29. Hunter

TWENTY-NINE

HUNTER

D r. Greene's office smells like lemon Lysol.

The medical assistant taking us to the exam room looks annoyed to be here on a Saturday morning, but she's professional otherwise.

Winter left a urine sample in the bathroom as soon as we got to the office, and now I stand next to her as she sits on the exam table.

"Date of your last menstrual period?" The medical assistant asks, her long nails clicking on the keyboard with unnatural percussion.

"It was three months ago or so. Maybe a little under," Winter says.

The assistant types swiftly, her fingers dancing across the keys as she enters the information.

"Mmmkay, and no bleeding, unusual discharge, pelvic pain?" Her gaze fixes on Winter, hands frozen above the keyboard. I instinctively rub Winter's back as she draws in a sharp breath.

She leans into me and croaks, "No."

"Mmmkay." She clicks on the keyboard for a few more seconds, referencing the sticky note where she wrote Winter's height and weight. I swallow annoyance that they should have that exact information from her visit four months ago and continue to rub Winter's back.

"Is this your first pregnancy?" she asks casually without looking at Winter, which is good because I don't want anyone to see the tears welling in her eyes and how pale she's gone under her naturally light-brown skin.

"Um—"

"That's enough questions," I bark. The medical assistant jumps.

"I need this information for the doctor," she says with more than an edge of annoyance.

"No, you don't." As my words hang in the air, she responds with a barely suppressed eye roll, a clear expression of irritation etched into the gesture.

"Well, I need to take her blood pressure and sats," she says, standing up to pull a pulse ox out of her scrub pocket. When she steps forward, I put my arm in front of Winter's body.

"Touch her, and I promise you will regret that decision. Leave the room and tell the doctor we're waiting for her."

My eyes don't shift from the medical assistant's shocked face. With an exasperated huff, she locks the computer with brisk taps. Without uttering a word, she whirls around, exiting the room.

"H," Winter whispers. I look at her, keeping my face soft.

She looks lost, so I rub my finger on her cheek. "Talk to me, Sunbeam," I say.

When I speak, she sucks in a breath. "If...something is wrong with the...with the baby?—"

I pull her hand to my mouth, kissing the delicate skin inside her wrist. This silences her.

"Winter, let's try something. You game?" She stares at me, her eyes watery. Her bottom lip trembles, but she gives me a sharp nod. "Let's have our default setting be believing everything is okay until proven otherwise. How does that sound?"

She chews on her lip for a second. "That sounds like something a non-anxious person would do," she drawls.

I chuckle, and she rests her head on my shoulder. "When the bad thoughts come in, remind yourself of our game. All is good until proven otherwise. Okay?"

We stay like that, her head on my shoulder and my arm around her, for several minutes until Dr.Greene walks in.

"Well, you most certainly are pregnant," she says, looking over at the tiny stick in front of Winter's pee. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Winter straightens, a hint of relief washing over her. "I'm all right today," she says, a small smile on her lips. Then her face falls as quickly as her smile appeared. "No morning sickness for a full twenty-four hours." She starts to bite her nails.

"Why does that make you nervous, baby?" I whisper just for her ears as I lower her hand back to her lap.

"Because—I mean—does the lack of morning sickness mean something's wrong?" she whispers back, and then she turns her face into my chest and cries silently.

I rub her back and look helplessly at Dr.Greene. She smiles softly.

"Winter, what things are you worried about? Let's talk about them." The doctor puts her thin laptop on the counter in the corner of the small exam room. With a patient look, she gives Winter her full attention.

"I don't know why I lost the last one." Her voice is a rasp. "Is there something wrong with me?"

Dr.Greene's understanding eyes soften. "I see. Can I explain it to you?"

Winter nods slowly, leaning into me.

"You were so young the last time you conceived, and the reality is that when very young people get pregnant, their bodies are still developing. You were just starting puberty, Winter. The body often isn't prepared to handle something as strenuous as gestating a fetus that early in one's fertility journey. In your case, that stress resulted in a placental abruption."

Winter nods along to what the doctor says, and her gaze never wavers from the doctor's.

"Let's talk risks. There is a slightly increased risk that you might experience another abruption over the general population, but hear me clearly: The risk is still low."

Winter clears her throat. "The risk is still low," she echoes.

Dr.Greene smiles at her. "Would you like to see your baby, Winter?"

Winter lifts her head so quickly that she almost clips my chin.

"I—really? It's not too early?" she says.

Dr.Greene doesn't answer right away. Instead, she boots up the machine next to Winter after she rolls in front of it.

"Nah," the doctor says, good-natured. "Wanna take a look?"

Winter nods her head.

"Lay back for me." Dr.Greene puts a glob of ultrasound gel on Winter's lower belly after Winter shimmies her pants down and lifts her shirt.

Her hand trembles in mine as Dr.Greene flicks off the overhead lights. Once she's back on her rolling seat, Dr.Greene slides her eyes to us.

"You ready?" She holds the ultrasound wand suspended in the air. I nod for the both of us. The tension in my throat makes it hard to speak.

She puts the wand on Winter's lower stomach and turns her attention back to the screen. She taps the machine and rolls the ball-looking knob, her face completely blank.

Now, I shake.

After a few more moments, the hazy gray static starts to clear, and I see a small circle of clear space in the middle of the screen.

"See that? That's your baby," Dr.Greene says, not looking at us and pointing with her cursor. With a few more taps, she makes the image larger.

"Nice fetal pole and a very normal-looking yolk sac," she continues talking, but my eyes lock on the screen, on the flickering blob that's a perfect blend of me and Winter.

Holy fucking shit.

"And if you give me just a moment—" Dr.Greene makes a few more taps, pressing the wand more firmly against Winter's lower stomach. I look at Winter's face. Her eyes are glassy, and she has the hand not holding mine pressed to her mouth.

The rapid glub-glub-glub of a heartbeat resonates through the room.

"Oh," Winter says with a sharp inhale. "That's the—that's the heartbeat."

"Yep," Dr.Greene says brightly. "And it's a super normal heart rate of ninety-nine beats per minute."

We share a silent exchange as our fingers entwine, and I lean down to press a kiss to the side of her head.

"That's our baby, Sunbeam," I whisper in her ear.

That's my baby.

The weight of responsibility for keeping this new life safe sits heavy on my chest like an elephant.

I fucked up by treating August so terribly, and I'll never forgive myself for abandoning him.

But I'm so fucking grateful that I get to try again—not just with this new baby, but with August and Winter as well.

I'm so fucking grateful that the four of us get to make a family.

Gratitude mingles with the fear, bittersweet on my tongue.

The machine whirrs a few moments later after the doctor removes the wand from Winter's stomach. She hands her a small hand towel.

Tearing off one of the ultrasound pictures, she hands the rest to Winter. It's tangible evidence of the new life.

"Come back to see me in one week, and we'll do bloodwork. But Winter?" She puts her hand on Winter's knee, looking into her eyes. "I have no concerns right now. Everything looks good. Okay? So try to relax. Enjoy this time."

Winter nods, her silence echoing louder than words.

"Good," Dr. Greene says, rolling backward. "Take care of our girl," the doctor adds, looking at me. Then she winks.

Once Dr.Greene is out of the room, I pull Winter into my arms, hugging her.

"Everything is okay," Winter says with her face pressed into my chest.

"Everything is perfect," I counter. Lifting her head to face me, I pepper kisses on her face. "Everything is beautiful."

Her smile takes my breath away.

A knock sounds from the door, and before we can say anything, the medical assistant is back in the room with a canvas bag embossed with the name of some drug company.

She pops her gum before speaking. "Here. Inside, you'll find information on cord banking, some prenatal vitamin samples, and some pamphlets for some of our doulas and birth classes."

She begins to hand the bag to Winter, and then, with a glance in my direction, she puts it on the counter and exits, leaving the door open.

Winter and I exchange glances, her delicate snort a subtle punctuation to our shared amusement.

Exiting the doctor's office and stepping into the crush around DuPont Circle would feel exhilarating any other day. Right now, everything feels delicate. Fragile.

I pull Winter's body into mine, putting a protective arm over her stomach. The foot traffic is thick, but Rio is at the curb waiting for us.

We leave the safe shelter of the office awning and step onto the sidewalk when a sudden collision catches me off guard. A dark-haired woman in jogging clothes and a low baseball hat runs into us.

Winter drops the bag, and the contents spill over the concrete.

"Sorry!" Winter and the woman both say at the same time.

Winter reaches for the papers and pills, but I stop her from bending over. The woman quickly shuffles everything back into the bag before I can reach for anything. Keeping her head low, the woman hands everything to Winter.

"Sorry again!" The woman rasps before spinning around and jogging away from us, her ponytail bouncing from where it sticks out of her cap.

Winter blows out a sharp breath, pointing the force of her exhalation up so that her curly bangs flutter.

Scouring our surroundings, we make it to the car without incident, and before we know it, Winter's hand is firm in mine as we both sit in the back seat of the Suburban. We're at a stoplight about to enter the highway for the rest of the thirty-minute drive.

"I guess I better start taking these," Winter says, thumbing through the prenatal packages.

"Absolutely, baby," I reply.

The car glides through the city streets, the steady drone of the engine creating a backdrop to the quiet impact of the moments we've just shared.

Winter's hand tightens in mine.

I instinctively glance in the rearview mirror. The cars around us seem ordinary, but something feels off.

My guys trail behind in the dark-tinted SUV, and Jared's shock of blonde hair contrasts against the dark interior when I look out the rear window .

To the left, an inconspicuous vehicle mirrors our path, another Suburban.

To my right is the same make and model of vehicle. Even the color is the same.

I glance at the side of Rio's face and note his eyes focused on the side-view mirror.

He sees what I see.

A prickling unease creeps through my stomach, a subtle warning to pay fucking attention.

What are the odds of four Suburbans being at the same stoplight?

Leo's words echo in my mind, "I don't believe in coincidences."

The ultrasound absorbs Winter's attention, and she remains unaware, blissful.

"Three and nine o'clock, Rio," I murmur as his head moves, already scanning the cars beside us. Rio's hands tighten on the steering wheel, and he nods, indicating his understanding without turning around to address me in the back seat.

"I wonder what they'll be like," Winter says more to herself. Her soft smile almost snags my focus away from the danger surrounding us.

Rio wordlessly shifts the vehicle into first gear as I slide my hand to the firearm at my back.

I retrieve my gun, careful not to alarm Winter, who glances up from the pamphlets she's sorting.

Wait. Shit. Fucking shit.

"What—" Winter objects when I snatch one of the flyers out of her hands.

A bright flash out of the corner of my eye rips my attention from the paper in front of me, and a millisecond later, the back driver's side glass cracks.

"Down!" I roar at Winter.

Rio punches the accelerator through the red light. Our guys take off after us, and the two cars fall into line quickly. Thank fuck for the bulletproof glass, otherwise, that bullet would have gone straight through my brain.

"Hunter!" Winter's eyes are wide, terror making them glassy. I don't wait for her compliance. Instead, I unbuckle her seat belt and push her into the foot well.

A phone call comes from our car behind us.

"Did someone just shoot at us?" Winter's voice pierces through my chest, her fear amplifying my anxiety.

"ID on the vehicles." My words cut through the air, sharp and pissed off. When Rio maneuvers between a city bus and a minivan, my back slams into the seat.

I grab the gun and clip sitting inside the center console of the back seat. I hand it to Winter as Rio's speed tops over a hundred.

"Is someone following us?" The wide-eyed expression on Winter's face telegraphs her frantic thoughts. Her hand covers her stomach, trying to protect our child with the only thing she has.

"Load it," I tell her, putting the gun and clip on the seat in front of her.

Her hands tremble as she reaches for the gun and does as she's told.

I take the risk of leaning down toward her, putting my hand on the back of her neck so that I can force her to face me.

"Calm," I say in a hard voice. "Calm yourself."

She breathes in and out in fractured spurts, and after a few cycles, her breathing smooths.

"Ghosts, boss," Jared's disembodied voice says.

Pop-pop-pop erupts from the speaker a split second after I see the car on the left careen into the interstate median.

"Vehicle one is down, sir," Carlos, the other occupant behind us, says.

"Stay with us," I demand.

"You don't want us to assess? "

" No. " If Winter wasn't in the car, then yes, but with her trembling in the back seat, whimpering....

Fucking focus.

Rio weaves between a few cars. "We're too exposed," he says.

Winter's choking sobs break through the tension. "What's going on?" she cries with her eyes closed.

"Take the next exit," I demand, swinging my body to the front passenger seat. "Stay down, baby," I say over my shoulder to Winter.

I barely hear her strangled, "Okay."

I want to haul her into my arms—to cover her body with mine. I'd gladly take a spray of bullets if it meant she were safe.

The remaining SUV revs up, weaving around a car and popping onto the emergency lane before swerving back over two lanes of traffic.

I lift my gun, ready to fire, when they suddenly decelerate. Fast.

"They just fell back and exited," Rio says. He sounds just as confused as I am.

"Confirm," I bark into the speakerphone.

"Confirmed. Do you want us to disable this vehicle and assess?"

"No," I say.

I hear the other man say a low "fuck," an utterance he obviously didn't intend on me hearing.

"Everything looks normal now, boss," Rio says, his eyes still scanning the vehicles around us.

This does little to ease my anxiety.

"Get us back to Amelia Manor," I growl, swiveling my head to assess the surrounding area. My muscles bunch beneath my skin, and the gun in my hand is ready to fire at any threat .

Get Winter to safety. That's the most important thing at this moment. Winter and the baby.

From between the seat and the door, I feel Winter's hand latch onto my pocket. At the feeling of her closeness, I release a sharp breath trapped in my chest.

I squeeze her fingers.

And as the trees pass by, I look at the crumpled paper in my fist and try not to shake.

Staring back at me is the same unblinking eye that's on the ring in my pocket.