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“Nope, he’s still in here.” As if to prove it, his eyes drop to my boobs.

I try to stand up on my own, but I end up using the counter to help, groaning when I straighten.

Fuck you, gravity.

The smile on Sumner’s face as he watches me can only be described as fond.

“So, not to stress you out all over again,” I say, knowing I need to fill him in on what happened while he was in the air. “But I had a contraction tonight.”

Sumner’s eyes snap up to mine.

I should really learn not to start conversations that way.

“Just one,” I rush out. “And it didn’t even hurt or anything.”

Every trace of his tired humor disappears, and he steps closer to me. “What? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

It’s really hard to focus with all the muscles and the nakedness happening right now, but I do my best, dragging my eyes back up to his face.

“I think it was just the stress of everything, but we’re both fine. See?”

His palm spreads wide across my stomach as if he needs to feel for himself. The baby moves almost all the time now, so it doesn’t take long for him to feel them. “And you’re not in pain or having them right now?”

“No. It was literally just the one. I probably shouldn’t even have said anything but⁠—”

His fingers come up and grip my chin, tilting my face up so we’re eye to eye. “I want to know everything, Goldie. You’ve known that from the beginning. Even the tiny things you think don’t matter. They matter to me.”

His forehead falls against mine. “Thank you for telling me.” He exhales, and I breathe him in. “You’re really okay?”

I lean into the hand still on my stomach a little. “We’re really okay.”

I slide my hands carefully around his waist, doing my best to avoid the massive bruise forming on his side. “That feeling?”

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes.

“The panic you just felt when I told you about the contraction?”

His jaw tenses because I think he knows what I’m about to say.

“That’s exactly what I felt when the tracker froze while you were in the eyewall.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. The shower continues to run behind us, filling the bathroom with warm steam, while his thumb moves in slow, soothing arcs over my stomach.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “I hate that you had to sit here not knowing.”

“It was the absolute worst.”

His eyes stay locked on mine.

I could ask him not to fly again. A tiny, terrified part of me really wants to. I could tell him I never want to watch another stupid blue dot crawl into a hurricane for as long as I live.

But that would mean asking him to cut off a fundamental piece of himself just so I could feel a little safer. I know exactly what that does to a person, and I refuse to do it to him.

“I know I’ve said it before, but after going through that, I think I need to say it again,” I tell him. “I’ll never ask you to stop.”

His hand stills on my belly.

“I’m serious. I’m going to hate it every single time you leave, and I’ll probably be a complete nightmare until you come back, but I won’t do that.”