the pain. After a moment, she opened them and wrote: My attacker wasn't caught, then?
  
  "No." The harsh bite to the word landed hard between them.
  
  Despite her pain, she ached for her brother. She scribbled on the paper: Don't blame yourself.
  
  "You were hurt on my watch, Blaine." Avery leaned closer, lowering his voice. "While Alex and I stood several feet away. The nearby fans were checked. Nobody had any more throwing stars on them. The video was no use. It was too dark. I failed you."
  
  I'm alive. It's okay. She added the words to the bottom of the page.
  
  "But if that star hit a little lower, you might not be."
  
  Although she sympathized with her brother, she couldn't deal with this now. She was alive. The cut on her face couldn't even be that big of a deal. They hadn't even stitched it yet. Letting Jack know these details so he wouldn't be going out of his mind was more important than soothing her brother's ego.
  
  Blaine gave the paper to him telling Avery to call Iona, then waited, letting the demand show in her eyes.
  
  Sighing, Avery stood. "Fine. I'll tell the nurses you're conscious. Maybe they'll finally give you something for the pain. Or stitch you up. Freaking something."
  
  She wouldn't mind if they did something too. Putting a temporary dressing on her wound didn't seem like a proper fix. Of course, what did she know? Maybe they were waiting for her blood work to come back. She did catch the doctor asking for a blood screen after she gave a urine sample. Hearing that had irritated her.
  
  Did they think she was on drugs?
  
  Just because she was a musician didn't mean she was an addict. She'd never touched drugs or alcohol. The sip of champagne at Kyle and Ronnie's wedding had been plenty. Losing her inhibitions could mean a social disaster.
  
  A few minutes after Avery left, the doctor who'd prodded her face, sending fiery jolts through her body, walked in. Carrying a clipboard, he nodded in her direction. "Good to see you awake, Ms. Zima. No need to greet me. I want you to rest."
  
  The doctor who couldn't have been much older than Avery checked her vitals, then spent a considerable amount of time studying his clipboard in silence. Finally, he glanced at her. "Your blood work puts your pregnancy early in the first trimester, approximately eight to ten weeks. Does that sound about right?"
  
  Pregnant.
  
  Blaine stared wide-eyed at the doctor. His words registered. No, the timing didn't sound right, but what did it matter? She knew exactly when it happened. And who it happened with.
  
  She was pregnant. With Jack's baby.
  
  The pen she still held slipped from her hand. The beeping of the monitors behind her grew louder. She opened her mouth slightly. Wicked, shooting pain stopped her from speaking. A garbled grunt escaped her as her vision wavered. She fought the pain. No more passing out. The news she'd gotten demanded her full attention.
  
  The doctor laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't try to speak, Ms. Zima. I'm sorry if my announcement came as a shock. I assumed since you were so far along, you missed a cycle and knew already."
  
  She gripped the fallen pen and wrote: Didn't know.
  
  He nodded. "Then we need to delve into the practicalities of your condition. Pregnancy poses a dilemma for your treatment. Luckily, I don't believe the injury you sustained severed any facial nerves. Maybe nicked some. We won't know until we look closer. For certain, you have muscular and some tendon damage, however, and how we proceed will affect your recovery."
  
  He gave her a pointed look. "You need to understand that as a singer, this injury could damage your career if we don't act properly and quickly. All the muscles in the face are involved in singing. So expect at the minimum some healing time and physical therapy, even with the procedure."
  
  The doctor's expression turned grim. "The problem lies in the fact that you're so early into your pregnancy. Any nerve blocks or local anesthesia we would use while repairing the damage you've sustained poses a risk to the developing embryo you're carrying. The same applies to most pain medications. The best we can do is stitch what you can tolerate, pain-wise, and allow your body to heal on its own."
  
  He raised a hand. "Now be aware. While this is best for the developing embryo, this route might lead to significant scarring, which will affect how well you can open your mouth, smile, laugh. It might even affect your resting face, leaving you with a drooping expression."
  
  The doctor flipped a couple sheets of paper and pulled out a pen. "What I'm recommending is local anesthesia and something to calm you while our specialist works on the injury site. This route will almost definitely ensure a complete recovery. I have a specialist on his way to the hospital as we speak. I just need you to sign this form, agreeing to the procedure."
  
  Blaine frowned as confusion surfaced. She scribbled on the notepad: But the baby will be hurt. Right?
  
  "Maybe. Not enough research has been done, but the general recommendation is to avoid the things I've mentioned if you plan on allowing the pregnancy to proceed. Now, be aware, the developing embryo can be aborted. You're still well within the legal timeframe for such a procedure." He flipped another page. "I would just need your signature here also."
  
  Abort Jack's baby. Their baby.
  
  She wrote one word in large letters.
  
  No.
  
  "Ms. Zima, I highly recommend—"
  
  Blaine tapped the notepad and glared at the doctor.
  
  The doctor looked from the notepad to her face. "Ms. Zima, I wouldn't exactly call myself a fan of yours, but my younger sister loves your music. It'd be a shame if you couldn't sing again for her. She missed today's concert and was very upset about it."
  
  With a yank, she ripped the paper out, tossed it at the doctor, then wrote "no" again and threw the ripped paper at him before writing the word a third time. He rested his hand over hers, stopping her from tearing this page out too. "Are you sure you don't want to discuss this with your brother or publicist or someone else close to you? Or maybe take a few minutes to think about it? The specialist is still on his way. You have time."
  
  Nobody had a say in this decision, not even Jack. Nor did she need to consider anything else.
  
  She jerked her hand out from the doctor's grip, wrote "no," again and handed the torn paper to the doctor.
  
  "If that's your final decision, we'll see if the specialist can do anything for you without a local." The doctor checked off something on his clipboard, then left the room.
  
  Blaine laid a hand over her belly. A range of emotions swept through her, swinging her from elation to fear. She was pregnant. With Jack's baby.
  
  Her baby.
  
  And if the doctor was right about her recovery, this child she carried might be the only thing she could claim as hers. The career she'd worked so hard to establish might be over. So might her relationship with Jack. Falling in love was one thing. Finding out the woman who seduced you was now pregnant and living in a different country was another. That was the reality Jack faced.
  
  Unless…unless she convinced him to come to Russia, become a Russian citizen, and marry her. Then a few strokes of a pen could make everything she owned Jack's also.