The sun was beating down hard, but the energy at the LAFD and PD BBQ was electric. Everyone was off-duty, finally catching a break, and the yard was alive with laughter, shouts, and the thud of a football flying back and forth. Kids were tearing around, chasing each other with sticky little hands and grass-stained knees, while the grown-ups leaned back, beers in hand, soaking up the rare downtime.

You were right in the thick of it, juggling the grill and the cooler, dishing out burgers and ribs like a pro. Sweat was already dripping down your back under your shirt, but you didn’t care. This was what you loved—everyone together, families mingling, the whole squad kicking back for once.

Bobby was by your side, flipping burgers and sneaking in little kisses whenever he thought no one was looking. He kept his hand low on your lower back, steadying you, especially with your growing bump making everything feel twice as hard. You could tell he was extra protective these days—he kept scanning the yard, eyes flicking between the kids, you, and the crowd like a damn hawk.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, voice low as he handed you a plate. “You good? Need me to take over for a sec?”