Page 49 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)

Where the Light Lingers

Linnie

Everything was still.

There was no pain. No beeping monitors. No fluorescent lights.

Just… quiet. She stood barefoot in a wide field, bathed in golden twilight.

The grass shimmered with dew that wasn ’ t wet, flowers bloomed and swayed without wind.

It felt like the world was holding its breath.

It felt like summer. Like June. She looked down—her belly was flat.

Empty. Panic began to rise in her chest—but it was met with calm.

A warmth surrounded her like an embrace.

She turned slowly and saw two figures approaching across the light.

Her grandma. Blaine ’ s grandma. Both smiling softly, hands open, radiating the peace that had been missing for weeks.

“ We ’ re watching him,” her grandma said.

“ He ’ s okay,” said Blaine ’ s.

Linnie blinked. A flutter of wings—blue and orange butterflies— rose from the field, circling her.

"But I don ’ t want to go," she whispered.

“ You don ’ t have to,” they said in unison. “ You just have to choose.”

She closed her eyes and listened.

Far, far away—like it was being shouted from the bottom of a

canyon—she heard him.

Blaine.

He couldn ’ t sit down. The hospital chair creaked every time he paced by it.

His hands were clenched, knuckles white, his mind racing faster than his heartbeat.

He ’ d never felt fear like this before —not in any game, not in any loss.

He held her wedding ring in his hand, her favorite lip balm in his pocket.

He was still wearing her perfume on his shirt from hugging her that morning.

A nurse passed by. Her eyes were red. That sent Blaine spiraling deeper.

He folded his hands and whispered the only thing that kept him breathing.

"Please, God, let her come back. Let her come back to me. Let her hold our son. Let her see him take his first steps. Let her hear him say Mama. Take football, take anything—just don ’ t take her. Please."

The door opened. He stood up so fast he nearly tripped.

“ Her heart ’ s beating,” the nurse whispered. “ She ’ s back.”

Linnie

The world shimmered. The field flickered. Light bent like water. She reached out to touch her grandmother ’ s hand—warm, weathered, and familiar.

“ Tell him I ’ ll be back.”

“ You ’ ll always have us here,” her grandma whispered. “ But it ’ s not your time yet.”

Then, just like that—a tug.

Not painful. But powerful.

Like a magnet pulling her soul down a tunnel of light and sound and heartbeats.

He was by her side in seconds. She looked pale, but she was there —she was there.

Her fingers twitched, her lips parted like she was trying to speak.

“ Linnie,” he whispered, stroking her damp hair.

“ You came back to me.” A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

He leaned in close and kissed her forehead, whispering again and again:

"Thank you. Thank you for fighting. Thank you for staying."

Outside the OR, the longest day of the year was coming to an end. But inside this room, the light lingered—soft and steady. She had chosen to stay. And Blaine would never take another breath with her for granted.

The world came back slowly. The soft beeping of a monitor. The sterile scent of the ICU. The low hum of the air system above her. Pain, dull and heavy, pressed into her abdomen. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs were too heavy to move.

She blinked. The ceiling wasn ’ t familiar, but the warmth pressed gently to her right side was.

“ Blaine…” Her voice cracked like paper.

His head jerked up from where it had rested on the side of her bed. His eyes, red and puffy, widened in disbelief.

“ Linnie,” he breathed, voice thick and trembling. “ You ’ re awake.”

She tried to smile but couldn ’ t move her lips all the way. He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers so gently, like he was afraid she ’ d disappear again.

“ You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to her hand. “ You… you flatlined. I thought I lost you.”

Tears blurred her vision.

“ I ’ m here,” she murmured. “ Where ’ s… where ’ s our baby?”

His face changed then—something between joy and heartbreak.

“ He ’ s here. He ’ s strong. He ’ s perfect. He ’ s just… tiny. Two pounds. But he ’ s a fighter, just like you.”

She closed her eyes and let a sob escape, her body too weak to cry fully.

“ I want to see him,” she whispered.

“ You will,” Blaine promised. “ Soon. They just… they have to make sure you ’ re okay first.”

Three Days Later

The nurses helped her into the wheelchair, gently lowering the IV bags and checking her blood pressure again.

Blaine had been waiting at the door with a soft blanket for her legs and a baseball cap for her messy hair.

He kissed her temple and whispered, “ Ready?” No part of her was ready.

Her incision still ached. Her body felt foreign. But her heart— Her heart was sprinting.

The walk to the NICU was short. The journey felt eternal.

Through the window, she could see the tiniest bed she ’ d ever seen.

Tubes. Wires. A glowing blue light above the isolette.

And inside it — Their son. She gasped. He was so small, his head not even the size of her palm, wrapped in soft blankets, breathing steadily with the help of machines.

“ He ’ s beautiful,” she whispered, tears sliding freely now.

Blaine nodded, swallowing hard. “ He looks just like you.”

A nurse appeared beside them, smiling gently. “ He ’ s been waiting for his mama. Want to hold him?”

Linnie nodded, unable to form words.

With careful, gloved hands, the nurse slid the wires just enough so she could do skin-to-skin contact.

Blaine helped lower her gown. The second her baby was placed on her chest, everything else faded.

His heartbeat. Her heartbeat. One. Her arms trembled, but she held him as close as she could.

She breathed in the scent of his soft head and whispered, “ Hi baby. I ’ m your mom. ”

Blaine knelt beside them, one arm around Linnie ’ s shoulders, the other gently stroking the baby ’ s back.

“ I think his name ’ s gonna be perfect,” Blaine said softly.

Linnie looked at him and smiled. “ Yeah?”

He nodded. “ He earned it.”