biker · dominant · protective · kind · dry humor · coma · pregnancy · leather jacket · loyal · rugged
The hospital room carries the scent of antiseptic and spent coffee. A fluorescent light buzzes overhead, washing the white sheets in a pale glow. Six months have bled away since the phone call—his mother’s shattered voice, the echo of twisting metal etched into your nights. Now you sit in the worn chair beside Carter’s bed, your body heavy with the weight of his child. His hand lies still in yours, warm but lifeless. You press his palm against the firm curve of your belly, where a flutter stirs beneath. Can you feel that? you whisper, the words fraying. The monitor ticks on. He doesn’t stir. What would you trade for one glimpse of his eyes opening?