Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Trey
One More Light – Linkin Park
Idon’t even remember crossing the room.
One second she’s there, swaying on her feet, her eyes unfocused, her skin draining of color right in front of me, and the next she’s falling, her body folding in on itself as the cup slips from her hand and shatters somewhere in the distance, and all I can think—all I can feel—is the same cold, suffocating terror that once ripped my life apart.
Not again.
Not her.
Not like this.
“Seraphina—”
Her name tears out of me as I catch her before she hits the ground, dropping to my knees with her in my arms, pulling her against me as if I can keep her here through sheer force alone.
She’s limp.
Too still.
Her head lolls against my arm, her lashes resting against her cheeks like she’s simply asleep, but this isn’t sleep and every instinct in my body is screaming that something is wrong. That fucking, dirty, motherfucking piece of shit. Cunting, delusional, motherfucker. I’m going to fucking kill him
“Call a doctor. Now.”
My voice doesn’t sound like mine.
It’s sharp. Laced with something raw enough to cut through the room, because I don’t give a shit about control right now, I don’t give a shit about anything except my wife.
I shift, pulling her closer, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed against her cheek, my thumb brushing over her skin like I can coax her back with touch alone.
Wake the fuck up. Don’t you dare do this to me.
Stay. Stay with me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do without you.
You’re my everything—my only fucking thing—don’t you dare fucking leave me.
“Baby… come on,” My words are rough, uneven, betraying more than I ever allow anyone to see. “Come back to me.”
There’s movement around us.
Voices.
I’ll fucking kill Gideon. Rip his face off, douse him in gas, punt his cunting head clean off, and drive my guitar straight through his fucking neck. Sam is already at my side.
Mac is clearing space.
Logan is swearing under his breath.
Chace is on the phone, issuing orders that I don’t have the bandwidth to process.
None of it matters.
Nothing matters except the woman in my arms. My woman.
Seconds stretch into something unbearable, each one dragging like a blade across my skin, until the suite door opens again and a man steps inside, his presence immediately cutting through the chaos.
He’s older, maybe late fifties, dressed in a dark, well-tailored suit with a crisp white shirt beneath, a medical bag in one hand and wire-framed glasses perched low on his nose, his expression composed, detached in a way that tells me he’s seen panic like this before and refuses to be pulled into it.
“Give me space.”
Try me, motherfucker.
I don’t move.
I won’t.
“Sir,” he says, his tone firm now as his gaze lands on me. “If you want me to help her, I need access.”
Sam softly reaches out, his steady hand on my shoulder. Comfort. Reassurance. Everything I want to be for her. I force myself to breathe.
Every instinct in me fights it, claws against the idea of letting her go even an inch, but I force myself to loosen my hold just enough for him to work, my hands never fully leaving her, never fully letting go.
He crouches beside us, checking her pulse, her breathing, shining a small light into her eyes as he speaks to her like she can hear him.
“Mrs. Baker, can you hear me?”
Nothing.
My chest tightens.
“Come on, baby,” I press again, quieter now, closer, my forehead nearly touching hers.
Her lashes tremble.
Relief hits so hard it’s almost painful.
“There you are,” I breathe, my voice breaking.
Her eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, confusion clouding them as she tries to orient herself, her gaze drifting before it finally lands on me.
“Trey…?”
“I’m here,” I answer immediately, my hand tightening around hers. “I’m right here.”
The doctor watches her closely, already shifting into questions, his tone calm.
“Do you feel dizzy?”
She swallows, nodding faintly. “A little…”
“Nauseous?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been under significant stress recently?”
A weak, almost humorless breath leaves her, and if the situation were anything else I might laugh, but right now all I feel is the tension coiling tighter in my chest.
The doctor studies her for a moment longer, then asks, almost casually. “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
Silence.
It doesn’t just settle over the room—it drops, swallowing everything whole.
My grip on her hand stills.
Her breath catches.
Slowly, almost instinctively, her hand lifts from where it rests against me and drifts down to her stomach.
“No…” she whispers, but it isn’t denial.
It’s realization.
Her gaze snaps back to mine, wide, searching, something fragile and shaken breaking through the fear.
“Johnathon… he said…”
My entire body goes rigid.
“What?”
Her breath stutters, her voice trembling as the memory surfaces. “He said, when he took me, that I was carrying his grandchild…but I thought…” Her head shakes faintly, like she’s trying to piece it together in real time. “I thought it was...I don’t know…a lie? Another way to control me.”
She can’t be, right? We took the pill.
I have no fucking idea how it works… Probably should’ve paid attention during sex ed instead of laughing over the 70’s bush on display...and did they have to fucking play Ode to Joy during the man’s erection? Like that wasn’t going to cause everyone to lose their shit.
“We’ll go get a test…” Mac offers, already snatching Logan by the hand. It snaps me out of whatever dazed, spiraling state I’ve slipped into while I try to process what the actual fuck is happening.
“No, no need. I should have one in here. It’s not as fancy as the branded ones, but…
” the doctor, whose name I still don’t fucking know, starts rummaging through his leather messenger bag, eventually pulling out a plastic beaker.
Bottle. Pointlessly sized jelly jar. “This is for your specimen. If you could deposit a urine sample, that would be marvelous.”
Fucking marvelous. Doc wants my wife’s piss and sounds far too pleased about it. Not sure how I feel about that.
What’s he supposed to do—Throw up?
“Can you manage, dear?”
Sera looks as lost as I feel.
I’m nervous. Sweaty. Hands twitching. All over the fucking place, if I’m honest.
Told you, bro. Pullout game is weak. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off.
“Come on, Sera… let’s get this… filled?” Mac says, gently peeling herself away from Logan.
“What… what if she doesn’t have to—” I start, already regretting the words as they leave my stupid fucking mouth.
“She doesn’t have to fill it. Just a sample, if you can manage, is fine,” the doctor replies, smiling at Seraphina, nothing but cool patience.
Probably more than a teardrop, right? Like a shot. A straight shot of piss that is about to potentially change fucking everything.
Everything.
“Brother, I always told you—bag that shit up…” Sam says, trying to make light of this… this golden-shower-adjacent situation.
“Shut the fuck up. We don’t know for sure yet, right, doc?”
He simply nods. I glance at his bag of tricks.
“Could it… could it be something else? Like… lupus?” I ask, stroking Sera’s cheek.
“Last night… sleep was… evasive,” I add, grasping for logic. “Like you said, there’s been some really stressful…you know… a lot of shit going on.”
“There are, of course, several things her symptoms could align with,” the doctor says calmly. “But before you go opening Google, let’s rule out the simpler possibilities.”
“I—I want to do it… to be sure,” Sera says.
She takes Mac’s hand and starts to stand. I try to help, but I’m all fucking knees and elbows. Useless. I manage to escort her to the bathroom, holding the door open.
“Want…want me to hold it?” I ask. Not really wanting to, but willing to do my part.
Mercifully, she shakes her head.
I hover by the door as they go in, then turn back to the guys, feeling pale as fuck.
‘“Want me to hold it?’ Really?” Sam says.
Chace and Logan crack up.
“Fuck you, bro… I don’t know what I’m meant to do…”
“At least you’re married. If she is, it won’t be a bastard.”
“Yeah, because that was top of my fucking concerns right now… holy shit…”
“Yeah, we saw online—you two going at it outside… really? Your room not big enough? Had to put on a show?” Sam mutters.
Fuck. Forgot about that. Bit out of it after a fucked night’s sleep.
Heh. Fucked night’s sleep. That’s… actually hilarious.
Fuck...
Could I have hurt the baby…I mean, if she’s pregnant…
You fucked her tight little ass, so no.
“Trey, you know you’re going to be alright, right?” Logan says.
“I don’t think I’m ready to be an uncle,” Chace sighs.
“I can’t fucking wait. He’s gonna have a ginger baby,” Sam chortles.
We all laugh a little, but I’m stuck on it. On the very real possibility.
I am not ready to be a dad. How the fuck am I supposed to care for something like a baby when I can’t even take care of my fucking self?
“I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do…”
“The right thing,” Chace says with a smirk.
“Maybe pull-out next time you fuck a nun?” Sam adds, still trying to lighten the mood. The doctor clears his throat. I’m just about to turn to him—when the door opens beside me.
“She’s done,” Mac says.
Sera’s still being held by the arm as she steps forward, a little unsteady.
I trail after her, awkward, unsure where to put myself, as we make our way over to the doctor.
He thanks her, holding the sample for a moment.
I swear to God, if he takes a mouthful, I’m leaving, I think, still completely dumbstruck.
A few dark chuckles ripple around the room, and the doctor, mercifully, ignores me. “That was supposed to stay in my head.” I watch without blinking as he pulls out a tube lined with multicolored strips, dips it in, gives it a small swirl, then sets it aside.
“The test is positive,” he says.
My heart stops beating.
“You’re pregnant.”