“It feels like everything I’ve worked for is slipping away.” The words come out too fast. “I’ve sacrificedyearsfor this career. My twenties, my sleep. My relationships. And now I’m a fucking liability because I fell in love. Because I had the audacity to be good at my jobandbe pregnant at the same time.”
My hands clutch the side of the countertop.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice trembles. “We didn’t even kiss until—”
“Hey.”
Reid steps up behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back.
“We didn’t,” he says. “I was handed over before anything happened. You did your job.”
I swallow with a nod, but my chest feels crowded with everything I didn’t say in that room.
“But love doesn’t always wait for clean lines, Havoc,” he adds, his fingers trailing up my arm. “Sometimes it just… shows up and asks you to remove your piercings.”
My grip tightens on the counter as I huff a laugh.
“And if it’s real love,” he continues, “you fight for it. You don’t apologize for it, and you don’t let anyone rewrite it like it was something careless.”
One warm, solid hand lands on my waist, grounding me
“So this isn’t gonna slip away, and you’re not losing anything,” he says. “Not your license, and absolutely notme.”
I turn in his arms to face him, and I feel my throat go hot.
“You really think I can come back from this?”
Reid takes my hand and moves it to rest over my bump, then covers it with his own steady one.
“You’re not just gonna come back,” he says. “You’re gonnakick asswhen you do.”
I stare at him, then finally manage a nod.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”
We stand there for a long moment, just breathing. The mocktail sits forgotten on the counter, and the vegetables are starting to burn.
“I can still be a badass and have a baby, right?”
Reid huffs, brushing a knuckle against my cheek.
“You’ve never been anything else, Havoc.”
Chapter twenty-nine
Not my fault you knocked me up and got hotter
Reid
The barbell dips, then rises slowly above my chest. I count the rep in my head, exhale through my nose, and lower again.
Six weeks ‘til puck drop. My body’s ready, finally. Stronger than it’s been since the surgery and the end of last season, but that doesn’t mean I’m easing off. If anything, I’m pushing harder.
She’s been pushing too, in her own way. Carina’s spent the last few weeks pulling together everything for the inquiry—notes, emails, witness logs, clinical evidence. Still frustrated, but she’s calmer now. Every time I look at her, she’s got a different folder open or a new medical journal pulled up like she’s building a fortress out of facts.
And when she’s not doing that, she’s all in on baby prep.
Name lists. Nursery moodboards. Research tabs on everything from bottle sterilizers to car seat safety ratings.
