A Baby Maybe

by Genna Donaghy

  "It's unlocked," Wyatt called.

  He was only a little surprised to see Grayson peek his head in. "Can I come in?"

  Only if you want to come in, he thought, then pushed it aside. He had heard about horniness in pregnant women. Or maybe that was just the effect Grayson had on him. His dark, curly hair was disordered in a cute way today.

  Throwing back the covers, Wyatt sat up. "What's up, Doc?"

  Grayson humored him with a smile then held up a box of crackers. "I know you're having trouble keeping food down. I thought it might be a good idea to try saltines when you wake up, first thing. Give your stomach something to chew on, as it were."

  "Is that an official prescription?"

  "Old wives tale, actually. I guess we can find out if it works."

  Grayson crossed the room and set them on Wyatt's nightstand table.

  Wyatt watched him with heavy lidded eyes. "You know, I haven't thrown up nearly twelve hours." He winced as soon as the words came out. That was not sexy.

  Luckily, Grayson was made of tough stuff. Or, at least he wasn't put off. Leaning over, he kissed Wyatt's forehead. "Anything I can do to help?"

  "Make me feel good?" Wyatt asked. He was surprised how low his voice was. How needy.

  For a moment, he wondered if Grayson was going to pull away. "We shouldn't," he said, darting a glance at the door. Then his eyes flicked back to Wyatt and they were full of wonderment. Of lust.

  "We should," Wyatt corrected. He pulled Grayson closer and was happy when Grayson down on top of him.

  Their lips met, soft. And then hot, with panting breaths. Wyatt pulled Grayson's shirt over his head, needing to feel skin under his fingers. Grayson wasn't washboard-ab-perfect, but he was more fit than his time in the lab would suggest.

  And he touched Wyatt like he was something precious to him. Fragile.

  Wyatt's hormones were going haywire. He wasn't in the mood for soft and sweet.

  Wyatt pulled back and snarled, "If you don't ram your cock in me in the next three minutes, I swear to God—"

  Grayson barked out a laugh. The hand lovingly stroking in Wyatt's hair fisted it instead, pulling back on his scalp. The sting felt good, and Wyatt moaned, arching his neck back.

  "Please," Wyatt whispered, and it became a mantra. Please, as they stripped of the last of their clothing. Please, on hands and knees as Grayson spread him wide and pushed slick fingers in. Wyatt dropped his head and groaned appreciatively when the head of Grayson's cock breached his hole. "Please... Grayson. Please!"

  He thought he wanted it rough, but Grayson pushed in and out in a steady rhythm, gripping Wyatt's hips and gazing at him as if he were the whole world. He hit Wyatt's prostate, and the bolt of pleasure made him gasp loudly, clutching at the blankets.

  He was worked up, it had been too long since he'd been close to another like this. Since he'd let himself be touched, be fucked.

  "Grayson... please..."

  Grayson dipped his head, pulling Wyatt's head back again to scrape his teeth along the column of his throat. That, and the change in angle was just enough. Wyatt came hard, arching and groaning against him. His body tensed around Grayson's cock, making the other man follow. His hips jolting erratically as he chased his pleasure.

  "Feel better?" Grayson asked, what felt like an eternity later. Laying side by side with Wyatt, he pushed some of the hair out of Wyatt's eyes.

  In reply, Wyatt caught his hand and brought it down to brush a kiss across Grayson's knuckles. Then he laid Grayson's palm against the planes of his stomach. Over where their baby was quietly growing.

  "Much better," Wyatt said.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wyatt was dead asleep when the door to his room slammed open and struck the opposite wall with a bang.

  Wyatt sat up with a surprised gasp. The sheets pooled around his bottom half and he clutched them like a shield. It took a moment to recognize the figure in the doorway. "Grayson?"

  "Wyatt!" Grayson strode across the room to him. He looked half-frantic, his curly brown hair in complete disarray as if he'd been running his fingers through it, and his eyes wild. "Are you okay? Are you feeling sick? How is your temperature?" He brought his hand to Wyatt's forehead. "Have you been throwing up?"

  "No. No, not all week. I told you I got over the worst of the morning sickness." Blinking, Wyatt struggled to order his thoughts. "What's going on?" Then a cold bolt of fear struck through him. "Has there been another attack on the Lotto House?"

  Grayson shook his head. He dropped his hand where it clenched into a fist. "One of the mothers—Chance, you know him?" He waited for Wyatt's nod. "He's fallen ill."

  "Chance?" He was a man around Wyatt's age, and originally hailed from Texas before the country consolidated into the City-States. But he still had the cowboy twang, and his love for anything BBQ was well known around the Ranch. "What do you mean he's ill? Is it the baby? Is he okay?"

  Grayson closed his eyes. "It's the Flu."

  A wave of cold swept over Wyatt, from his skull to the tips of his toes. "But... But he's a man. Oh my God. How is this possible? Are you sure?"

  "As sure as we can be," Grayson confirmed. "He's not my patient, but I came to you as soon as I heard." Then he held up a small device Wyatt hadn't noticed before: A thermometer. "Turn your head."

  Wyatt did, and Grayson stuck a thermometer in his ear. Wyatt forced himself to stay still, his heart thudding fast in his chest.

  Chance has the Flu... Oh my God...

  There were only twenty-eight pregnant men so far, and they had all attended yoga class together just this morning. Wyatt hadn't talked to Chance then, but hadn't noticed anything odd with him, either. When did he start to feel sick? Would he be okay? And what about his baby?

  (Was the Flu contagious?)

  After a moment that felt like a million years, the thermometer beeped. Grayson let out a long breath. "Normal temperature."

  Wyatt sagged. Realizing he'd been clutching the sheets to himself, he unclenched his fists and smoothed them out again. "I don't understand. Chance shouldn't have the Flu. How is this possible?"

  "We're not sure." Grayson shook his head. "This didn't happen in animal testing."

  "But there hasn't been an instance of the XX Flu in, what, decades?" he pressed.

  Again, Grayson shook his head. "The Flu has never been a normal contagion. It's—well, not technically a flu virus at all. The name just stuck."

  "I know," he said, flicking a hand impatiently.

  "Parts of the virus's RNA still lives within us all," Grayson continued, "It's just... dormant in the male gender. I don't know why it reactivated within Chance, but we're going to find out."

  Wyatt slid his hand over his belly, which had grown a notable bump over the last few weeks. Every single test had pointed to a happy, healthy fetus. But as far as he knew, Chance had been the same. "Will he be okay?"

  Grayson didn't answer right away. Wyatt touched his wrist, then slid his hand up to grip Grayson's chin to make the other man look at him. "Tell me the truth."

  "No one has who has ever caught the XX Flu has survived. But were going to be doing everything we can for him." He let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry for waking you up like that. I know I startled the Hell out of you. I just..." He looked ruefully at the thermometer. "As soon as the word came down, I had to know you were okay."

  "The baby's fine, Grayson." He dredged a small smile from somewhere. "I'm keeping him safe."

  He didn't expect Grayson's eyes to look quite so tender. Nor for the doctor to lean forward and touch his lips, briefly, to Wyatt's forehead. "I wasn't talking about the baby." Then, before Wyatt could process that, Grayson rose. "I have to check on my other patients." He paused by the door. "Stay inside this room today. We're going to keep everyone isolated, just in case."

  "I will."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wyatt paced back and forth across the length of his room over the next few hours, too anxious to sleep. He wished the old landline ph
one system worked within the rooms. He wanted to talk to Tyler—to anyone— and find out how Chance was doing. But there wasn't so much as a dial tone when he picked up the receiver.

  Calm down, he told himself. No man has ever died of the XX Flu. We are safe.

  His growing baby was safe.

  Someone knocked at the door, and Wyatt practically ran over to open it. Grayson stood on the other side with a medical kit in hand, looking haggard. Two counselors stood behind him.

  "Wyatt," Grayson said. "How are you feeling?"

  "I don't know, Doctor. How am I feeling?" It was becoming an old joke between them.

  Grayson smiled, but it was a wan, thin thing. "I need to check your temperature again, and take a few blood samples. Assuming everything shows within normal parameters, you'll be moving to the North wing."

  "We're to help you pack," one of the counselors said to Wyatt's confused look.

  "You mean, my whole entire backpack and three uniforms?" Wyatt asked, but it was clear everyone was on edge. They were looking at him as if he were about to fall apart at any minute, and he wondered how the rest of the Mothers were taking the news of the Flu. Probably not well.

  With a sigh, Wyatt sat on the edge of his bed and extended his arm for Grayson to give him a poke. Not the type of poke he actually wanted, of course.

  Grayson was in doctor mode, all business. He took Wyatt's temperature using the thermometer again, and confirmed he was still not running a fever. When he asked Wyatt if he had thrown up or felt ill at all, Wyatt was truthfully able to answer to the negative.

  By the time Wyatt's blood was drawn, the counselors had packed his scattered personal items and were standing by the door in expectation.

  Wyatt hesitated before he looked to Grayson. There were deeper lines of stress around the corners of his eyes.

  "Who else has fallen ill?" Wyatt asked.

  The twitch from one of the counselors confirmed Wyatt had guessed correctly.

  Grayson sighed. "Two others, so far."

  "Doctor—" one of the counselor's protested.

  But Grayson silenced the man with a sharp look. "I know we're not supposed to alarm them, but Wyatt can handle it." He turned back to Wyatt. "Jason and Vince."

  Wyatt's breath caught. "Oh... I see." His mind raced, trying to come up with something reasonably intelligent to say. Something that wasn't running around in panicked circles like his primitive hindbrain wanted. "They're... I don't think they're very close to Chance," he blurted. "At least, I've never seen them hang out together outside of common hours. I don't think that they caught it from each other."

  Grayson nodded. "That's our assessment as well. Still, we're putting them into isolation, and moving everyone else. Just to be safe." He extended his hand to the door in a gesture for Wyatt to get a move on.

  Wyatt swallowed his next question: Will they be okay? Because if the answer was 'No' Grayson wouldn't tell him. And it was probably too soon for a 'Yes, they'll be fine'.

  So, nodding, Wyatt let himself be let out the door and down the hall.

  His new quarters was exactly like his old ones, but with the furniture reordered in the exact opposite direction to take in the light. It felt like he had stepped into a mirror world.

  He twitched when one of the counselors locked the door from the outside. Then he was alone again with his thoughts.

  Grayson had been too busy to so much as say goodbye.

  Vince died first.

  His death came forty-eight hours after he'd fallen ill, but Wyatt didn't hear about it for another twelve after. Still confined in quarantine in his room, he wheedled it out of counselor Thomas who delivered Wyatt's meal. The kid's eyes were red-rimmed. It was obvious he'd been crying.

  Wyatt waited until Thomas had left the room until he did the same. Grieving for a victim of the Flu wasn't new to him, but it never stopped hurting.

  Vince thought he'd be one of the first in nearly a generation to bring children into the world. Now he had the dubious honor of being the first male to die from the XX.

  Jason's death was less of a shock, after Vince.

  Chance managed to hang on for a full seventy-two hours before he, too, succumbed.

  Grayson arrived in Wyatt's room with updates as often as he could. And, of course, to check to see if Wyatt had symptoms.

  The only bit of good news—if there was such a thing, was that no one else had fallen ill. At least, not at the Ranch. On the second day of quarantine, Grayson, who looked washed out from exhaustion and stress said, "It's hit the Lotto House. They have two confirmed cases."

  Wyatt took in a breath. Then he gripped Grayson's hand in his own, finding the doctor's to be cold. "Are they keeping it from the public?"

  "On a near-constant feed of live TV?" He shook his head and pursed his lips. "They can't. The Lotto House only has fourteen pregnancies—even if they were able to keep two of the men from view, they couldn't cover the reactions from the others."

  For a moment, Wyatt debated if he really wanted to know the answer to his next question. He asked anyway. "How bad is it?"

  "Bad," Grayson said frankly. "You know that a lot of people have pinned their hopes to this project. From the public point of view, it looks like it's falling apart. Riots have started in some of the city-states." He sighed and rubbed at the side of his face. "The government has increased the scope of the curfew."

  Not good. That would piss a lot of people off, and make them feel even more desperate. Wyatt knew a little what that was like: Days of forced quarantine made his hotel room feel like a cage.

  "I wish I could do something to help," Wyatt said. "I never felt so useless in my life. If I knew a little bit of medicine—" He stopped himself, realizing how stupid that sounded. There was no way he could help care for the sick. No one would let him on the same side of the building as those who were stricken with the Flu, much less help care for them.

  Grayson gripped Wyatt's hand in a quick squeeze, then brought it up between them to brush a kiss against his knuckles. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days and the stubble tickled. "Keep yourself safe. That's how you can help." Then, his other hand moved to press low on Wyatt's belly, making him shiver. "If we have one viable baby out of this... it'll be worth it."

  Images of Chance, Vince and Jason flashed through his mind. His eyes welled. "I keep telling myself that."

  Grayson closed the distance between them and kissed Wyatt softly. "Seeing you is the best part of my day, you realize that?"

  Wyatt smiled for the first time in what felt like ages. "Then stay," he suggested, coyly. "It's a big bed."

  Grayson looked at the sheets longingly. "I'm supposed to be sleeping. They gave me five hours of downtime, and I was ordered to rest."

  But he didn't resist as Wyatt tugged him forward, pushing him down on the mattress. Wyatt straddled his thighs. "You'll sleep," he promised. "After."

  Chapter Fourteen

  After an anxious week marked by grief, the quarantine was lifted. No more of the mothers had fallen ill, and none of the staff had so much as an errant sneeze. Whatever had caused a brief resurgence of the XX Flu, it was over now.

  By the time the all clear was called, Wyatt was ready to climb the walls, and judging by the slightly manic look on everyone's faces, he wasn't the only one. Some had red-rimmed eyes, grieving for those who were lost.

  Everyone: Candidate, mother, counselor, and medical staff seemed to drift toward the Living Room. It had become their place for socialization and safety. Wyatt caught anxious conversations as he wandered through the room and looked for a free spot on one of the couches.

  "They still aren't sure what caused the resurgence of the virus..."

  "I heard it was the tablets they give to us. They hid a small amount of estrogen—"

  "No, we're probably producing our own by now. That's what my doctor said when he took my blood."

  "That's impossible. The tests all showed..."

  Wyatt wasn't sure what to think, but stressing a
bout something he couldn't control was super unappealing. Nor did he want to watch the national news. The giant TV in the room had been switched to a news station, and an anxious cluster of men gathered around. The screen showed a burning building with rioters waving picketing signs and throwing bottles and rocks at black-garbed police.

  At a glance, Wyatt saw the burning building wasn't the Lotto House. Thank goodness. Probably just one of many empty structures that had been left over from the collapse after the Flu.

  The public was losing hope that the project was going to save them. They were angry, desperate, and wanted to vent their fear. A dark part of Wyatt could relate to their frustration. He suspected anyone who had survived the XX Flu would.

  He found Tyler sitting on a poofy chair in a corner. Uncharacteristically, his chatty and charismatic friend was alone.

  "You're a sight for sore eyes," Wyatt said with a forced smile. It was a phrase his father had used, and with the Flu hovering over them over the last week, it plucked a sour note in his heart. He took a seat next to Tyler. "How are you?"

  Tyler shrugged a shoulder. "Numb, I guess. Like everyone else around here. Wondering if all the sacrifices are worth it."

  That took Wyatt by surprise. "Of course it is." But maybe he'd be singing a different tune, if he or Tyler had caught the Flu. He felt like a hypocrite.

  "The Lotto House lost eight mothers."

  "Eight?" Wyatt gasped. That was more than half of the mothers who had been pregnant in the house. He turned to look at the burning building on the TV with new eyes. No wonder people were freaking out. They were literally watching their hopes for humanity die in front of them.

  Tyler nodded and looked sad. "We're going to have a memorial service for Chance, and the others. I... uh, don't know if it's later today or tomorrow." He let out a breath. "Should I go?"

  "Why wouldn't you?"

  "Because I'm not one of the mothers."

  "Then..." The realization of what Tyler was saying struck Wyatt. "The results came back negative again?" He was briefly surprised that they'd continued testing for pregnancies during the Flu emergency, but maybe the doctors were looking for a bit of hope. Something to cling onto.