Page 13 of The Firefighter’s Forever

But I’m a smart enough man to know that isn’t what she wants to hear right now.

Harmony looks at me for a long, unsteady moment. Then she whispers, “I’m really scared, Lucas.”

The words gut me.

This time, I don’t stop myself. I reach for her, pulling her into my arms. “Come here.”

By the time I get back to the station, I know three things.

Harmony is pregnant.

She’s scared.

And I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.

Those three facts follow me through the apparatus bay, into the locker room, and straight back out again. I check the rig because that’s the next thing on the list and because the work matters whether my head is screwed on straight or not. The department doesn’t get to pause because my future just got rewritten. Hoses still need to be checked, gear still needs to be ready, and if a call comes in, nobody on the other end cares that I’m trying to remember whether pregnant women are supposed to avoid coffee completely or just cut back.

I force myself to slow down.

Gauge. Valve. Coupling. No shortcuts.

I check every compartment twice because distraction is how mistakes happen, and mistakes in this job can get people hurt. My hands know the rhythm even when my mind keeps wandering back to Harmony in the park, pale and stunned, doing her best not to fall apart.

“You good, Cap?”

I look over my shoulder. Dane is standing near the bay door with a rag in one hand and suspicion all over his face.

“I’m working,” I answer.

“Didn’t ask what you were doing.”

“I’m good.”

He leans his shoulder against the wall. “You checked that compartment already.”

“I know.”

“You checked it three times.”

I close the compartment too hard. “Then it should be very checked.”

Dane studies me for another second, then apparently decides self-preservation matters more than curiosity. “Sure. Very checked.”

He walks off, but not far. I can feel him watching me from the edge of the bay, and I can’t even blame him. If one of my guys was moving through a routine this way, too controlled and tense, I’d notice too.

I finish the inspection, log it, and make myself eat half a sandwich in the kitchen. A couple of the guys are arguing about whether the new diner is any good, and I sit through five minutes of it without absorbing a word.

Pregnant.

Weeks. Trimesters. Morning sickness. Appointments.

Is nausea this early normal? Does she need vitamins already? Has she told her parents yet? Should I have said more, asked her more questions, reassured her it’s going to be okay?

I push back from the table.

“Where are you going?” Dane asks.

“Office.”