Page 40 of The Final Faceoff
I glance at her face. She’s jittery, hands clenched over her stomach, her eyes fixed on the screen like it holds the answer to every question she’s too scared to ask. She’s nervous. And she never gets nervous. She’s the one who rushes into disaster zones with a camera and a microphone, unfazed by the chaos, unshaken by things that would send most people running.
But this?
This has her unsteady. And still, she doesn’t question why I’m here. She doesn’t hesitate when I take her hand, doesn’t flinch when I squeeze it, doesn’t even stop to consider what it means that I’m the one beside her. She just lets me be her person.
And now, it’s too late, isn’t it? Too late to be anything else, too late to want anything else. Too late to untangle myself from her, to pretend that I could ever exist in a world where she isn’t mine—even if I can never actually have her.
The second I look at the screen, my entire world shifts. There it is. The tiniest, grainiest shape, curled up inside her, barely formed, barely real. And then—fuck. The heartbeat. Loud, strong, impossibly fast, filling the room with a steady thump-thump-thump.
Something in my chest caves in, and I grip her hand tighter, the pressure grounding me even as my mind spins in a thousand different directions. It’s not mine. It never will be. But the second I hear that sound, something deep and unrelenting seizes inside me. A possessive, primal instinct that coils around my ribs and squeezes.
I want to protect it. I want to take care of it. I want to take care of them.
The thought settles into my chest like it’s always been there, waiting for me to acknowledge it. Not something fleeting or reactionary. Something certain.
I’ve always loved her. That’s never been in question. It’s a truth so ingrained in me that I don’t even remember when it started—it just is. Like the way she always calls me first when something goes wrong, or the way I know exactly how she takes her coffee no matter what country she’s in. Like the way I memorize the little things that matter to her, even when she doesn’t realize it.
But I’ve never said it.
Because she wasn’t ready.
Because Hailey has spent her whole life running—from places, from people, from herself. Her father made sure to let her know that she doesn’t deserve love. So, she runs. Runs from anything that feels too big, too real, too permanent. And if I dare to change things between us, if I push too hard, I might lose her.
And that? That would wreck me.
But now . . .
Now, I can’t ignore it.
I want them.
Not just her, not just the idea of something more, but this. The life forming inside her. The future neither of us planned but is somehow already mine.
I’ve always known how to be patient with Hailey. How to let her come to things in her own time. But this—this changes everything.
Because for the first time, I don’t want to wait.
The doctor keeps talking, saying something about measurements and due dates, but it’s all static. All I hear is that heartbeat. All I see is that tiny person on the screen, proof that something is growing inside her. A life that she created.
A baby we’re keeping and raising together if she lets me.
My hand twitches against my knee, every muscle locked up as I fight the instinct to reach for her. To ground myself in her warmth. To do something—anything—to control the wildfire spreading inside me.
But I can’t, because if I touch her now, I don’t trust myself to stop.
I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something I don’t know how to cross. Like one step forward could change everything, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever find my way back.
She clears her throat, forcing a wobbly smile. “Well. I guess I officially have a gummy bear.”
I suck in a slow breath, forcing my eyes back to the screen, but it doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse. Because there it is. Our baby.
Ours, because even when they might not have my blood I already feel them as mine.
Small, barely formed, but real.
A tiny heartbeat, pulsing strong. A heartbeat that only exists because of her.
The need to protect them surges so fast I nearly double over from the force of it. It’s not just instinct—it’s primal. It’s deep in my bones, in my blood, in the very core of who I am.
