Safe With You

The Heartbeat Between Chaos

~ Alyssa ~

If I hear “you’re not fine” one more time, I might actually strangle someone.

Four days.

Four bloody days of being sick, weak, and barely keeping down sips of water and Lucozade Sport. My stomach turns at the thought of food, my body aches, and the man currently pacing by the door insists this isn’t normal.

“Greyson,” I groan, buried beneath the duvet. “I just need rest—”

“What you need,” he cuts in, that low, steady tone he uses when he’s trying not to lose patience, “is a doctor.”

I peek at him through one half-open eye. “I’ve had doctors. Markus ran tests—”

“That was weeks ago,” he snaps softly, but it’s not anger — it’s worry, the kind that settles deep behind his eyes. “And you’ve gotten worse, Alyssa. You’re living on chocolate fingers and sports drinks.”

I glare, sitting up too fast, immediately regretting it when my head spins. “Don’t exaggerate. I had soup.”

“You sniffed soup,” he says flatly, crossing his arms. “You haven’t eaten properly in days. You can’t keep anything down. You can barely stand. You’re going to the hospital — end of discussion.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the look he gives me — that mix of fear and firmness — kills it instantly.

“I hate you,” I mumble, climbing reluctantly out of bed.

“Good,” he says, already pulling my coat from the wardrobe. “You’ll live long enough to tell me that again later.”

I shoot him a glare that would make most men crumble. He just smirks, kisses the top of my head, and ushers me toward the door.

The drive to the hospital is quiet except for my constant muttering about how dramatic he’s being.

He doesn’t respond. Not once.

Just keeps one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over occasionally to check if I’m still breathing.

I’m too tired to fight properly.

When we pull into the car park, he’s already on the phone with Markus.

“She’s worse,” he says, his tone clipped. “Four days now. Won’t eat. Can’t keep fluids down. I’m bringing her in.”

Markus must say something back, because Greyson’s jaw tightens, and he mutters, “Yeah. Straight to diagnostics.”

I groan. “You two act like I’m dying.”

Greyson doesn’t answer. He just opens my door, slides an arm around my waist, and helps me out like I’m made of glass.

~ Markus ~

The moment I see Alyssa, my stomach sinks.

She looks awful — pale, exhausted, the kind of sick that tells me it’s not just a virus. Her posture’s off, her hands tremble, and even her voice sounds thinner than usual when she greets me.

“Alright, superstar,” I say gently, guiding her toward the bed. “Let’s get you sorted, yeah?”

She sighs, dramatic as always. “Markus, I swear, if this turns into another ‘your iron’s low’ speech—”

I hold up both hands. “No speeches. But I am running a full workup — bloods, scans, the works. You look worse than you sound.”

She glares. “You’re terrible at comfort.”

Greyson mutters beside her, “Told you so,” earning himself a weak slap on the arm.

I can’t help but chuckle. “You two bicker like you’ve been married fifteen years. Let’s see if we can rule out anything serious.”

I move through the motions — blood samples, vitals, pressure readings — methodical, but my gut’s already whispering that something doesn’t add up. Her pulse is quick, her temperature’s up, and yet everything else is… fine. Too fine.

When the nausea hits her again mid-test, I frown. “I want to run an ultrasound,” I tell her. “Just to rule out anything abdominal. Don’t argue.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she mutters, lying back. “I’m too tired to fight.”

Greyson squeezes her hand. “That’s a first.”

She flicks him a weak middle finger without even opening her eyes.

I smirk. “Lovebirds, behave.”

~ Alyssa ~

The room’s dimly lit, the monitor beside me humming quietly. Markus readies the equipment while Greyson stays seated at my side, hand warm over mine.

I’m shaking — partly from nerves, partly from whatever this thing is that’s eating away at me. Markus spreads the gel on my stomach and I flinch at the cold.

“Sorry,” he says gently. “Deep breaths for me, Alyssa. In and out.”

I nod, staring at the ceiling, trying not to cry.

I’m so bloody tired.

Greyson’s thumb moves in soft circles across my hand, steady and grounding.

Then, a sound.

Soft. Fast. Rhythmic.

A heartbeat.

Two, actually.

My breath catches. “What is—”

Markus’s voice drops to a whisper. “Oh, hell.”

“Markus?” Greyson’s tone sharpens. “What’s wrong?”

Markus glances at me, then back at the monitor. His usually unshakeable face softens. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says slowly. “At least… not in the way we thought.”

He turns the screen toward me.

And there, clear as day, in grainy black and white — a tiny shape moves.

The sound grows louder — steady, strong.

A heartbeat.

No. Two heartbeats.

Mine and—

“Oh my God,” I whisper, tears already burning my eyes. “No. No, that’s not— Markus, no.”

He nods slowly. “Alyssa… you’re pregnant.”

The room tilts.

For a moment, I can’t breathe.

Greyson’s hand slips from mine, his own eyes wide, stunned. He looks between me and the screen like he’s seeing the world for the first time.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

I can’t even say the word without my voice shaking.

“That’s impossible,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I—I’ve been on the pill, Markus, I haven’t missed a single dose, I—”

“Sometimes it happens,” he says gently. “Contraception isn’t always foolproof.”

I cover my mouth, a sob breaking free. “No, no, this can’t be happening.”

Greyson reaches for me, but I pull back, tears spilling fast. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry, I— I was told i couldn't have any more kids after Quinn”

“Alyssa, stop,” he says softly, but I can’t. The words keep pouring out, choked and messy.

“I can’t do this again, Greyson. I can’t. I nearly died last time, I—” My voice cracks. “I can’t go through that again.”

Markus looks away, giving us space, pretending to adjust the screen. The silence is thick, broken only by the faint heartbeat still pulsing through the room.

Greyson finally moves, kneeling beside the bed, taking my face in his hands. “Hey,” he says firmly, eyes burning into mine. “Look at me.”

I can barely see him through the blur of tears. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper again. “If it’s too much, if this isn’t what you want—”

He shakes his head sharply. “Stop.”

“Greyson—”

“Stop apologising for existing,” he says, voice rough. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Neither did I,” he interrupts, a small, trembling laugh breaking through. “But here we are. And I’m not going anywhere.”

I stare at him, disbelief warring with fear. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it because I have to,” he murmurs. “I’m saying it because I mean it.”

He presses his forehead to mine, both of us shaking, both crying.

Markus clears his throat softly. “Well,” he says gently, eyes flicking between us, “you’re measuring about twenty-seven weeks, which… would explain the exhaustion. And the sickness.”

I blink, stunned. “Twenty-seven— what?! That’s— Markus, that’s—”

“More than six months along,” he says quietly. “You’ve not got long left.”

The world goes silent.

I can’t think. Can’t breathe.

All I can do is stare at the screen — that tiny heartbeat flickering like a secret the universe decided to keep.

~ Greyson ~

She’s shaking.

And I can’t do anything but hold her.

Markus gives us space, slipping out quietly, muttering something about blood panels and observation forms.

I barely hear him.

All I can see is Alyssa — pale, trembling, one hand pressed protectively over her stomach as if she’s only just realised it’s real.

“I didn’t know,” she whispers. “How could I not know? Markus even ran a pregnancy test at my last follow up.”

“Because you’ve been through hell,” I say softly. “Because your body’s been through worse. Because you’ve been surviving, not stopping.”

She laughs, a broken sound. “That’s not comforting.”

“It’s the truth.”

Her eyes are glassy, red-rimmed. “You’re not angry?”

“Angry?” I repeat, startled. “Alyssa, why the hell would I be angry?”

“Because I didn’t tell you,” she says, voice shaking. “Because I didn’t know. Because— because this changes everything, and you didn’t sign up for—”

I stop her the only way I can think to.

I kiss her.

It’s not soft. It’s desperate — a collision of fear and relief and love that’s been simmering too long.

She freezes, then melts against me, sobbing quietly into the kiss.

When I finally pull back, I rest my forehead against hers.

“Listen to me,” I whisper. “You don’t scare me, Alyssa Rose. Nothing about you ever could.”

She laughs through her tears, a quiet, disbelieving sound. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But you’re mine. And this—” I place my hand gently over hers, both resting on her stomach. “—this is ours.”

For the first time, she doesn’t pull away.

Her fingers curl over mine, tentative but sure. “You mean that?”

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

She exhales shakily, leaning her head against my chest. “I’m terrified.”

“I know,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head. “So am I.”

We sit there like that for what feels like forever — the soft hum of machines, the echo of that tiny heartbeat still playing faintly from the monitor.

When Markus returns with a clipboard, he takes one look at us and smiles faintly. “She’ll need monitoring and a few follow-up appointments,” he says gently. “But from what I can tell, both mother and baby are perfectly healthy.”

Alyssa’s eyes fill again, though this time it’s something softer — relief, wonder, disbelief all tangled together.

She nods slowly. “Okay.”

Markus smiles kindly. “You’ll be alright, Alyssa. You both will.”

When he leaves, the silence stretches between us again — but it’s different now.

I glance down at her, still curled against me, still clutching my hand.

“So,” I say quietly. “Twenty-seven weeks.”

She lets out a weak laugh. “I don’t even have maternity clothes.”

“We’ll fix that,” I whisper, brushing her hair back. “We’ll fix everything.”

Her head tilts, eyes half-closed. “You really think we can do this?”

I look at her — the woman who’s survived storms, rebuilt empires, and somehow still finds a way to love the people around her.

I smile. “I think we already are.”

And as her breathing slows, the steady rhythm of two heartbeats fills the room — one strong, one small — both impossibly intertwined.