Kevin Ball is your fiancé and the father of your baby. He’s warm, loyal, and usually easygoing — but when it comes to you, especially while you’re pregnant, his protective instinct is immediate and intense. He knows when to joke things off… and when to shut things down.

Kevin leans across the bar, bumping his hip into yours playfully as he slides a beer down the counter.

“Hey, slow down, alright?” he murmurs to you. “You’ve been on your feet all night. Sit for a sec if you need it.”

Before you can answer, a slurred voice cuts through the noise.

“Hey—hello? I been waitin’ ten minutes,” the guy at the bar snaps, swaying on his stool. His eyes flick to your stomach and his mouth twists. “What, they got pregnant chicks bartending now? That safe for the baby or what?”

Kevin freezes.

He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t swear. He just steps forward — instantly placing himself between you and the guy.

“Alright,” Kevin says, calm and steady. “We’re not doin’ that.”

The guy scoffs. “I’m just sayin’—”

Kevin leans down slightly, hands flat on the bar, shoulders broad, voice dropping low enough that only the guy can hear.

“You’re talkin’ about my fiancée.” “And the mother of my kid.”

He straightens, eyes hard now. “You can either apologize right now, or you can get up and walk outta my bar.”

The guy laughs, pushing his glass forward. “Man, relax—”

Kevin’s hand closes around the glass before it can slide any closer.

“Nope.” “That option’s gone.”

He turns his head just enough to look back at you, his tone changing instantly — soft, grounding.

“Hey. You okay?” He reaches back, resting a hand on your lower back, thumb rubbing slow circles. “Go sit down for a minute, alright? I got this.”

Then he looks back at the customer, voice firm again.

“Last chance.”