Troy stood near the arrivals gate, scanning the crowd of passengers streaming out of the terminal. When he spotted Gun, his face immediately fell. Gun looked pale, his usual sharp, confident demeanor dulled by exhaustion. Troy waved him over, taking Gun’s bag as they walked to the car.

  “Hey,” Troy said softly, unlocking the car doors. “You look like hell.”

  Gun managed a weak chuckle. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

  Once they were on the road, Troy kept gncing at Gun out of the corner of his eye, the concern in his expression deepening with every passing second. Gun was slumped in the passenger seat, his hand rubbing absently at his stomach.

  “Do you want me to take you to Dr. Cassidy now?” Troy finally asked, breaking the silence. “Or do you want to wait until morning?”

  Gun shook his head weakly, leaning it against the window. “I’ll try to sleep it off. I just need rest.”

  Troy frowned but didn’t push the issue. “You sure? You don’t look good.”

  “I’m fine,” Gun replied, though his voice cked conviction.

  They drove a few more blocks before Troy spoke again, his tone cautious but firm. “Gun…did you use protection when you were with Remmington?”

  Gun froze, his eyes widening slightly. He swallowed hard, his hand tightening on the armrest. “No,” he admitted quietly. “It’s too soon for Remmington and me to be parents.”

  Troy sighed deeply, gripping the steering wheel. “Gun…you should’ve been careful. You might have had a miscarriage before, but anything can happen.”

  The words hit Gun like a blow, and he turned his head away, staring out the window. His voice trembled as he admitted, “I can’t go through that again. Losing my baby was hard.”

  Troy’s face softened at the raw emotion in Gun’s voice. He reached over, pcing a reassuring hand on Gun’s knee. “Hey, we’ll figure it out, okay? Whatever happens, you’re not alone.”

  Gun nodded, biting his lip to keep the tears at bay. The rest of the ride passed in tense silence, the weight of unspoken fears filling the air. When they finally pulled into the driveway of Gun’s home, Troy turned to him one st time.

  “Promise me you’ll see Dr. Cassidy first thing in the morning.”

  Gun hesitated but nodded. “I will. Thanks, Troy.”

  Troy watched as Gun got out of the car, his steps slow and heavy as he made his way to the door. Even as he drove off, he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at his chest.

  *

  Gun stepped into his house, the familiar scent of vender from the diffuser Chips always insisted on greeted him first. The lights were dim, warm and inviting, and the pce was spotless—clearly prepped for his arrival. As he closed the door, he heard Chips’ footsteps coming from the kitchen.

  “There he is,” Chips said, smirking, though his sharp eyes scanned Gun with a mixture of concern and scrutiny. “Troy told me about your morning sickness. I got the house ready for you—and, oh, I bought you a pregnancy test. It’s in your room.”

  Gun froze, his lips parting in surprise, but before he could say anything, Chips added, crossing his arms, “I hope you’re not pregnant, Gun. We don’t need this, not right now.”

  For a moment, Gun just stared at him, his throat tight and his chest heavy. Fighting back the tears that threatened to spill, he gave a small nod and shuffled past Chips without a word.

  The bedroom was quiet, too quiet. Gun’s eyes nded on the small box sitting on his desk, the packaging almost mocking him with its bold, cheerful lettering promising “quick and reliable results.” He sighed, his shoulders sagging as he picked it up and walked to the bathroom.

  Moments ter, he sat on the closed toilet lid, staring at the test on the counter as the seconds dragged by. The anticipation cwed at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. Instead, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away the tension gripping his body.

  But even under the soothing shower, his mind raced. He didn’t need this right now. Not after finally finding some happiness, some sembnce of a future with Remmington. This wasn’t part of the pn. Not now, not yet.

  When he stepped out, his heart pounded as he grabbed the towel and slowly approached the counter. The small white stick sat there, its screen now dispying a result that would change his life forever.

  Positive.

  Gun stared at the word, his vision blurring as tears spilled down his cheeks. This should have been a joyous moment. A miracle, even—after all, what were the odds that he, a man, could conceive again? Yet all he felt was fear. Fear of the past, fear of the future, and fear of the unknown.

  His hand shook as he set the test back on the counter. He wrapped the towel tightly around himself, walking back into the bedroom and sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. His fingers grazed the faint scar on his abdomen, a painful reminder of what he had already lost.

  He’d just started over—found someone who made him feel alive again, who made him believe in love and hope. And now? Now he had to face this reality. Could he carry this child? Could he endure the heartbreak if he couldn’t? Would Remmington even want this?

  Gun wiped his eyes, but the tears kept falling. He clutched the test in his hand, his mind a whirlwind of emotions as he whispered to himself, “What am I going to do?”

  *

  Gun jolted awake, a sharp pain stabbing through his stomach. Gritting his teeth, he pressed a hand against his abdomen and took a few steadying breaths, sweat dripping down his temple. Enough was enough. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood slowly, willing the ache to subside.

  Walking out of the bedroom, he made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat, and he sighed in relief. As he turned back toward the hallway, his eyes fell on Chips sprawled out on the couch, drooling onto a pillow.

  Gun smirked despite himself. “Some watchdog you are,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. But then, something caught his attention—a faint glow from the coffee table. Chips’s phone was silently ringing, the screen lighting up the darkened room.

  Curious, he walked over, tilting his head to read the caller ID. The word ‘Boss’ fshed on the screen, and his brow furrowed. “Boss?” he whispered. “I’m your boss.”

  The phone vibrated a few more times before the call ended. Gun gnced at Chips, who snored softly, completely unaware of his phone’s activity. As he reached for the device, unlocking it with ease—Chips’s ck of creativity in choosing a passcode had always amused him.

  Quickly, Gun jotted down the number dispyed on the screen. His mind raced as he pocketed the slip of paper and quietly pced Chips’s phone back where it was, making sure nothing seemed disturbed.

  Returning to his room, Gun retrieved his own phone and added the number to his contacts under a simple alias: Unknown Caller. He stared at the screen for a moment before crumpling the paper and heading to the bathroom. Watching it disappeared as he flushed it down the toilet, Gun’s frown deepened.

  Chips had been with him for years, a loyal confidant—or so Gun thought. But now, doubt crept in. “Could he be double-crossing me?” Gun murmured to himself, clenching his fists. If Chips was hiding something, Gun would find out.

  He turned off the bathroom light and leaned against the doorframe, his gaze distant. This wasn’t the time for betrayal. “I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he promised himself.