Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

T rees flew by the window, but Callie barely saw them. She barely saw anything. Her head was a mess, a million emotions competing against one another inside her, and none of them good.

Pregnant. She was pregnant . They should have been more careful. God, why hadn’t they been more careful?

Lock had tried to get her to talk to him, tell him how she felt, but she couldn’t speak. There was almost this desperate need inside her to keep her emotions locked away, as if that could somehow dull the fear of reliving the past.

She couldn’t go through that again. She’d barely survived the first time.

Lock’s hand rested on her leg, its warmth usually enough to calm her. Tonight, it wasn’t.

He was worried about her. He hadn’t said the words out loud. He’d said it with the deep frown etched between his brows. In the way he watched her so closely. Touched her with hesitation like he was scared she’d run.

And if she was completely honest…a part of her wanted to run. But this time, running wouldn’t be an escape.

Lock and the doctor had spoken about her past pregnancy loss. Phrases like “high risk” and “extra observation” had been thrown around. She’d tried to listen, but every second that passed had made the walls around her feel that bit closer. Like the room was closing in on her.

Callie was so in her own head that she didn’t even realize they’d arrived at Lock’s house until his thumb grazed her thigh, tugging her back to the present.

“Callie. Talk to me, honey.”

Lock wanted her to talk. But how was she supposed to articulate the pit in her belly? How was she supposed to put words to the fear and confusion and panic that swirled inside her?

“Callie—”

She turned toward him and he stilled. It was like one look at her and he saw everything. Every word she couldn’t get out. Every emotion she couldn’t convey.

He climbed out of the truck and moved around to her side, where he helped her out before setting a hand on the middle of her back and guiding her inside.

The second they stepped into his bedroom, her gaze shifted to the window, a shiver shaking her whole body.

There was the softest growl from Lock before he lifted her against his chest and carried her into the bathroom. She barely felt the chill of the bathroom counter beneath her thighs as he sat her down. Piece by piece, he helped her out of her clothes, his eyes never leaving hers.

His clothes dropped next, his bronzed skin on full display. Then he lifted her back into his arms and stepped into the shower. There was something about water and warmth and having the man she loved hold her that dulled some of the panic inside.

She tightened her arms around him and just let him hold her. Let the shower beat down on both of them. It almost felt like a circle of safety, a place where the grief of the past and the uncertainty of the future couldn’t penetrate.

His mouth went to her cheek, his lips brushing her skin before he whispered, “It will be okay.”

She wanted to latch on to his words and take them as truth, but he couldn’t promise her that. No one could.

She burrowed her head into his neck. “Just hold me.”

That was what she really needed. His warmth. His strength. Him .

It was still dark outside. Not even a sliver of light snuck through the gap in the curtains. What was it, four a.m.? Five?

They’d only gotten into bed at two. He hadn’t slept. Not a single minute. He’d thought Callie wouldn’t sleep either, but the second her head hit the pillow, she was out. Like the weight of the past twenty-four hours had left her without a scrap of energy.

His gaze lowered to the top of her head. To her torso, where it lay half over his.

Pregnant. She was pregnant…again.

It should have been an evening for celebration. They loved each other. They wanted to spend their lives together. But the weight of the past was heavy.

He’d wanted to talk to her about it. To hear exactly how she felt even if it was dark or ugly. But she hadn’t wanted to talk. He didn’t even think she’d been capable. And that fear on her face, in combination with her pale skin and the circles under her eyes…fuck, it had made him worry.

He stroked his thumb over her bare hip, wishing this moment could be different. Wishing, for the thousandth fucking time, that things had been different two years ago.

He lowered his mouth and kissed the top of her head.

At least she’d let him hold her. He needed that. It wasn’t just the pregnancy announcement that had shaken him. It was everything that had come before with her almost being kidnapped.

His arm around her tightened.

He needed to know who the asshole was so he could rip him to shreds. Maybe that was why Eastern had kept the information about Hamish’s father being a Marine from him. Because literally all the fucking signs pointed to it being him now. He fit the description of the guy. Same height. Same body type. And just because someone appeared non-threatening didn’t mean they were.

He tried to close his eyes. To get a whisper of sleep, but a noise had his eyes shooting back open. It was a whimper. So quiet he almost didn’t hear it.

Was Callie awake and upset? He held his breath.

Another whimper, this time louder, followed by a turning of her head into his chest.

“No,” she gasped.

Lock frowned, his muscles flexing.

“Oh God, no!”

Jesus, she sounded terrified.

“Lock…I need you!”

His heart squeezed so tight it was painful.

He rolled Callie over so she was on her back, but her eyes didn’t open. Her head started to thrash from side to side, tears streaming from her eyes.

Fuck, he had to wake her. “Callie.”

Her head kept moving as she panted beneath him, the air whipping in and out of her lungs.

“Callie, honey, wake up.”

Her eyes tightened, and for a moment he thought she might have heard him. Then she whispered, “Daddy…I need help!”

Lock’s skin iced. She was dreaming about the night she’d lost the baby. He hadn’t answered her call, so she’d called her father. He didn’t need her to wake up and tell him for Lock to know that.

He lowered his head so his mouth was near her ear, and whispered, “I’m here, C. Wake up for me.”

He repeated those words three times, and slowly her movements stilled, the rise and fall of her chest slowing.

“Wake up for me,” he repeated, voice soft, words just for her.

It took a few more seconds for her eyes to slowly open. But even then, they were glazed, like she wasn’t really seeing.

She blinked. Once. Twice. On the third blink, she looked at him. Really looked at him, as if she was finally seeing him. “Lock.”

“You’re safe.”

Her brows drew together, another rise of her chest before she pushed the blankets down and straddled his lap, digging her face into his chest.

The silence was thick as he stroked her back, the need to soothe her like a living, breathing beast inside him. Every part of him wanted to erase the past. Make it better. Easier. But he couldn’t do that. He would never be able to do that.

“How often does that happen?” he whispered.

“Not as often as it used to.”

“Tell me about it.” It would kill him, but he wanted to know exactly what she was remembering.

“I wake up bleeding. I try to call you. You don’t answer, so I call Dad.” She nuzzled her face deeper into his chest. “Sometimes I almost swear I’m back there, living the nightmare all over again.”

He lowered his mouth and kissed her temple, his lips hovering there for a long moment. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure if he was saying sorry for the repeated nightmare or sorry the entire thing had happened in the first place. Maybe everything.

“Having a baby wasn’t something I ever really considered,” she said quietly. “But in the few short months I was pregnant, I started picturing my life with this child. Making space for them. Loving them. And then in one second, they were taken from me.”

His arms tightened around her.

“What if it happens again?” she asked, fear now slipping into her words. “What if we lose another baby?”

“No matter what happens, I’ll be by your side, and we’ll tackle it together. You and me.”

She blew out a long breath. “You and me.”

“Always.”

She drew a circle on his chest. “Because it was unexplained, I always wondered if…”

“What?”

“I was sad. So sad and so stressed. What if—”

“No.” His voice was firm, leaving no leeway. “It was not your fault.”

There was a small pause where even her finger on his chest stilled. “I started to blame myself. I felt alone and lost and angry at myself for being so stressed out. That was my rock bottom.”

He would never forgive himself, not if he lived a hundred years. “You’ll never be alone again. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Promise me.” Her eyes clashed with his, almost desperate. “Promise me you’ll never leave me again, even if the most dangerous, psychotic terrorist steps into your life and tells you to end things with me.”

“Never.” He said it like a vow.

She studied his face, searching for something. Then, as if she’d found what she was looking for, she lowered her head again, pressing her cheek to his chest right over his heart. “Good.”