Only then does Trey ease slightly, just enough that I notice the difference. The tension doesn’t disappear, but it reshapes itself into focus.
My breathing starts to slow again.
I glance at him.
“You look handsome,” I say quietly.
He’s wearing a white shirt, the first four buttons undone, his tattoos spilling up his neck in dark contrast against the fabric. There’s something unfair about how good he looks.
He smirks, eyes flicking to me for a second before returning to the road.
“Why, Mrs. Baker, are you trying to get into your husband’s pants again?” he says, sounding scandalized.
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “What?”
He shakes his head slightly, like he’s amused with himself. “Damn,” he smirks, “I guess not.”
We’ve been driving for about twenty minutes when the clinic rises out of polished stone and tinted glass.
Our convoy of Black SUVs line the curb.
Not unusual for Los Angeles.Not for us.
But the presence of security, subtle, sharp-eyed, hands brushing earpieces as we step out of Trey’s SUV, tightens something low in my chest. It follows us inside, invisible but undeniable, like a shadow stitched to our heels.
My hand finds my stomach before I even realize I’m doing it.
It’s instinct now. Constant. Protective.
Trey’s hand settles at the small of my back the second we clear the entrance, guiding me forward with a quiet kind of possession that has nothing to do with control and everything to do with keeping me steady. His thumb brushes slow circles against my spine as we walk.
He doesn’t let go.
Not when we check in.
Not when we’re led to the waiting room.
Not even when we sit.
The space is soft. Muted beige, low lighting, the faint scent of lavender drifting through the air. Carefully curated calm. A world away from everything waiting outside those doors.
Other couples sit scattered around the room.
A woman flipping through a baby name book.
A man whispering something that makes his partner laugh softly.
I notice a few of the expectant mothers looking at Trey like they might if a wild jungle cat had just walked in, but other than that, the place is peaceful.Normal.
The word feels foreign in my chest.
My fingers curl tighter in Trey’s, and he shifts closer instantly, his thigh pressing to mine, his presence a solid wall at my side. I feel his gaze before I look at him.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
“I know,” he murmurs, but his thumb brushes my knuckles like he doesn’t quite believe it.
A nurse appears in the doorway. “Mr. and Mrs. Bien?” she asks.
