"You and me. Always.
I'm right here. No matter what."

"You really mean that?"

****

Kenna sits on the edge of the closed toilet lid, the bathroom light harsh and unforgiving, illuminating the small white stick in her hand. She stares at it, unblinking, as if it might explain itself without words.

Her fingers shake. Her chest feels impossibly tight, like it's trying to squeeze the breath out of her. She tilts the test this way and that, desperately searching for a mistake, some sign that she's misreading it.

And then it clicks in her brain. She knows.

Shock hits first—cold, sharp, a jolt straight to her stomach. Her heart races uncontrollably, the pounding echoing in her ears. She squeezes the stick tighter, nails pressing into her palms, trying to steady herself, but her body betrays her.

Her knees tremble. She leans forward, pressing her forehead against the wall, mind whirling. Her thoughts scatter in every direction:

How? When? What does this mean?
Bobby... how will he react?
Can I even handle this?

A tremor runs through her hands, and the test wobbles, almost falling before she catches it. She presses it to her chest, holding it like a fragile, dangerous thing. Her breath comes in short, shaky bursts, and she can't stop it.

She wants to scream, to cry, to run. But instead, she just sits there, frozen, staring at the test, the reality of it smashing through her like a tidal wave.

She isn't ready to move. She isn't ready to tell anyone. Not Bobby. Not Ellie. Not even herself fully.

For now, it's just her. The test. And the unbearable, shocking knowledge of what might come next.

****

The bay is buzzing with morning activity—Eddie and Hen swapping jokes, Buck tinkering with the trucks, and the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen. Kenna walks in, helmet tucked under her arm, but something is off.

Her steps are slightly slower than usual, her eyes darting toward the radio more often than necessary. Her coffee cup trembles slightly as she reaches for it, and her hands fidget with her jacket zipper for far too long.

Eddie squints at her. "Kenna... you good?" he asks, leaning against the counter.

She forces a smile. "Yeah... just tired, I guess."

Bobby watches from across the bay, noticing it immediately. He sees the way her mind keeps drifting, the small hesitations in her movements, the tiny, almost imperceptible sighs that escape her when she thinks no one's looking.

"Distracted," Hen mutters under her breath, nudging Buck. "She's definitely distracted."

"100%," Buck agrees, eyes narrowing. "Something's up. And it ain't nothing small."

Bobby doesn't comment, doesn't ask—he simply stays near her, shadowing her subtly, hand resting lightly on the edge of a counter or on her shoulder when they move side by side. He doesn't push, doesn't speak, but his gaze never leaves her.

Kenna glances at him once, fleetingly, and her chest tightens. She wants to tell him. She needs to tell him. But the words get stuck somewhere between her throat and the floor.

The rest of the crew can see it too: the slight stumble when she bends to pick up equipment, the way she drifts just a bit too far from the others when they move the hoses, the subtle bite of her lip that never used to be there.

"Kenna," Eddie says again, a little firmer this time, "you're acting weird. Spill."

She shakes her head quickly. "I'm fine. Just... tired, really."

Bobby's eyes flick to hers, calm but intense, and she feels it like a tether. He doesn't need her to explain anything right now. He just knows that something's eating at her, and he's going to make sure she doesn't face it alone—even if she's not ready to admit it yet.

And for the rest of the team, it's clear: whatever Kenna's carrying, it's heavy, and they can all feel it.

*****

The firehouse alarms blare, jarring the morning calm.

"Residential structure fire, second floor trapped occupant!" the radio crackles.

Kenna jumps into gear, but even as she straps on her harness and helmet, there's a subtle tremor in her movements. Her mind drifts just enough for Bobby to notice—the small hesitation when she steps toward the engine, the way her eyes flick to her phone before she tucks it away.

"Kenna, stay sharp," Bobby calls as they climb aboard the truck. His voice is calm but carries steel. "Eyes on the fire. You got me?"

She swallows hard, nods, forcing focus—but the distraction clings like smoke, and he sees it.

At the scene, flames lick the siding of a two-story house on a narrow street. Thick black smoke curls into the sky, and neighbors shout warnings from behind police barricades.

Bobby's already barking orders, positioning the hoses, assessing access points. "Eddie, Hen—main line. Chim, roof. Kenna, with me for the interior search. Move!"

Kenna follows, but a glimmer of the secret she's been holding—the tension she's been trying to bury—pulls at her attention. She almost trips over debris near the front door, catching herself at the last second.

Bobby's hand is suddenly on her harness, steadying her. His eyes lock onto hers, sharp, demanding. "Focus. Now."

Her breath catches. "I'm—sorry—I—"

"Don't apologize. Just move with me," he says, his voice low but unwavering. He steps closer as they navigate the smoky hallway, debris underfoot. Every instinct he has is screaming at him to watch her, to protect her—but he also knows she's capable. She's strong. She's smart. But right now, she's distracted. And in this environment, that could be deadly.

They reach the trapped occupant—a terrified elderly woman crouched in the corner, smoke filling her lungs. Kenna instinctively reaches for her, but she hesitates just a fraction, caught between her training and the storm of thoughts she's been trying to ignore.

Bobby catches her arm, steadying her again. "Kenna," he growls softly, not harshly, "don't think. Just do."

She nods, and together they guide the woman out, every step measured, every movement precise. But the brief lapse almost cost her—and he doesn't let her forget it in his eyes.

Once they're outside, the woman safe in paramedics' hands, Kenna exhales shakily, sweat and soot clinging to her skin. Her hands tremble, not from exertion alone, but from the adrenaline and the guilt she carries.

Bobby stands beside her, one hand brushing the back of hers, eyes intense but full of concern. "Talk to me," he murmurs. "Whatever's on your mind... I can handle it. But you can't be distracted like that again."

Kenna shakes her head, swallowing the words she's been dying to say. "I... I'm fine," she whispers, but the look in her eyes betrays her.

He doesn't push—he just keeps his gaze on her, protective, watchful, knowing the secret she's holding is heavier than any fire they face.

For Kenna, the realization hits her harder than the heat of the flames: she can't keep hiding it forever, and Bobby was not going to let her.

****

Back at the 118 firehouse, the chaos of the callout has faded, replaced by the low hum of activity—the smell of coffee, the clatter of dishes, the distant laughter of the team winding down. Kenna sits at the small table in the kitchen area, staring at her sandwich like it personally insulted her.

Bobby leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with a mix of amusement and concern. "That sandwich not doing it for you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Kenna huffs, glaring at the bread and lettuce as if it had betrayed her. "It's... fine. I just—" Her voice trails off, and she pushes it slightly away.

Bobby chuckles softly, walking over to the mini-kitchen station. He flips open the waffle iron and starts making a fresh batch. The sweet, buttery smell fills the room almost immediately.

"Here," he says, sliding a plate toward her, two golden waffles stacked neatly, steam rising. "Thought you might want something that actually deserves your attention."

Kenna glances at the waffles, then back at him, eyes narrowing playfully. "You're trying to bribe me with food?"

"Maybe," he says, grinning. "But it works."

She can't help the small laugh that escapes her lips, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly. She takes a bite, and Bobby watches her carefully, noting the way her hands tremble just slightly—not from hunger, but from the weight she's been carrying.

He doesn't push, just sits across from her, keeping an eye on her, letting the comfort of waffles and quiet companionship do some of the work that words haven't yet been able to.

It was just them. The firehouse, a table, warm waffles, and the quiet understanding that even when everything outside is chaos, they have this small, steady space together.

****

Two days later, the firehouse behind them and the city quieting into evening, Kenna and Bobby step into their apartment. The familiar warmth of home wraps around them—the faint smell of Bobby's cologne still lingering, the soft hum of the fridge, the glow of the city through the blinds.

Kenna doesn't wait. As soon as the door closes behind them, she's on him, pressing her body against his chest, fingers tangling in his hair.

"Bobby..." she murmurs, voice low and teasing, lips brushing his jaw. "I've been thinking about this all day."

His hands go to her waist, steadying her, eyes darkening with desire. "Thinking about this, huh?" he growls softly, leaning down to capture her mouth in a heated kiss.

Kenna grins against him, hands roaming over his shoulders, sliding under his shirt with a teasing boldness that makes his chest tighten. She's in control, pushing him back gently toward the couch, her lips trailing fire down his neck, breath hot against his skin.

Bobby groans, hands tangling in her hair as she straddles him, rocking slowly against his thighs. Every inch of her exudes confidence and want, and he can't help but surrender to it.

She leans down, whispering against his ear, "I've wanted you all day... now it's my turn to make you feel it."

His hands grip her hips, pulling her impossibly close, the heat between them growing, thick and urgent. Clothes are shed with a mixture of hurried passion and deliberate teasing, every touch, every kiss pushing them higher.

Kenna rides him slowly at first, savoring the reaction she elicits—the growls, the gasps, the way his hands clutch her like he can't get enough. Her lips find his again, tongue tracing, teeth nipping, pulling shivers straight through him.

Bobby's head tips back, groaning as she moves against him, building the tension, every motion precise yet wild. She leans down, hands braced on his chest, looking into his eyes with a mix of heat, affection, and mischief.

"You feel that?" she whispers, voice trembling just slightly.

"I feel you," he growls, voice thick with need, hands gripping her tighter, pressing her closer.

They move together in a rhythm that's both intimate and electric, building, teasing, rising higher with every second. The world outside the apartment ceases to exist—there's only them, every touch, every gasp, every whispered word driving them deeper into each other.

Finally, the tension shatters, waves of pleasure rippling through them, leaving them both gasping, trembling, tangled in each other's arms. Kenna collapses against him, forehead resting against his, breath ragged but laughter soft and intimate spilling from her lips.

Bobby kisses the top of her head, hand stroking her back. "You... you've got a lot of nerve," he murmurs, voice hoarse.

Kenna smirks, still catching her breath. "And you love it," she whispers.

Later that evening, the apartment is quiet, the city outside glowing softly through the blinds. Kenna lounges on the couch, still flushed from the day, when Bobby steps in, eyes dark, movements purposeful.

Without a word, he closes the distance between them, his hands cupping her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. "Kenna," he growls low, lips brushing hers before claiming them in a hard, urgent kiss.

She gasps at the heat in him, hands tangling in his hair, but he's already shifting, pressing her back gently against the couch cushions, his body heavy and warm against hers.

"I've been waiting all day," he murmurs against her lips, voice thick with need. "You're not getting away from me tonight."

His hands roam with a possessive hunger, tracing the curves of her body, tugging her closer. Kenna arches into him, breath catching, trying to match his pace—but Bobby sets the rhythm this time. Slow. Deliberate. Every touch, every caress, a reminder that he's in control, that he's all in.

He leans down, lips trailing fire along her neck, down her collarbone, nipping gently where he knows she shivers. His hands slide under her shirt, over the curve of her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

Kenna moans, tilting her head back, giving him every inch, every shiver, every gasp she can. He's relentless, teasing, yet precise, building tension until it's unbearable.

"Bobby..." she whispers, voice trembling, trying to catch her breath.

"Shh," he growls, lips brushing her ear, teeth nipping lightly. "No words. Just me. Right here. Right now."

His hands guide her, the couch creaking beneath them as he moves over her, setting the pace, every thrust measured but fierce. Kenna's hands clutch his shoulders, nails digging in, matching the storm he's creating.

Every gasp, every moan, every whispered name fuels him further. He leans down, capturing her mouth in a deep, demanding kiss, grounding her as he moves them higher and higher, until the world outside fades entirely.

When they finally shatter together, it's loud, consuming, and intimate—Bobby holding her close, murmuring low praises against her hair, every touch lingering like it's etched into their skin.

Kenna collapses against him, breath ragged, heart racing, but she can't help the mischievous smirk that tugs at her lips.

"You didn't let me have any say this time," she teases weakly, still catching her breath.

Bobby chuckles darkly, lips brushing hers again. "Some things aren't for negotiating," he murmurs, pulling her impossibly close, the heat between them finally settling into a slow, satisfied warmth.

****

The 118 bay hums with activity as Kenna moves through her morning routine, helmet left in her locker. Coffee in hand, jacket unzipped, she goes through the motions, but there's a tension in her every step that doesn't escape the team.

Ellie and Eddie are the first to notice. They exchange a glance, then approach her, eyes sharp but concerned.

"Kenna..." Ellie begins gently, stepping into her path. "What's going on with you? You've been... off all morning."

Eddie leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Seriously, you're distracted as hell. Spill it. We're not stupid."

Kenna freezes mid-sip of her coffee, jaw tightening. She looks at them, then down at her mug, and the tiny bubble of frustration inside her bursts.

"I said I'm fine!" she snaps, voice sharper than she intended. Her hands grip the mug so tightly her knuckles whiten. "I don't owe you an explanation, okay? I'm handling my own business!"

Ellie takes a careful step back, surprised at the venom in her tone. "Whoa... hey, we're just trying to—"

"I said I'm fine!" Kenna cuts in again, louder this time, eyes blazing. "Stop cornering me. I can manage my life without you two interrogating me every two seconds!"

Eddie raises his hands in surrender, smirking despite the tension. "Alright, alright, we get it. No need to roast us, Kenna."

Kenna breathes heavily, cheeks flushed, chest tight with guilt almost immediately after the snap. She's aware of the storm she just let out, but she doesn't have the words to explain why she's on edge—or the secret she's been carrying.

Bobby watches silently from across the bay, arms crossed, eyes narrowed but patient. He doesn't interrupt, doesn't scold, but his presence is steady, grounding. He knows something's going on. He always knows. And he's waiting for the right moment, ready to pull her close when she's ready—or to protect her when the walls she's built start to crumble.

Ellie and Eddie retreat, shooting him pointed glances, leaving Kenna fuming quietly at her own reaction. She slumps into a chair, coffee forgotten, heart racing—not from anger, but from the weight of the secret she's still hiding.

Bobby doesn't move. He just watches, quietly planning how he's going to reach her without breaking her trust.

****

The café is warm, quiet, the aroma of coffee and pastries wrapping around them like a small, comforting bubble away from the chaos of the city. Bobby sits across from Athena, stirring his coffee absentmindedly, eyes distant.

"I don't know, Athena," he says finally, voice low, rough around the edges. "Something's off with Kenna. I feel like... maybe she's having second thoughts about us... about me."

Athena leans back in her chair, eyebrows raised, arms crossed, her gaze steady. "Bobby," she says firmly, "look at me. Kenna isn't having second thoughts about you. She's juggling a lot right now. The firehouse, the aftermath of the quake, the... stuff she's carrying in her own head. She's distracted. That's it."

He shakes his head, uncertainty tightening his jaw. "I don't know. She's been distant lately, snapping at the crew... at me even. I just—" He trails off, frustration and worry colliding in his expression.

Athena leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Bobby, listen. You've got to separate what's happening because of the stress and what's actually about your relationship. She's with you—she's not second-guessing you. She's just... scared, overwhelmed. And you? You've got to be patient. Keep steady. Be her anchor."

Bobby exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anchor, huh?" he mutters, a small, wry smile breaking through. "Yeah... easier said than done."

Athena smirks lightly, a rare softness in her eyes. "You think I don't know? You're worried because you care. And that's exactly why she needs you. Not the doubts, not the panic—just you, steady. She'll come to you when she's ready. Don't rush it. Don't force it."

Bobby sits back, letting her words sink in. He stares at his coffee, then glances up at Athena. "You really think she's just... stressed?"

"I don't think, Bobby. I know," she replies with calm certainty. "She loves you. That doesn't change. She's not playing games, she's not pulling away. She's just... human. Like you."

Bobby nods slowly, tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. "Alright... yeah. I just... I need to be sure I'm not missing something."

Athena gives him a small, knowing smile. "You're not. Keep watching over her, but don't hover. She'll tell you when she's ready."

He swirls his coffee thoughtfully, letting the moment settle. Athena's words have given him perspective, but the knot in his chest doesn't fully ease. He knows Kenna's secret—whatever it is—will change everything when the time comes. And he'll be there, ready.

****

The 118 bay is alive with the usual morning chaos—Eddie tinkering with the engines, Hen teasing Buck about breakfast, the smell of coffee lingering in the air. Kenna moves through it all, coffee in hand, jacket loose, helmet still tucked in her locker.

Bobby notices her immediately. The hesitation in her step, the way her eyes drift too often toward her phone, the subtle way she fiddles with her jacket zipper—all of it sets off alarms in his gut.

"Kenna," he murmurs as she passes by, hand brushing her shoulder lightly. "Everything okay?"

She forces a smile, heart hammering. "Yeah... just tired," she whispers, brushing past him.

But he doesn't miss the little things—the tremor in her hand, the tiny sigh she tries to hide, the way she's scanning the bay almost nervously, like she's holding back.

Ellie and Eddie, of course, notice too. They exchange glances, already plotting their approach. But Bobby's quiet intensity keeps them from cornering her—he's already watching, already protecting, already planning to intervene if she slips.

A few minutes later, a call comes in: a building fire near the hills. The team springs into action, and Kenna moves automatically, but Bobby's gaze stays on her. She's competent, sharp—but distracted. Every move she makes is just slightly off her usual precision, and his instincts scream at him to step closer, watch closer.

"Kenna, you good?" he asks as they climb aboard the truck, voice low but cutting through her scattered thoughts.

She nods quickly. "I'm fine," she says, though her pulse is betraying her, hammering against the edges of the secret she's still holding.

Throughout the drive, Bobby keeps an eye on her, subtly shading her when debris or fire hazards come into view. Every flicker of hesitation, every second she glances away, tightens the knot in his chest. He knows she's wrestling with something. He just doesn't know what.

By the time they reach the scene, smoke curling into the sky and the heat radiating off the hillside, Bobby's protective instincts are on full alert. He positions her near him, close enough to steady her, guide her, protect her—but not so close as to interfere with her skill.

"Eyes on me," he murmurs as they step toward the fire. "Whatever's on your mind, put it aside. Just focus here."

Kenna nods, breathing steadying as best she can, but the distraction gnaws at her. She wants to tell him, to confess, to finally exhale the secret she's been carrying. But the fire, the adrenaline, the responsibility—she pushes it down again.

Bobby watches her like a hawk, patient but tense, knowing the weight she carries is heavier than any blaze they fight. And he knows, in his bones, that when the time comes, she's going to need him more than anything.

****

The 118 surrounds the building, lights flashing, hoses at the ready. Up on the rooftop, a young girl in a hoodie perches on the edge, barefoot, shivering from more than just the evening chill.

Possible suicide attempt.
Teenage female.
Rooftop.

Kenna turned to the team. "I want to go and talk to her. Please," she said as she looked to Bobby.

Bobby nodded. "Be careful."

"Always."

Kenna moves slowly toward her, keeping her voice soft, calm. "Hey," she says gently. "My name's Kenna. I'm not here to grab you. I just... want to talk."

The girl doesn't look at her. "Why? You don't know me."

"I know you're scared," Kenna replies, sitting down a safe distance away. "And when you're scared... it's easy to think there's no one else who feels the same way. But there is."

The girl finally glances at her, eyes wide, suspicious. "Who's going to understand? Everyone... everyone hates me. My parents... my boyfriend... they all left. And now... now this is my life."

Kenna swallows hard, heart aching for her. "I get that. I really do. And I know it feels like the world's closing in, but you're not alone. Not tonight."

The girl's voice trembles. "But... I'm pregnant. I don't know what to do. I don't... I can't handle this."

Kenna's chest tightens. She takes a deep breath, keeping her voice calm. "I... I get that too. I'm pregnant too, and scared. I wasn't ready. I didn't know how I'd handle it. But I'm still standing here. I'm still breathing. And you can be too."

The girl's eyes widen in disbelief. "You... you are?"

Kenna nods. "Yes. And it's terrifying. I've been terrified every step of the way. But I've learned something—you don't have to face the fear alone. You don't have to disappear to make the pain stop."

The girl sways slightly on the edge. "I... I don't know if I can."

Kenna leans forward a little, voice soft but firm. "Yes, you can. You can because someone's standing here with you. You don't have to decide everything tonight. You don't have to be brave by yourself. And whatever you're feeling... it's okay. It's human. It doesn't make you weak—it makes you alive."

Tears spill down the girl's cheeks. "I'm... I'm scared. What if everyone hates me? What if they find out?"

Kenna shakes her head gently. "You're not alone. And the people who matter—the people who love you—will be there when you're ready. You don't have to face it all at once. You just have to take the next step. And I'll be here."

The girl's knees buckle, and Kenna reacts immediately, moving close enough to catch her if she falls, arms steady around her. "It's okay," she whispers. "You're safe now."

From below, the faint crackle of the radio carries Kenna's words to the rest of the crew. "I... I'm pregnant too," she hears herself say, more softly than she intended. The words hang in the air, unguarded.

Ellie freezes, jaw dropping. "Did she just say...?"

Eddie spins, eyes wide. "She's pregnant? Kenna's—"

Bobby stiffens, fists tightening. He's not looking at the crew. He's on the rooftop, watching Kenna handle the situation, heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with the danger below. His chest tightens at her courage—and at the knowledge that she just revealed a piece of herself in the middle of chaos.

The girl sobs into Kenna's shoulder. "I... I don't know what to do..."

"You don't have to know yet," Kenna whispers, stroking the girl's back. "You just have to let yourself live another minute. And another. And I'll be here every step, just like someone's been here for me. You're not alone. Not tonight, not ever."

Bobby steps closer, voice low and steady, guiding the rest of the team to form a perimeter while giving Kenna room. She's calm, strong, radiant—but he can see the weight of what she's just admitted, and he knows that after tonight, nothing will be the same.

Together, carefully, they guide the girl back from the edge. She's crying, but alive. She's breathing. And in that moment, Kenna realizes the truth of her own words: she isn't alone either.

****

The 118 firehouse is quiet after the call, though the tension still hums in the air. The team moves slowly, cleaning equipment and sipping coffee, but there's a new, unspoken buzz—Ellie and Eddie keep exchanging glances, Hen whispers something to Chim, and even Buck looks more curious than usual.

Kenna sits at the table, coat half-off, coffee in hand. Her hands shake slightly, though she tries to hide it.

Ellie leans against the counter, voice low. "Did you... hear that? Kenna said she's pregnant?"

Eddie smirks, but there's awe in his eyes. "Yeah... didn't expect that. Not for her, at least."

Hen mutters under his breath, "Wow... she's really juggling a lot."

Bobby stands apart, arms crossed, a mug of coffee untouched in his hands. His jaw tightens, but his eyes never leave Kenna. She's safe, alive, but now the weight of this new truth presses down on him. He doesn't rush over—not yet—but he's calculating, protective instincts flaring. He knows her strength, but he also knows how much she's carrying silently.

The whispers continue, but Bobby doesn't hear them. All he can focus on is her—the woman who's just saved a life while revealing a piece of her own story to the world. His chest tightens at the thought. She's pregnant. And she didn't tell me.

****

Later, Kenna retreats to the small office she's claimed as her own, shutting the door behind her. She leans against the wall, coffee long forgotten, heart hammering, hands pressed to her face. The adrenaline of the call has faded, leaving her raw, shaken, and alone with her thoughts.

She traces the outline of the small stick tucked in her pocket—the evidence of the secret she's been carrying, the one she hasn't dared to share with Bobby yet.

Her mind races. How do I tell him? What if it changes everything? What if he...

Her hands clench into fists. She exhales shakily, realizing something she's known all along. She has to tell him. She can't hide this from the man who's been her anchor, her partner in everything, her safe place.

The weight of the secret presses on her chest, but beneath it, there's a glimmer of resolve. She's scared, yes, but she also knows that Bobby will want to face this with her—because he always does.

She straightens, shoulders trembling but firm. Whatever the future holds, she'll face it with him. And she won't run from it anymore.

****

The apartment is quiet, the hum of the city muted outside the blinds. Kenna sits on the edge of the couch, hands twisted in her lap, heart hammering.

Bobby leans against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight, voice low but steady. "Kenna... I know what you said up there. On the rooftop. To that girl."

Her eyes widen, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Bobby—"

"No," he interrupts softly but firmly, stepping closer. "I need to hear it from you. Not overheard. Not half‑way. From you."

Kenna swallows hard, her throat tight. She looks down at her hands, breathing uneven. "I... I'm pregnant," she whispers finally, tears threatening.

Bobby freezes, chest tightening, processing the words. Her voice, shaky and real, makes it hit him in a way that eavesdropping never could.

"I didn't... I didn't know how to tell you," she continues, voice cracking. "I was scared. Scared it would change everything... scared you'd see me differently."

Bobby crosses the space between them in two strides, cupping her face in his hands. His eyes search hers, fierce, tender, unwavering. "Kenna... look at me," he says, voice low, rough. "You're not going to lose me. Not for this. Not for anything. And I love you. I've always loved you."

Her lips tremble, and tears spill down her cheeks. She leans into his touch, the knot of fear in her chest slowly loosening under his steady presence.

"We'll figure this out," Bobby murmurs, voice thick. "Together. You and me. Always. I'm right here. No matter what."

Kenna meets his gaze, trembling, heart full of love and relief. "You... you really mean that?"

"I mean it," he says firmly, eyes softening, hand brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "I've got you, Kenna. Every step of the way. And I'm not going anywhere."

She exhales, a shaky laugh escaping through tears. "I'm so scared."

Bobby presses his forehead to hers, whispering, "I know. I know. But you're not alone. Not for a second. Not tonight, not ever."

For the first time since she found out, Kenna lets herself breathe, lets herself lean completely into him. The fear, the uncertainty, the secret—it's still there, but now it's shared, held by both of them.

And Bobby? He doesn't just see her strength—he sees her vulnerability, and he vows silently, fiercely, to protect it, nurture it, and love her through every single moment to come.

****
Authors Note:
Baby Nash!!
boy or girl?👀