He’d been here so often, Gunny didn’t even flinch when the sliding doors of the VA hospital closed behind him, shutting out the glare of the late summer sun along with the fresh air. What he strode through now were sluggish currents of stale, medicinal-tinged drafts, each breath seeming to amplify the message that here was where people without hope came. But hope finds ‘em, regardless. He angled across the lobby towards the small hallway leading to the talking doc’s office, a route learned years ago, reinforced by these past six weeks of visiting Jock as often as he could.

The doc had phoned this morning, talking through the process of releasing Jock from the inpatient ward where he’d been staying. As Gunny had promised, it was his own choice that put him on that ward. And now, it would be a combination of recommendation from the doc and Jock’s decision that would put him back on the outside.

Having only seen the process from inside his own head, Gunny wasn’t certain what his role would be today and for the weeks to come. Another promise to Jock, he’d have a place to land, no matter what. Rounding the corner, he saw the doc’s office door was partly open, a murmur of voices coming from inside. He knocked and within a moment was invited to, “Come on in. The door’s always open.”

Inside, Jock sat on the edge of a chair he’d pulled up to the desk that took up so much of the space in the room. He looked up at Gunny and it was with relief that Gunny saw much of the tension Jock had still carried even a couple of weeks ago had melted away.  A genuine smile lit his face, his cheeks lifting and crinkling his eyes. Almost looks like a different person.

“Hey,” Jock said as he stood, hand thrust out for a wrist clasp from Gunny. “Doc laid everything out. Appreciate everything you’re doing for me, man.”

“No worries, brothers stand together.” There was a squeak from the doc’s chair, and Gunny turned to see he’d risen to his feet, assessing gaze moving between the two men. “We good, Doc?”

“Yes. Everything’s sorted from my end of things.”

Jock interrupted, bringing Gunny’s attention back to him. “You sure about this? It’s…” Some of the ease went out of the man’s expression, his features taking on a drawn aspect. “It’s a lot, man.”

Gunny leaned in, thudding Jock’s shoulder with each word as he repeated himself. “Brothers stand together.”

It was quiet in the truck on their drive back to Gunny’s place, Jock declining any fast food to hold him over until dinnertime. The miles rolled past and Gunny let his mind wander to how things could have been different for him. If I hadn’t found Shar in time. “Need to warn you, having some friends over. You’ve met some of ‘em, PBJ for sure, and I think you met Deke in the garage one day.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Jock nod. “Yeah, thought so. Anyway, they’re coming over, poker night. Sharon will probably stay in the living room with the kids, and we’ll need you at the table.”

“Nah.” Jock’s refusal seemed automatic, not something he had to think about. Gunny knew how that was, too.

“Yeah, you ain’t holin’ up in no fuckin’ bedroom while there’s poker to be played. Mason, the head honcho of the MC is gonna be there, and I already told him you’re playin’.” He grinned out the windshield, seeing his exit approaching. “Don’t make me out a liar, brother.”

There was humor in Jock’s voice when he asked, “And if I say I’m not feelin’ it?”

“Draggin’ your ass out there anyway, turd.” Gunny sucked in a breath, feeling his shoulders lower a couple of inches, glad Jock was comfortable enough to joke.

“Thought you called me brother?” Gunny glanced over to see Jock turning to look out the window, a smile on his face.

“I do, except when you’re actin’ like a turd. Then I call a turd a turd.” He took the upcoming exit, aiming the truck home. “Don’t mean you’re not my brother. Just that, in that moment, you’re also a turd.”

“Glad we clarified that, then.” Jock chuckled and Gunny grinned.

“Good deal.”

At the house, they walked into chaos that made Gunny’s grin widen even more. Cade and Kitten were in high chairs drawn up to the kitchen table, a mixture of singing and screaming coming from them. While their hands and faces were messy, the floor around the chairs was conspicuously clean. The dogs were ranged on either side of the girls as they walked in, and when Tank the Larger abandoned his post to pad quickly over to Jock, he heard the man whisper, “Good boy.”

Sharon turned from her position in front of the stovetop and Gunny frowned to see lines of strain drawn on her pale face. It felt like this pregnancy was taking more out of her than the previous two. From the number of pots and pans, she was working on supper for the grownups. One thing I can take off her plate. “Cop a squat, Momma. I got this.” He turned to tell Jock it wouldn’t be long before dinner and paused, holding still as he took in the scene. Jock had seated himself in the chair that separated the two girls and had scattered cereal on Cade’s tray. He had a jar of baby food in one hand, a spoon in the other, and had pushed his face close enough to Kitten’s that she’d latched onto his hair with one food-smeared hand.

“Yeah, Momma,” Jock cooed, his attention on Kitten’s mouth as he plied her with a spoonful of food. “We got this.”

Sharon smiled up at Gunny, holding her hands up in surrender and pushed close, lifting her face for a kiss. The slight swell of her belly pushed against him when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Thank you,” she whispered, lips still pressed to his. “I’m just so tired today.”

“Then go nap,” he told her in a return whisper. “I’ll wake you with a plate.”

She leaned against him, cheek to his chest and told Jock, “Welcome home.” Gunny watched as Jock’s eyes flickered, gaze darting first to Gunny’s face, then to Sharon’s, his head tipped to the side as Kitten tried to pull his hair to her mouth. “Thanks for helping with the girls.”

“No problem.” Reaching up, Jock extricated himself from Kitten’s grip, and she turned immediately to slapping at her tray, making a racket. “Gunny called me a turd. I figure I’m family now.”

“Gunny!” Sharon leaned back, frowning up at him. “We don’t call people turds.”

Chuckling, Gunny reached around her to pick up the spatula to stir the contents of the skillet. Narrow strips of vegetables sizzled in oil, and he peeked under the lid of a saucepan, seeing rice through the steam. “Baby.” He looked into another pan and frowned. Nipples in boiling water. Not food. “Shar, did you cook all the veggies I cut up for your snacks?”

She pulled out of his arms and backed away a couple of steps. “Maybe.”

“Did you get to the store today?” She shook her head. “Did you eat lunch?” Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head again. “Baby.”

“I know. I’m just tired.” Chewing on her lip, Sharon eyed him cautiously. “I called Bulldog. He said not to worry.”

“Then don’t worry.” Gunny turned to face the pots and pans, hiding an expression he knew held fear, the memory of Goose standing in the ER with Sharon’s blood on his shirt rushing at him out of a dark tunnel. “Go lay down.” Sharon’s footsteps retreated, echoing through the living room and then passing up the staircase. As if he were returned to the moment, Gunny was breathing in the biting, astringent scent of the ER, felt again the chill of the tile under his knees as he knelt and waited to learn if his life had been ripped apart. Reaching out blindly, his hand knocked against a hot pan, and he jerked back with a curse, hearing water sizzling as the pan overturned. “Fuck!” Hands to the counter on either side of the stove, he stared down at the liquid covering the surface, nipples for Kitten’s bottles scattered next to the pot lying on its side. “Fucking shit.”

“Dude, you’re scaring the kids.” Jock’s calm voice broke the silence and Gunny jolted in place, pulled from his memories. He reached out, grabbed the pan’s handle and set it to the side, plucking the nipples from the remaining water, dropping them back into the pan. “So, shit still gets to you, huh?”

“Doc’s got a word for it. Said once you’ve dealt with it, it’s like PTSD becomes a risk factor.” Spatula in hand, he turned to see Cade studying him, her hand turned sideways as she tried to shove a piece of cereal into her mouth. “Hey, baby girl. How’s Daddy’s girl?” She dropped her hand and squinted at him, eyes nearly disappearing behind her lids. Then she opened them wide, a smile breaking across her face. “There’s my girlie. Love you, Cade.”

“Bu bye,” she called, looking at the hand turned to wave at herself. Still waving, she refocused, grinning up at him. “Bu bye.”

“Hello,” Jock chuckled, and Cade whipped her head to stare at him. He waved at her and repeated himself, “Hello.”

“Bu bye.” Now she was scowling at Jock.

“Hello.”

“Bu bye.”

“Hello.”

“No ‘lo. Bu bye.”

“Brother, she can do that all day long.” Gunny turned off the burner under the rice, stirring the skillet of veggies again before opening the refrigerator. He pulled out a half-eaten rotisserie chicken and began slicing thin pieces of meat, adding them to the skillet. “Chicken stir fry.”

“Hello.” Jock chuckled as Cade scowled again, her repeated “Bu bye” rumbling underneath his words. “Sounds good.”

Gunny was outside after cleaning up from dinner, watching the dogs play carefully around the girls in the backyard. Sharon had dozed off after eating, and his guests wouldn’t show up for another hour, just enough time to exhaust the kids so they’d sleep well, bathe them, and tuck them into bed. He heard the scuff of shoe leather on the cement and didn’t have to look to know who it was, Tank the Larger’s head had come up, and his eyes were focused behind Gunny with an intensity he reserved for three people: Cadence, Kitten, and Jock.

“Folks’ll be here in an hour. You can have my chair. Gonna let the puddle ducks play in the tub for a bit. PBJ’s bringin’ beer since Shar didn’t get to hit the store today.” He passed along this info without turning, eyes on Tank where he lay between the girls and the yard’s back gate. He’s always on guard. “Come here, baby girl.” He stood, stretching before he walked to where Cade was already reaching high, wanting to be picked up.

“I can carry Kitten if you want.” Gunny nodded, swung around and watched as Jock tenderly gathered the girl, Tank stood next to Jock’s feet and watched attentively. “She’s a year old? Turned while I was in VA, right?” Gunny swallowed hard, hearing the wistful tone in the man’s voice. He thought Jock probably wouldn’t ever be past the betrayal his wife had done, every milestone seen in another child a reminder of how things wouldn’t be going for him. “Cade is two?”

“Just over two, yeah. There’re thirteen months between my girls.” With skill born of long practice, Gunny avoided stepping on any dog toes as he moved through the house and up the stairs. “Our bun will be almost eighteen months younger than Kitten. Seems a good spread.”

“Boy or girl?” Gunny settled Cade in the tub, adjusting the flow and temp of the water. He reached up, taking Kitten from Jock’s arms.

“Don’t know yet. Not sure Shar wants to know with this one. She told me three women in a house is plenty, I’m pretty sure she’s afraid it’s another girl.” He settled Kitten into the seat that had a permanent place in the tub, grinning as she squealed and kicked her feet, splashing herself in the process.

“Towels are on the seat. I’ll grab pj’s and lay them out.” Jock walked out, moving quietly.

Heat crowded Gunny’s back, and he twisted to see Tank still working to wedge himself into the small room, pressed tight to Gunny and facing the door. He frowned, considering the dog’s behavior. In the first moments after he and Jock walked in, Tank had gone to the man and stuck with him for a few minutes before resuming his position near Cade and Kitten. But Jock had been right there, so that made sense. In the yard, the dog had stayed with the girls, and just now, had done the same. He remembered Tank’s violent reaction to Jock the night everything fell apart and felt a curl of fear in his gut.

The doorbell rang and Tank the Smaller along with Rocky scrambled down the stairs, throwing themselves against the door as Gunny heard PBJ’s voice, “Hello, the house.”

“Hey,” he called, “I’m upstairs with the girls. Go ahead and setup in the kitchen, brother. I’ll be down directly.” Surprised when footsteps moved up the stairs, he felt a rumble from Tank as he leaned back to look down the hallway. “Mason, brother.” The rumble grew into a growl, and Mason halted a few steps back from the open doorway. “Tank, stand down. This is Mason.” Another grumbling growl and then Tank settled on his haunches, sitting behind Gunny. “Jesus, stop leaning, asshole.” Gunny shoved an elbow behind himself, trying to lever the dog off his back. “Tank, down.” With a groaning complaint, Tank settled to the floor. “Come on in, Mason. He’s a tad bit protective of the girls.”

“Like their daddy is, no doubt.” Mason stood next to the tub and grinned down, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “I needed to come see my boy’s potential old ladies, brother. Never know how early to start matchmaking.”

Gunny grinned, his hand cradling Cade’s skull as she rolled over, a toy to her mouth, eyes fixed on Mason in a dark study. “Thought you’d paired Gar-boy with Faynez?”

Mason made a noise, clucking with his tongue and Cade rewarded his efforts with a broad grin before waving and shouting, “Bu bye.”

Chuckling, Mason crouched down and had just started to reach out to take Cade’s hand when Tank growled, the low, menacing sound echoing in the room. Gunny looked over to see Mason frozen in place, eyes on the dog, and the dog was staring at the doorway where Jock had stopped. “Tank,” Jock scolded, “be quiet. Come.” Heaving to his feet, the dog stalked on stiff legs towards the door, not even sparing a glance at Mason. “We’ll be downstairs. Hi.” He waved at Mason. “I’m Jock.”

“Mason.” Gunny watched, puzzled, as Mason remained crouched down, not even offering his hand to Jock. His tone was cautious and cold when he said, “We’ll be down in a bit. PBJ and Deke are stockin’ the fridge. Could use a hand, I suspect.” Kitten splashing pulled Gunny’s attention back to the tub where Cade was once again chewing on a toy, staring at Mason. Gunny finished bathing the girls in silence and handed a towel-wrapped Cade to Mason, carrying Kitten to the girls’ room. “You’re watchful of him, right?” Mason’s question seemed to come out of left field, and Gunny shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with what seemed to be an instant dislike between the two men. “Not sayin’ he’s a bad dude, just…be watchful, yeah?”

“He’s had a shit hand, Mason.” Gunny rested a hand on Cadence’s back, watching as she snuggled into the mattress, hand wrapped tightly around her mastiff toy.

“Don’t doubt it. Been read in on what went down with him.” Mason walked soundlessly to the door and stood, waiting. “Also been read in on what went down in your house, brother. I get that you feel for him. I do. Just, be watchful.”

“He reminds me of me.” He stroked up and down Cade’s back, soothing her gently as she found her way into sleep. “Man’s worth the effort.”

“I’ll accept that.” Gunny looked up to see Mason’s gaze fixed on Kitten, one corner of his mouth curling up. “She’s pretty, Lane. You made some beautiful children with Sharon.”

“Thank God they take after their momma.” He dimmed the lights, turning on the monitor before pulling the door closed. “Imagine if she had to look at two of me.”

“The horror. Still, I think Shar would manage okay.” Mason chuckled. “Let’s go play some poker.”

He lifted his chin, grinning. “Yeah, let’s see if you can win somethin’ off me.”

Four hours later, Gunny was feeling less generous towards Mason. “Jesus, Prez. Fold. I got diapers to buy, brother.” He tossed his cards on the table and pushed backwards.

“Me, too, brother.” Mason chuckled. “My last hand. If I don’t get home before daylight, I turn into a mean pumpkin.”

Jock yawned and pushed his chair back. After a final glance at his cards, he lay them on the edge of the table. “Fold.”

The hand continued for a few minutes, with Mason coming out the winner again. Some good-natured grumbling from PBJ and Deke, then they were on their way. Mason followed Gunny out the sliding glass doors with the dogs, standing with feet spread wide, looking up at the sky. “I miss this.”

“What?” Gunny kept his eyes on the white flag of Rocky’s tail. The terrier had been trying to dig out from under the fence to get into the fields surrounding the house, no doubt because he smelled gophers or some other critters. As late as it was, Gunny had no interest in chasing the dog tonight.

“Seein’ the sky like this.” Mason sighed. “My house is nice, don’t get me wrong, but it’s surrounded by people and people bring lights and noise. Here…” He sighed again. “It’s nice. Quiet. And you can see the stars. Good place, brother.” A footstep behind them announced Jock’s arrival outside.

“Myron did good.” Gunny passed off any credit for finding the house to where it was due, because all he’d done was give Myron a single item on a list of must-haves: No people. “He was over here last week flying that fuckin’ drone you bought him.”

Mason laughed, still staring up at the sky. “Smartest thing I ever did was patch that bastard.”

“What, uh…what do you look for in a patch member?” Jock’s voice was quiet, his tone solemn, fitting when asking what might be a life-changing question.

Gunny grinned, keeping his focus on Rocky’s tail out near the back corner of the yard. He’d let Mason field that one. He heard Tank the Larger growl and a complaining yip from Rocky, then watched as all three dogs appeared at the edge of the light. Good dog.

“Big dog.” Mason’s words might have been aimed at Tank, but Gunny knew better. Jock made a questioning noise, and Mason snorted a laugh. “That’s what we…I want. I have hundreds of members, and each one has been chosen for what they can bring the brotherhood. Here, in Fort Wayne? I’m looking for big dogs, men who can hang, no matter what the challenge thrown at the club. We’ve got shit on the horizon, and I need to have men I can trust in place to deal with whatever comes. So, in a word, I’m lookin’ for big dogs to run with the rest of us, not stay on the porch.”

“What does it take to run with your big dogs?” Jock sounded like this was a more than casual curiosity, and Gunny suspected it was a natural progression, given the weeks he’d had to study the brotherhood Gunny enjoyed with the members.

“First we get to know you, and vice versa. It’s called the hangaround time, and it’s kinda what you were doing tonight. You wanna explore what you see, then we have different conversations.” Mason shifted to the side, turning to face the house, including Jock in their circle. “We get a lot of hangarounds. Lotta different reasons. Men who like the idea of power, because this patch offers that. People who want respect, because this patch brings that to the table in a big way.”

Gunny interjected because he thought he knew where Jock was coming from, maybe more than Jock did. “We also get a lot of men who need to belong. It’s a brotherhood, and when you wear the patch, you are guaranteed only one thing. Every man who also bears the burden of the patch has your back. It’s both like and unlike the military in that respect. You walk into a bar with a member, and you know he’s got your six. And you know he’s depending on you to have his.” He shrugged, dropping a hand to rub gently at the folds of skin behind the mastiff’s ears. “Within the club, there are friendships, like me and Deke, PBJ, and even this fuckin’ reprobate here.” He tipped his head towards Mason, drawing a grin from his friend’s face. “So I’d expect it from them. Brotherhood means that even members I don’t know and never met would have my back.”

“Military makes sure you know how to depend on a team.” Jock nodded and turned to look beyond Mason, into the darkness. “It’s not a team if that trust doesn’t go both ways. Food for thought, thanks, Mason.”

“Anytime.” Mason moved, gripping Jock’s shoulder. “Good to meet you, man. Heard good things about you.” Turning to face Gunny, Mason reached out, pulling him into a one-armed clinch, pounding his back as he said softly, “I was wrong.”

“Fucker.” Gunny grinned and released his hold. “I’ll be in the garage tomorrow, got a call for a custom build, want to go over things with Bear.”

“Can’t wait.” Mason padded towards the house, one hand held up in farewell.

***

Jock

He stood in the room where he’d been staying, turning in a slow circle, taking in the emptiness surrounding him. It’s time. Bending, he gripped the strap on his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. In the two weeks since he’d gotten out of the VA, things had gone from moving slow as molasses on a cold day to faster than light. On the second day, he’d gone with Gunny to the club’s garage and met a dozen members. Of them, he’d hit it off with a dude named Domino, Deke’s older brother. The man was struggling against the perception that since he was a former cop, he was a narc, but Jock saw something deeper in him. Domino’s girlfriend was out of town for a few weeks, and he’d offered his second bedroom as a place to stay while Jock looked for an apartment of his own. It was his house, so could be as dog-friendly as Jock needed, which meant Tank was coming with him.

Gunny hadn’t argued, not that he could; they’d established early on that Jock was Tank’s owner. Sharon hadn’t argued either, at least not verbally, but Jock had seen her sad eyes following the mastiff around the house for the past week. He knew the story, had heard it a dozen times, not just how his dog had wound up with such awesome people, but what Tank had done for her and Kitten. That day at the garage he’d listened to each man in turn as they approached him with their version of how Tank had gotten to the hospital, sticking close as glue to Cade until Gunny got there.

With a last look around the room, he strode out, heading towards the front door. Tank had been pacing back and forth between the bedroom and kitchen for the past hour, knowing something was changing with Jock, but wanting to be close to where Sharon was feeding the girls.

Tank lifted his head and stared at Jock, then pushed to a seated position, never moving his eyes. Then, with an effort that signaled how his dog had gained middle age while Jock had been gone, he groaned and stood, then turned his back on Jock and sat down again. Sharon’s gaze flickered between him and the dog, eyes wide. “Jerk,” he muttered, then ignored the dog who was currently ignoring him, telling Sharon, “I wanted to let you know again how much I appreciate everything you and Gunny have done for me. I’ll see you around, right?” He smiled at her, holding the expression until she gave him back one that trembled. “I’m going to be going through kiddy withdrawals, I know, so if you need a babysitter, you give me a call.” She nodded and rose, coming to him and wrapping her arms around his chest. Tipping his head to the side, he bent and whispered, “Thank you. You guys saved me.” She squeezed him and sucked in a stuttering breath.

Releasing her, he stepped back and waved to Cade. “Bu bye.”

The smile on his face faded when she studied him seriously for a moment, then pulled her tiny features into a hard scowl before telling him, “’Lo.” Raising a clenched fist, she flailed it in the air before opening it, raining pieces of cereal down on her head. “’Lo.”

“Hello.” He waved, then backed up another step. “Tank.” The dog shifted but didn’t turn. “Tank, come. Let’s go, boy.” Spine twisting, Tank looked over his shoulder, ass still firmly planted on the floor. “Dude, come on. You’ll be back for a visit, promise.” With a heavy sigh, Tank climbed to his feet and turned before padding over to Sharon. He butted her belly with his head, nearly taking her off her feet, then wound his way around her, slapping her legs with his tail on his way past. Nose to Kitten’s toes, he snuffled until she giggled, then rested his chin on her tray for a moment, letting her beat her tiny fists against his head.

With another look at Jock, Tank shifted and stepped sideways until he was pressed up against the side of Cade’s highchair. With a whine, he shoved his head underneath her tray, jostling the entire set-up until Sharon stepped over and pulled the release lever. Then he crowded closer, leaning sideways so he could get his head and neck in contact with Cade. The little girl scowled at Jock again, then bent over the dog, putting her mouth close to his ear, her fingers working through the folds of skin on his neck. “Bu bye.”

Jesus. I’ve never seen a dog like this.

He’d contacted the breeder two weeks ago, trying to see if there’d be a puppy he could buy for Gunny. Maybe in six months or so, but nothing right now. Confronted by the connection Tank had with the kids, Jock wavered, his gut twisting while he tried to decide if this was the right thing. If it was just them, he wouldn’t hesitate; Tank would have found a new forever home. But Tank eased something inside him, untangling the guilt he had for living when his entire patrol had died on the side of the road, thousands of miles from home. Without having Tank, he’d been a ghost, so far into the dark his fingers had grown to know the curve of his gun’s trigger very well. Finding out the dog wasn’t lost, was with good people, it had seemed too good to be true. Then finding out just how good Gunny was, and how he just got where Jock’s head was, without judging, that had been an unspoken wish come true. Even with that, Tank had been the only thing that had gotten him through the past weeks. I can’t leave without him.

“Come on, Tank. Time to go.”

Another look over his shoulder at Sharon and Tank stepped back from Cade. The little girl seemed to suddenly understand what was happening, her face scrunching up, mouth going square as she cried, hiccupping through the words, “No. No go. Stay.” Kitten picked up the cry, howling as if she were in pain. Cade held out a hand to Tank, her fingers tapping her palm in a broken wave. “’Lo. No bu bye. ‘Lo.”

“Sharon—” He started to say something, anything, but she waved her hand.

“Just go. I’ll deal with this.” Hand to the side of her belly, she walked to where Cade was still strapped into her chair.

“Tank, ‘meer me!”

Sharon’s voice was soft when she promised her daughter, “Oh, honey. It’ll be okay.”

No, it will never be okay.

***

Gunny

“Please, come home.” Sharon’s words were thick with pain, the sound of his girls crying echoing through the phone. “Honey, please.”

“What’s wrong?” He was already on the move, snapping his fingers at a prospect seated on a bucket by the office. Pointing back at his bay in the garage, he told the man, “Clean up for me. Everything in the box, lock it and then take the key to Red.” Red was a member who managed the garage, and he’d make sure the expensive tools and parts were stowed correctly and safely. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Sticking his head into the office, he told Red, “I gotta go.” Getting a nod in response, he turned and let the door close behind him, heading out to his truck. “Baby, talk to me.”

“It’s just…we’re all sad, Gunny. I can’t stop crying and neither can the girls. We…I just need you.”

“Fifteen minutes, I’ll be there. Hold on, baby.”

He could hear them when he parked the truck in the garage, picking out both girls’ shrill voices, Sharon’s a deeper rumble in contrast, but even through the monitor’s speaker, he could tell she was barely holding everything together. Fuck. Inside, he followed the wails to the upstairs nursery, seeing Sharon seated on the ottoman between the cribs, face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Cade’s eyes were swollen, and when she saw him, her unrelenting stream of “No bu bye,” changed to “Da da, no go.” Kitten’s cries slowed, growing softer, but he could see from her red face that she’d been screaming for a while. Sharon lifted her head, and the pain in her face nearly took his legs from under him. Girls will be okay, but she’s too fragile for this bullshit right now. He went straight to Sharon and picked her up, taking her place on the ottoman and settling her in his lap. Burying his face against the side of her head, he whispered, not sure if she could hear him over the kids, but hoping she’d be soothed in some way, “Baby. It’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” Her arms wound around his neck, holding tight as she pressed close to him. “Gunny, what if it’s not?”

“It’s not like Jock took the dog to the moon, honey.” Cade stirred in her crib, rolling from her back to her belly, propping up on her elbows to stare at her parents. “He’ll be back to visit. We got two dogs of our own, honey. Tank…” He paused, casting around for the right words. “…was just on loan for a good, long time.”

“I know we have dogs.” Sharon was still crying, cheek pressed to his chest. “But they aren’t Tank.” He glanced over and saw Cade’s chin starting to quiver again. Shit. “Tank was…he was ours, Gunny. You said it, he was our dog. Why did you let Jock take him?”

Jesus. Sharon wasn’t making any sense now, and he could feel her quivering, shaking like she had a fever. Worried, he lifted a hand to her cheek, finding it chilled instead of hot. “Baby.” He stroked a hand down her back, pulling her closer. “Shhhhhhh. It’s gonna be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” She returned to her previous question, and he felt her move, arching against his arm, pushing on his chest with both hands. Staring down into her face, the pain in her expression tore at him again, and he had to swallow hard to push the lump from his throat. “Gunny, I’m pregnant. What—” Fingers curled in his shirt, she pulled it away from his body and then thudded against his chest, impressing on him how deep her fear ran. “—if it’s not?”

As he had been the night he brought Jock home from the hospital, Gunny was transported back to when Kitten was born, tasting the bright tears at the back of his throat at the sight of all the people waiting for him. Seeing Deke fearing to touch him, even knowing that all was well, too unsure what Gunny’s reaction would be to the news to risk it. Deke’s voice telling him, “They’re both okay. Gonna be okay. Sharon’s good, and the baby’s good, too. Bulldog’s got her, and you know he does.” Sharon’s exhausted and exhilarated face, lying quietly in her hospital bed, staring in wonder at the newborn sleeping in the bassinette nearby.

“Bulldog.” His voice was rough, scraping at his throat as he forced the words out. “Bulldog knows what happened. He’s on guard with this little one. Bulldog—” He swallowed a shattered laugh at the idea that the man was called after a distant cousin of the mastiff. About right, he told himself. “—won’t let anything happen to you, or to this baby, Sharon.” He squeezed her with both arms, bending his neck to rest his forehead against hers. “He won’t, and neither will I, baby. That’s a promise you can count on.”

She hiccupped, unblinking eyes staring into his. Gunny realized both girls had quietened. The room was silent except for the muffled jingling of dog tags as Rocky and Tank made their way upstairs. He watched her struggle with his words, trying to accept them but finding them wanting when held up against the depth of fear she had inside. A fear he hadn’t known she carried, but it made sense. She nearly died, our little girl with her. After everything life had thrown at her, Sharon had proven herself strong time and time again, but he knew better than most how those experiences could mark a person.

Lips quivering, she flinched at the sound of her own voice when she asked, “You promise?”

He didn’t pause, didn’t have to think because if it could be pulled or pushed into life, he’d do it for her. “On my heart, I promise.”

***

Walking out of the doctor’s office, Gunny chuckled as he reached down to cup Sharon’s elbow, steering her back onto the sidewalk. She had a roll of black and white pictures in her hands, holding them up in front of them. Gaze focused on the pixelated images, she lifted them and pointed with one trembling finger. “Look, honey. That’s his winkie!”

“Fuck, Shar. Don’t call it that.”

Fingers working along the edges of the paper, she paused on another picture, her finger close to tracing along the curve of their little boy’s face. “He’s gonna be handsome, just like his daddy.” Back to the other picture, she pointed again. “Winkie!”

Still chuckling when he folded himself behind the wheel of her van, he waited for her to reverently coil the images and tuck them into the depths of her purse before he asked, “You ready, baby?” She nodded, pulling her phone out and looking at the screen. “Everything okay?” She grinned, turning to show him the picture Jock had texted her, showing Tank, Tank, Rocky, Cade, and Kitten lying in a staggered row across the backyard. Jock had jumped at the chance to babysit, and when he walked in with Tank this morning, Gunny and Sharon ceased to exist for the two girls. “Looks like everyone’s having a good time.” She looked at him, a soft expression on her face and he leaned close, brushing his mouth across hers. “We’re havin’ a boy.”

“We are.” She agreed on a whisper, her lips barely moving. “A little baby Lane. Injecting some testosterone into the Robinson household.”

“Pretty sure the injecting part was done several months ago, babe.” He chuckled at her scowl, seeing echoes of Cade’s favorite expression. “God, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful. I love you, Sharon.”

“Love you, too, big guy.”

Bulldog had eased her fears, taking extra time during the ultrasound to show her the positioning of the placenta, optimal, according to him. He’d been practical, too, and Gunny knew Sharon appreciated it, talking through the statistics of a recurrence of the placenta breaking free like with Kitten. Those stats were low, so low it seemed an impossibility. But he’d addressed that, too, telling Sharon what to watch for and when to make a call. By the time they walked out of the office, she’d nearly been dancing circles around Gunny.

At home, Gunny found the removal of Tank the Larger from the household was only slightly less traumatic this time, Sharon being the only female not crying. He distracted the girls with the promise of a bath, and once they were clean, fed, and down for the night, he found Sharon curled into a corner of the couch, chin in the palm of one hand as she stared at the dark TV.

“Baby, whatcha watchin’?” He shoved his hands under her arms, lifting her as he sat and pulled her into his lap.

“Nothing.” She yawned and leaned against him, nuzzling his chest. Chin to the top of her head, he held her and waited, knowing she wouldn’t have stayed up for him if she didn’t have something to say. “Gunny…” Her voice trailed off, then she continued. “How old are Tank and Rocky?”

He lifted a hand, smoothing his palm across his scalp. “Fuck, baby. I don’t know. Less than ten. I got ‘em the same year. Why?”

“I didn’t get to grow up with a dog. I always wanted one.” She wiggled and he groaned, enjoying the pressure of her ass rubbing on his cock as she snuggled into him. “What…how long do beagles and ratties live?”

Now he knew where she was going with this and he didn’t like it. Didn’t like the idea of losing his pups, but he also understood it was inevitable. Sharon was a planner, though, so it shouldn’t be a surprise she was looking to the future. “Fifteen or so, depending on health. What are you dancing around, Shar?”

“Should we get a puppy now, before the baby comes?” She shrugged, the movement shifting her tits against his chest. “You know, before things get chaotic again?”

“You want a puppy? What kind?”

She was quiet for so long he wasn’t sure what to expect. Then she showed him how much the big dog had impacted her, too. “Mastiff.”

“I’ll talk to PBJ tomorrow.” She relaxed in his arms, revealing by that tiny motion how tense she’d been leading up to that request. “See what he can find for us. You sure you want to introduce a chewing, gnawing, barking puppy to the house?” Her head moved, hair dusting across his shoulders as she nodded. “Okay, baby. We’ll see about a pup.”