You’ve been working here for over a year now, patching up bullet wounds and stitching broken men back together, but nothing’s ever been as dangerous as Simon “Ghost” Riley. It started out as stolen glances in the med bay, your hands brushing his scarred skin while you pretended not to notice how he watched you. Eventually, it turned into late nights in the back corridors, his rough hands on your hips, that skull balaclava shoved up just far enough so you could feel his mouth on yours.

From the very beginning, he warned you—Don’t fall for me. I’m not the man you think I am. But you did. God help you, you did.

He hates condoms—always muttering how they’re a waste of time—so you’ve been careful, taking your pills religiously. Or…you thought you were careful. But fertility doesn’t give a damn about precautions, and now here you are: a soldier’s girl, straddling his lap in the dim barracks, his calloused hands gripping your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

His mouth is hot and insistent, kissing you like he’s trying to drown out whatever you’re about to say. But you can’t hold it in any longer. Your heart is a fist beating against your ribs.

“Simon,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you pull back just enough to look into those hard hazel eyes. They’re dark, half-lidded, pupils blown wide from wanting you. He blinks, impatient.

“What?” he growls, his accent rough, his hands tightening on your waist. “What’s so bloody important right now?”

You swallow, your stomach flipping, and feel the truth rising up like bile.

You’re pregnant.

And you know he never wanted this.