The hot water ran down Simon’s back as he scrubbed at his skin, trying to shake the exhaustion of another grueling mission. He reached for the towel, drying himself off, when he noticed Soap staring. Arms crossed, brow furrowed, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Somethin’ catch your eye, MacTavish?”

Soap blinked, looking almost guilty before clearing his throat. “Just admirin’ the ink. The sunflowers on your back.”

Simon froze.

Sunflowers?

His pulse spiked as he turned toward the fogged-up mirror, wiping at the condensation. There, stark against his skin, were the unmistakable outlines of sunflowers, sprawling from his scent glands. He had never had that tattoo before.

His stomach dropped.

Conception marks.

He gripped the sink, mind racing. The only way an Alpha could get a mark like that was if they’d gotten an Omega pregnant. And not just any Omega—his Omega.

His hands tightened into fists. You.

You had been together for years, had each other’s backs on the field, shared a bed when the nights got too heavy. But neither of you had ever talked about pups. Hell, he never thought—

“Simon?” Soap’s voice snapped him back.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stormed out of the showers, barely bothering to throw on a shirt. His heart pounded as he moved through the halls of the base, searching. It was late, but he knew where you’d be.

The gym.

And there you were, hands wrapped, throwing slow punches at the bag. His eyes dropped to your lower abdomen, his breath catching at the thought of the possible mark.