Chapter 358: Chapter 358: Lucas
The monitor steadied, numbers blooming one after another across the display. Lucas forced his eyes away, but Dr. Marin-Shaye’s faint intake of breath dragged his gaze back. She leaned closer to the tablet, brows lifting as if she needed to make sure the data wasn’t lying to her.
"Huh," she said at last, the sound breaking the clinical rhythm of the room. A wry, almost startled smile ghosted across her lips. "So it really was the first time. Dominant fertility is something else."
Lucas blinked, uncomprehending for a beat. His mind tripped over the words, staggered, then stopped dead.
Trevor’s hand tightened on his. "What are you saying?"
Marin-Shaye turned the tablet toward them, though the numbers were meaningless to Lucas in that moment. Her voice was calm, but there was no disguising the note of surprise threading through it. "You’re pregnant. Three weeks, roughly... your last heat."
The air rushed out of Lucas’s lungs as if the world had punched him in the chest. Pregnant. The word rang hollow and unreal, and yet his body was already taut with the knowledge. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, not with the echo of years whispering that this was impossible, that he had been broken beyond repair.
Trevor’s cedar spiked, rich and steady, pulling him back before the panic could spiral. "Lucas," he said, violet eyes fierce now, no calm veneer, only conviction. "You hear that? You’re carrying our child."
Lucas swallowed hard. His hand lifted instinctively, flattening against his stomach, though there was nothing yet to feel. His throat closed, green eyes burning. The first time... He had almost convinced himself he would never... could never again.
Marin-Shaye let the silence stretch before clearing her throat, her tone dipping into practical steadiness. "It’s early, very early. Natural conception carries risk for any couple, and I’ll say the same to you as I do to everyone else: rest where you can, eat properly, and no overexertion. We’ll monitor closely. And... be prepared that sometimes pregnancies this early don’t hold. It isn’t failure; it’s nature."
Her eyes softened, catching the way Lucas’s fingers trembled against his stomach. "But right now, everything looks healthy. Better than healthy."
Lucas’s breath shuddered out, a half-sob caught in his throat. He turned toward Trevor, words beyond him, only to find his alpha already watching, already here.
The alpha squeezed his hand, his voice a vow even in a whisper. "We’ll take every step together. You don’t carry this alone."
"Where was your hound nose now?" Lucas asked with a ghost of a smile.
Trevor’s mouth curved, the faintest flicker of amusement cutting through the gravity of the moment. "I did feel it," he murmured. "But I wanted you to hear it from her first. Otherwise, you’d accuse me of wishful thinking."
Lucas shook his head, the laugh that slipped out breaking against the tightness in his chest. He pressed his knuckles quickly against his mouth, as if he could hold the tears there and keep them from spilling. It didn’t work; his vision blurred anyway, the sterile lights above him fracturing into something softer.
"Lucas," Trevor said again, firmer this time, and the cedar deepened until it felt like his lungs were lined with it. A full, steady rhythm that matched the hand gripping his.
He dragged in a breath, shaky, and let it out on a whisper. "I didn’t think..." His voice cracked, splintered into pieces. "I didn’t think I could."
Trevor leaned closer, forehead nearly brushing his temple, words pitched so low even Marin-Shaye could pretend she didn’t hear. "You can. You did. And you will have anything you want... because you’re stronger than you think, and because I’ll be right here, every step."
Lucas squeezed his eyes shut, a tear slipping free despite his best effort. "I hate crying in front of people."
"Then consider it practice," Trevor said softly, humor woven so carefully into the words it almost undid him more than the seriousness had.
He huffed out a watery laugh, letting his head tip briefly toward Trevor’s shoulder, if only for a moment.
Dr. Marin-Shaye’s stylus tapped once against her tablet before she straightened. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Lucas, green, wet, and wide in a face trying too hard to stay composed. Something softened in her expression, almost enough to erase the brisk lines of her usual professionalism.
"I’ll give you two some time," she said quietly. "The report will be finalized and sent to you by this evening, along with the recommendations. Nothing dramatic, basic care, regular follow-up."
Trevor inclined his head, his hold on Lucas never faltering. "Thank you."
The doctor’s gaze flicked once more between them, then she nodded and slipped out, the door closing with a soft, magnetic click. The hum of the machines felt louder in her absence, the antiseptic air heavier.
Lucas drew a ragged breath, trying to steady himself, but the effort collapsed in his chest. The sound that left him was thin and broken, and before he could bury it, Trevor’s arms wrapped fully around him, pulling him close.
"Hey," Trevor murmured, pressing his lips briefly to Lucas’s hair. "Let it out. You don’t have to hold this in for me."
That was all it took, the last dam breaking. The tears came hot and sharp, spilling faster than he could catch them, dampening Trevor’s shirt. He hated the weakness of it, hated the way his shoulders shook, but Trevor only held him tighter, cedar wrapping him whole, quiet and steady, as if the storm inside him was nothing but weather passing through.
Lucas’s fingers twisted in the fabric of Trevor’s jacket, the platinum band between them digging hard into his palm. "I didn’t think... not ever..." The words tangled, fractured, his voice barely sound.
Trevor shifted just enough to cup the back of his head, his thumb stroking slow circles at the nape of his neck. "I know," he whispered. "I know. But it’s real. You’re not broken, Lucas. You never were."
Lucas buried his face against him, letting the tears fall until the rawness eased, until the silence between sobs was filled only with the steady rhythm of Trevor’s breathing.
For the first time in years, crying didn’t feel like collapse. It felt like release.