Page 303 of Labor of Love

In some ways, it still surprised me every time Nash reminded me how well he knew my scent. Not because he was capable of it but because he cared to keep track. That he paid enough attention day-to-day to know the most subtle shifts. I would bet money no one else on the squad was half as attuned.

It was another reason it was good we’d called it quits—for real—on sleeping together. No matter how much it sucked. I didn’t allow myself much room for daydreaming, but when I did… a different outcome for us usually played out in my mind. But he was my squad mate. We were both living our dream. We couldn’t do that and be together.

I deflated, letting out a breath and relaxing my stance. “Maybe Iamcoming down with something. I haven’t been feeling great, but I’m not missing training.”

“Alright. Just take care of yourself, okay?”

“Always do.” With that, I turned and headed for the door of the locker room. Nash stayed a few steps behind me. The rest of the squad was lingering near one of the open bay doors in the garage of the station.

Sun-roasted air washed through the door, heating up the garage and making sweat bead along my upper lip. The bright rays of sun decorating the concrete floor started to blur betweenone step and the next. My stomach rolled as my steps faltered. The last thing I heard was Nash calling my name before I hit the ground.

Micah

Pregnant.

I still couldn’t believe it.

After I’d woken up on the way to the hospital, they’d started with basic blood work. The problem had become apparent quickly after that.

Wind ruffled my hair where I was sitting on a bench outside the hospital waiting for my ride share. There were already three texts from Nash on my phone wanting updates. The captain had apparently told them I was okay as I’d consented, but no one knew yet what had caused myfainting spelllike I was some kind of goddamn damsel.

What the fuck was I going to do? I’d have to tell the captain and report my change in status. I wouldn’t be able to be out in the field. Another thought hit me like a brick… I needed to tell Nash.

Fuck.

I dropped my elbows to my knees and pressed my palms against my eyes. I felt sick to my stomach. I’d worked so damn hard to get where I was and the thought of having to walk away from it felt impossible.

My phone vibrated. Nash and the squad must be on lunch because he wouldn’t be able to call me otherwise. I picked it up off the bench and stared at the screen. If I kept ignoring him, he’d only get more worried. I couldn’t risk him deciding heneeded to come see for himself if I was okay. I wasn’t ready to face him. Had no clue how the fuck I was going to tell him.

I slid my thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to my ear. “Aren’t you supposed to be training?”

”Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.” His voice was rough, but the relief pouring through the phone was like a balm spreading from the center of my chest until the twist in my gut eased. “Are you okay?”

I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “Yeah. Shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.” I tried to joke.

The weight of the silence coming through the phone told me he knew I was lying. I swallowed hard and tried again. “I’m okay, Nash. Promise.”

He let out a slow breath. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

There really was no use drawing it out. Whatever I decided to do, he deserved to know. “I will. I’m taking the rest of the day off so why don’t you stop by after work.”

”I’ll see you then.”

Nash

The rest of the afternoon dragged on forever. My mind was an endless loop of all the things that might be wrong with Micah. It suddenly felt like there were a million ailments that could’ve befallen him. Each one was somehow more terrifying than the last.

But he said he was okay. Except that obviously wasn’t really the case. He’d just sounded so… defeated. Resigned. Very un-Micah-like.

When work was finally done, I took the fastest shower of my life and more or less sprinted to my truck. The minutes left before Micah was in front of me somehow felt longer than the hours I’d waited that afternoon.

An eternity and too many red lights later, I stood in front of Micah’s door, suddenly hesitant to raise my fist to knock. The strangest feeling washed over me. I’d walked through this door a hundred times—to watch a game, with my lips attached to Micah’s when we gave in to the constant urge to get our hands on each other, and every time I’d left in the morning after one of those blissful nights.

Finding my courage, I rapped my knuckles on the door.

“It’s open,” Micah called from inside.

Something unclenched in my chest at the sound of his voice so close. I pushed the door open and took my first full, deep breath since he’d collapsed earlier. The warm vanilla and lemon of his scent wrapped around me, but there was another layer. One I’d only scented from him in the most stressful of situations we’d faced on S.W.A.T. He was truly nervous. Anxious. Stressed.

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