chapter 184

chapter 184
Grace's POV:
Three months later.
Every morning I woke up wearing Maverick's ring, every night I fell asleep in his arms, and the word "wife" still sent a thrill through me each time he said it.
But this morning, something felt different.
I stood in our bathroom at Skyline Residence, staring at the unopened pregnancy test in my trembling hands, my heart hammering against my ribs. Ten days late. I was never late. My cycles had been precise as clockwork since I was fifteen, and the faint nausea I'd been attributing to stress over the upcoming spring showcase suddenly took on new meaning.
The test felt impossibly heavy in my palm, the plastic wrapper crinkling too loudly in the silence.
Through the closed door, I could hear Maverick moving around the bedroom—the soft rustle of sheets, the creak of floorboards, his footsteps approaching and then stopping just outside.
"Grace?" His voice carried that edge of concern he'd developed whenever I was out of his sight for too long. "Baby, you okay in there?"
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... give me a minute."
A pause. Then, quieter, almost hesitant: "Are you sick? Should I call Dr. Hayes?"
The worry in his tone made my chest ache. Ever since the car accident, he'd become hypervigilant about my health, treating every headache like a crisis, every stumble like a catastrophe. If I told him what I was doing right now, he'd probably break down the door.
"I'm fine," I repeated, forcing steadiness into my voice. "Really. I'll be out soon."
But I could hear him settle against the wall just outside, the soft thud of his back against the door frame.
My hands shook harder as I finally tore open the wrapper, the instructions blurring before my eyes. Pee on the stick, wait three minutes, two lines means pregnant. Simple. Terrifyingly simple.
We'd never explicitly discussed children.
The topic had hovered at the edges of conversations, but we'd been so focused on rebuilding what we'd lost, on savoring every recovered moment, that the future still felt abstract.
But now, holding this test, the future crashed into the present with breathtaking force.
I forced myself through the mechanics. Then I washed my hands, staring at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.
Three minutes.
I forced my eyes open, my gaze dropping to the test, and—
Two pink lines. Clear, unmistakable, undeniable.
Pregnant.
The world tilted. My breath caught in my throat, my hand flying to my mouth as the reality crashed over me in waves. I was pregnant. We were going to have a baby. Maverick's baby.
My legs felt unsteady as I grabbed the test with trembling fingers and stumbled toward the bathroom door.
When I pulled the door open, Maverick spun around immediately, his eyes wild with barely contained panic.
"Grace?" His voice cracked on my name, his gaze raking over my face, searching desperately for answers. "Baby, what—what is it? Are you okay? Talk to me, please—"
I couldn't speak. Could only stand there, holding out the test with a shaking hand, tears already streaming down my face.
He stared at it for a long, frozen moment, his eyes locked on those two pink lines.
I watched his face transform—shock bleeding into disbelief, disbelief melting into wonder, and then, finally, pure, incandescent joy that made him look younger, lighter, like every burden he'd ever carried had suddenly lifted.
"We're—" His voice broke completely. He reached for the test with trembling fingers, bringing it closer like he needed to confirm what he was seeing. "Grace, this means... we're having a baby?"
"Yes," I whispered, my own voice thick with tears. "We're having a baby."
The test clattered to the floor as he surged forward, catching me in his arms and lifting me clean off my feet, spinning me once before pressing his face into my neck.
His whole body was shaking—whether from laughter or tears, I couldn't tell, but I felt the wetness against my skin and knew he was crying.
"Thank you," he choked out, his arms tightening around me like he was afraid I might disappear. "God, Grace, thank you. I love you so much. So fucking much."
I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my fingers in his hair as my own tears fell faster. "I love you too. We're going to be parents, Maverick. We're going to have a family."
He pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away my tears even as his own continued to fall. His smile was so wide, so genuine, it transformed his entire face into something radiant.
"A family," he repeated, his voice full of wonder. "Our family." Then he was kissing me—soft and reverent and desperate all at once, pouring everything he couldn't say into the press of his lips against mine.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands spanning my hips as he pressed his forehead against my still-flat stomach.
"Hi," he whispered, his voice breaking again. "I don't know if you can hear me yet, but I'm your dad. "
A laugh bubbled up through my tears. "Maverick, it's barely the size of a poppy seed right now. I don't think it has ears yet."
He tilted his head back to look up at me, his eyes still wet but sparkling with amusement. "I don't care. I'm starting early." His thumbs traced gentle circles on my hips. "Never too soon to let them know they're loved."
I combed my fingers through his hair, my heart so full it ached. "Do you have a preference? Boy or girl?"
"Whatever you give me," he said immediately, his voice fierce with certainty. "I don't care if it's a boy, a girl, or ten of each. As long as they're yours, they're perfect."
The casual way he said "ten" made me laugh despite the tears still streaming down my face. "Let's start with one and see how it goes, okay?"
He grinned, pressing a kiss to my stomach before rising to his feet, his hands never leaving my body. "Fair enough."
"I was just thinking," I said, my smile widening as the future suddenly felt so vivid, so real. "If it's a boy, you can teach him hockey. He'll be just like his dad—dominating the ice, breaking hearts left and right."
Maverick's eyes softened, something vulnerable flickering across his face at the mention of hockey, the career he'd sacrificed. But then his smile returned, warm and genuine. "And if it's a girl?"
"Then I'll teach her ballet," I said, my voice full of excitement. "She'll be a prima ballerina, graceful and strong, breaking hearts in her own way."
"So either way, we're raising a heartbreaker," he teased, pulling me closer, his forehead resting against mine. "I like it. Between your looks and my charm, this kid doesn't stand a chance at being normal."
I laughed, swatting his chest lightly. "Your humility is overwhelming."
But then his expression shifted, becoming more serious, more tender.
His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Grace, I don't care if they play hockey or ballet or nothing at all. I just want them healthy and happy. That's all that matters."
My throat tightened at the raw sincerity in his voice, at the way he looked at me like I'd just given him the world. "You're going to be such a good dad," I whispered.
"I'm going to try," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion.
His hand slid down to rest over my stomach again, protective and reverent. "They're going to know every single day how wanted they are."
I pulled him down into another kiss, softer this time, full of promise and hope and all the tomorrows stretching out before us.
Complete, perfect peace.
We'd fought through separation, memory loss, danger, and despair.
We'd clawed our way back to each other again and again, refusing to let anything tear us apart.
Whatever came next—sleepless nights, terrible twos, teenage rebellion, all the chaos and joy of raising children—we would face it together.
The way we'd always been meant to.
——End——