Chapter 4 - Max

Emma practically sprints up the stairs, leaving me alone with her aunt's loaded question hanging in the air. I've faced insurgents with less intimidating stares than the ones I'm getting right now.

"My intentions?" I straighten my tie, buying time.

Truth or the rehearsed story we'd planned?

Hell with it. Truth.

"I love her," I say, watching Uncle Jack's eyebrows shoot up. "I know we haven't been together long, but when you know, you know."

Aunt Linda leans forward in her chair. "And marriage? Children?"

The question hits like a gut punch. Just this morning, I was thinking about asking Emma to make this fake relationship real. Now, she can barely look at me.

"I'd marry her tomorrow if she'd have me." The words come out before I can stop them. "As for kids—"

A thud from upstairs cuts me off. I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved, military training kicking in.

"Emma?" I call up, already heading for the stairs. "You okay?"

No answer.

"Second door on the right," Aunt Linda says, but I'm already halfway up.

The bathroom door is closed. I rap my knuckles against it, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

"Sweetheart?"

"I'm fine," she calls back, but her voice sounds shaky. "Just... dropped something."

Like hell she's fine. She hasn't been fine all morning.

"Can I come in?"

Silence. Then, the sound of the lock turning.

I glance back down the stairs, where I can hear Aunt Linda and Uncle Jack whispering. Whatever's going on with Emma, she probably doesn't want an audience.

I push the door open, and my heart stops.

Emma's sitting on the bathtub's edge, tears streaming down her face. And in her trembling hands is a pregnancy test.

Positive.

The world tilts on its axis. Everything clicks into place – the nervousness, the lack of coffee, the nausea at breakfast. I blink at the test, then at Emma, then back at the test.

"Is that..." My voice comes out rough. "Are you..."

"I'm pregnant." She whispers it like she's confessing a crime. "I just found out this morning."

My legs feel wobbly. I shut the bathroom door and slide down it until I'm sitting on the floor. The fancy suit pants will probably wrinkle, but I couldn't care less now.

"Say something," Emma pleads, her knuckles white around the test. "Please."

A baby. My baby. Our baby.

"Is this why you've been acting strange all morning?"

She nods, tears still falling.

"I didn't know how to tell you. We never talked about kids, and your job is so dangerous, and we're not even really dating, and—"

"Stop." I push myself up, crossing the small bathroom in one stride. "What do you mean we're not really dating?"

"This was supposed to be pretend, right?" she gestures vaguely toward the door, where her family waits. "Just for today."

I kneel in front of her, taking the test and setting it aside so I can hold both her hands.

"Emma, sweetheart, look at me."

She raises her eyes to mine, mascara smeared beneath them.

"Nothing about us has been pretend." I squeeze her fingers. "Not the Christmas Festival, not the late-night calls, not the way I feel about you. I was just telling your aunt and uncle I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd have me."

Her eyes widen. "You what?"

"I mean it." I reach up to wipe a tear from her cheek. "And now you're telling me we're having a baby? Emma, that's not scary – that's amazing."

"But your job—"

"I'll be more careful." I press my forehead to hers.

A sob escapes her. "You're not running?"

"Running?" I pull back to look at her properly. "Sweetheart, I've been yours since the moment I saw you. This baby? That's just one more reason to stay."

My hands are steady as I wipe away Emma's tears, but my insides are in complete chaos. A father. Me. The guy who grew up bouncing between foster homes, never knowing what a real dad should be like.

My heart pounds against my ribs so hard I wonder if Emma can hear it. What the hell do I know about raising kids? Sure, I can run into burning buildings and make split-second decisions that save lives, but a baby?

"Everything okay up there?" Aunt Linda's voice carries up the stairs.

Emma tenses under my hands. Right. We're still in her family's bathroom, and they're waiting for us.

"Be right down!" I call back, trying to keep my voice normal.

But all I can think about is how many guys I've seen miss their kids' birthdays, their first steps, their school plays. How many of us haven't made it home.

Christ. What if I die on a call and leave them alone?

"We should go down," Emma says, standing up shakily. "They'll start wondering."

I nod, helping her fix her makeup, playing the role of a supportive boyfriend. Partner. Father of her child. The words make my stomach clench.

Part of me wants to bolt – not from Emma or the baby, but from this house. I need to talk to my crew, the only family I've known. Need to hear Chief Luke tell me I won't screw this up like everything else in my life.

But Emma needs me here, now. So I straighten my tie, take her hand, and pretend I'm not terrified out of my mind.

"Ready?" I ask, and somehow my voice doesn't shake.

She squeezes my hand, and I wonder if she can feel my pulse racing through my palm.