SEALing His Fate: An Mpreg Romance (SEALed With A Kiss Book 1)

by Aiden Bates

  Trent rubbed at his throat. He could almost feel O'Donnell senior's hands around it, even though he didn't know the man. "I can see what you mean. She may hate me, but she doesn't deserve that. Yeah, if you can get her over here too, that would be best. I know Mal worries about what will happen to her."

  "I've spoken with some people." Chief nodded. “They think the best thing for her would be for her to enlist. There's a process. It's a little complicated, but it's doable. I'm not sure if she'll take us up on it, but if she does I think she'll be pretty happy in the Navy."

  "She's certainly got the drive. And she's got the right mindset. She'd go far." Trent pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. I should be thinking about her, too. Mal loves her. He worries about her. He'd want her to be protected, no matter what happened to him."

  "He would." Chief looked around. "Not decorating for the holidays this year? I guess it's not a great idea, with your gut all torn up."

  Trent sighed. "It's getting better every day. Dr. Steed said if he caught me trying to hang mistletoe, or anything like that, he would have me court-martialed." He scoffed. "The guy's an ass."

  "He's an ass, but he's the ass in charge of you until you're cleared for duty." Chief waved a finger at him, but then he relented. "Which should be soon enough. Keep your chin up, Kelly. You should be able to start therapy and training again in the new year."

  Trent pretended to find that comforting. He'd feel better once he could do something other than mope around the house, but what he really wanted was Mal, home where he belonged.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mal had never really enjoyed flying. He'd been on some long flights, some interesting flights, some exciting flights, and some harrowing flights. He'd once been forced to take out a Russian oligarch in an airplane bathroom. He'd once been forced to land a commercial jetliner when someone else had injected a syringe full of poison into the pilot. This flight required more connections than Mal was willing to think about, but all he had to worry about in business class was his meal.

  It was a pretty sweet way to travel.

  Too bad the baby was distinctly not a fan. Mal wasn't sure if it was the length of the flight, the amount of time spent sitting, or just the occasional turbulence, but the baby was definitely not a fan of flying. Fortunately, if Mal had anything to say about it, there weren't going to be any flights in their future for a good long while.

  This was their third flight, and as the plane began its descent into Richmond Airport, Mal's baby started its familiar war with Mal's liver and rib cage. He grimaced and put his hand on his belly. "I've fought with injuries before, but this whole thing is different."

  Chief all but jumped. "Are you going into early labor? Do I need to get you to a hospital?"

  Mal shook his head. "It's not like I'd necessarily know, although I did get a chance to deliver a couple of babies while I was in Toulon. The baby just doesn't like this whole thing." He gestured to the plane. "It's weird having someone with a whole separate consciousness as part of you. I'm not entirely sure I approve." He rubbed his hand over his belly in an attempt to soothe the baby.

  Chief chuckled. "I don't think it's actually conscious. It's just little reflexes, but yeah. My omega, Tony, he never did like that part of it."

  Mal turned to look directly at Chief. "Seriously?"

  "No. I know there's some kind of code, and you're all supposed to pretend it's some kind of glowy and holy experience, but he hated being pregnant. Every second of it. And if someone tried to put a hand on his baby bump? He knocked out so many teeth over that." He shook his head. Obviously it was a fond remembrance for him. "I mean people seem to think just because a person is pregnant, their body becomes public consumption. One guy tried to press charges. The judge — and yes, it made it that far — heard the account of the case, brought down the gavel right away, and said it was self defense. Case closed."

  "Thank God." Mal shuddered. Maybe coming to America had been a bad idea after all. Not, he reflected, that people had been much better in Europe. Mal just didn't feel as secure defending himself in America.

  He'd have to see what happened.

  "Are you sure he still wants me here?" he asked, as they deplaned. Now that the plane was noticeably on the ground, the baby stopped fighting as hard.

  "Oh, yeah. We talked about it right before I left." Chief grinned. "He still doesn't know. I didn't want to set him up for disappointment, just in case something went wrong. But, yeah, he's still excited to have you there. Are you getting cold feet?"

  "Only because it's so cold here." Mal straightened his back and headed down the ramp. Maybe he wasn't a Wolf anymore — although the jury was still out on that — but he wasn't about to let fear stop him from anything.

  Customs didn't take long. Mal got the impression the border agent wanted it to take longer, by a lot. Chief intervened, though. He handed a series of papers to the agent, whose scowl deepened further with each paper he read. "Welcome to America, Mr. O'Donnell," he sighed, when he got to the end. He took Mal's passport and stamped it. He stamped Chief's too, and that was it.

  Mal was officially in the United States.

  There were only a couple of people with visible weapons in the airport, and since they were soldiers in uniform or police officers, Mal expected it. No one else had a visible gun, not even on their way to their cars. When they got into Chief's mini van and pulled out onto the highway, Mal stared out the window and didn't see a single pickup truck full of men in bandanas with guns, either.

  "Where are the militias?" Mal scratched his head. "Are they at home in bed? Do they rest? Are they occupying a national park?"

  Chief turned his head to stare directly at Mal, which filled Mal with terror for the drive. Fortunately, it was late enough that there wasn't as much danger of a true disaster. "What are you going on about now?"

  Mal gestured. "The militias. The ones roaming around the countryside, taking over your big box stores and getting into shoot outs over three ring binders."

  Chief repeated Mal's words silently but put his eyes back on the road. "Where in the hell are you getting these ideas from? You mean to say you can tell me down to the number of grains of rice what the Emperor of Japan had for dinner but you think we're crawling with militia like Somalia?"

  "I read the news every day, Chief." Mal sat up a little straighter. "There's always something going on. Theaters getting shot up and people going after grade schools…"

  Chief's jaw worked for a few moments. "I've never actually thought about how that looks from the outside." Then he started to laugh. "Oh my God. Oh my God, that's rich. I guess it says a lot that you were willing to risk our warlords and their loyal adherents." He slapped his hand onto the steering wheel. "Oh my Lord, that's rich."

  Mal's cheeks burned. "Are you trying to tell me those things didn't happen?"

  "No." He shook his head. "No, not at all. We did have a militia invade and take over a national park not too long ago. And we did have some jackass shoot up a theater. And a school or two." Chief sobered quickly. "I won't pretend that America doesn't have its problems. We do. But hell, Mal, everyplace does."

  Mal narrowed his eyes at his guide. "Not every day, though."

  "Oh, sure. And selling news is a business. A big story like someone shooting up a public place is going to sell a lot of copy, so all news outlets spend a lot of time on it. That's probably why it seems like it's a constant issue here. But Colorado is thousands of miles from here. It's like saying France has a stabbing problem because someone went on a stabbing rampage in Finland, man."

  Mal didn't think it was quite so simple, but he also couldn't deny he didn't see any evidence of warlord activity as they barreled down I-64. He would reserve judgement.

  The trip to Trent's home took about an hour and a half. When they pulled into Trent's condo complex, Mal gasped. "It looks a little like a normal council estate in England!" He could see several buildings, all two stories tall and well kept. Some had decorated for Christm
as. Some had not.

  "Is that good?" Chief knit his eyebrows together. "I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

  "It's something I can relate to." Mal shrugged. He took a deep breath. "Are you sure this is going to be okay?"

  "It will." Chief smiled softly at him. "Come on. Let's get you home."

  Home. It had an odd ring to it. Mal couldn't quite grasp the idea of it, but he wanted to try.

  They walked over to one of the buildings, and Mal stood off to the side. His breath came in fast, shallow pants. He hadn't been this scared since he'd been a kid going into one of his first fights. His mouth was dry as sand. His hands shook.

  Trent came to the door. He had a cane, although Mal's practiced eye told him he wasn't making proper use of it. "Chief?"

  God, Trent was beautiful. He'd lost a little bit of muscle tone, which was only understandable under the circumstances. He still looked like Trent, and that was the important thing. He looked like Trent, he walked like Trent, and he talked like Trent.

  Chief gave Trent a lazy grin. "Still haven't decorated for Christmas, I see. That is a shame."

  Trent snorted. "I told you what Dr. Steed said, Chief."

  "Oh, I remember. I do. But Kelly, this is probably the one time I'd have hoped you bucked orders. I brought your Christmas present by a few days early."

  Chief reached over and pulled Mal gently into the doorway.

  Trent stared. "This isn't real. This isn't happening. You'd have told me before you brought him home, Chief. You would have said, so I could have a room ready for the baby and some good traditional Irish food and maybe, I don't know, an extra couple of pillows on the bed —"

  Mal realized Trent was babbling from shock. He wasn't rejecting Mal, not the way he'd kind of expected. He was just that shocked to see him.

  Mal stepped forward and touched his lips to Trent's. That helped. It stopped the babble, at least.

  "I don't give a damn about pillows, Trent. We both know I'm going to use your chest instead." He traced the line of Trent's jaw. "If you'll let me, of course. And we can pick furniture for the baby ourselves." He grinned. "You'd pick a hollowed out torpedo or something."

  "What?" Trent laughed. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from Mal, and Mal wouldn't have wanted him to. "It's recycling. I thought you Euros were all about that."

  Chief grinned and spun his keys around his finger. "All right. Merry Christmas, you two. Trent, I'll check in with you after the holiday." He skipped back to his minivan, whistling what sounded like a holiday song.

  Mal looked up into Trent's eyes. "Can I come in? It must be expensive to heat the out of doors like this."

  Trent chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah. I'd love that." He ushered Mal inside and locked up behind him. "How did this even happen, Mal? I had no idea it was in the works, or at least not so soon."

  Mal let Trent help him off with his coat. He didn't need the help, but it made Trent happy to do it. "Neither did I. Chief was in my hotel room after work, uh, yesterday I think. Is it still Saturday here?"

  "It is. It's about eleven o'clock on Saturday night but it's Saturday."

  Mal sat down on Trent's couch and relaxed. "He handed me a passport and said we needed to leave. That fit with my needs, because my father was going to come at Christmas to 'collect' Morna and me and because I missed you too much." He gazed over at Trent. "I hadn't even unpacked my bags. Stupid, yeah?"

  "No. Convenient for us." Trent held out a hand. "You look exhausted. You're growing a whole new person. That's got to be doing something to your energy levels."

  "Well, remember I worked a full emergency room shift before I got on the plane." Mal took the hand, but was careful not to put any weight onto his boyfriend. He didn't know what his new doctor's orders were, but there was no way Trent should be putting any weight onto that abdomen of his.

  "So I'm guessing we should sleep" Trent waggled his eyebrows, and then he laughed. "And that's fine with me. Really. I'm just so happy to be here with you, Mal." His eyes glistened with reflected tears. "I can't believe it's really happening."

  "I'm having a little bit of trouble believing it myself." Mal sniffed. "Would you believe I went through the border crossing under my own name? And held a job under my own name, too? I don't know how I feel about that. I'm going to have to do some serious ruminating about that." He kept his tone light, so Trent would know he was just playing.

  "Well, soon enough you'll have the option of changing your name again if you want it." Trent took his hand and led him to a bedroom. "You can make it Malachi Kelly if you want." He looked down and back into Mal's eyes. "I don't want anyone or anything to be able to separate us again. Not now, not ever."

  Mal staggered back and sat down on the bed. "Trent, you shouldn't make that kind of an offer on a whim. What if I said yes, hm?"

  Trent dropped to one knee. "Then I would celebrate. We'd have to wait until Dr. Battleax gave me the all clear to go freaking shopping to buy rings, but this isn't a whim. I want to be with you. Only you. For the rest of my life. That's it, and I wanted to make it official just as soon as you got to America."

  Mal blinked back tears. "I'm not going to say no, Trent, but you have to be sure."

  Trent dragged himself upright. Mal helped. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life, to include when I joined the Navy. I'm not retiring, not yet, but I want for it to still be us when my military career is over. We're going to start a family together, and it's going to be the best thing that's ever happened to either of us." He grabbed Mal's hand and squeezed. "Because we're going to make it so."

  Mal smiled through his tears. "Yes. Let’s do it. Get married, I mean."

  They hugged, for a good long while, and then got ready for bed. Mal slept beside Trent for the whole night with his head pillowed on his chest just like he'd promised.

  The next morning, Trent woke up before him. Mal was more exhausted than he'd believed. When Mal finally did wake up, Trent had coffee, eggs, and toast waiting for him. "All right, handsome," he said, with a smile. "There are some amazing people I'd love for you to meet whenever you're ready. In the meantime, we can talk about baby furniture." He angled his laptop toward Mal.

  Mal settled in and rested his head on Trent's shoulder. All in all, this was shaping up to be the best Sunday he'd ever had.

  ~

  Trent couldn't remember a time he'd been so elated. Had it been when he'd been a little boy at Christmas, maybe? Even then, that joy had been tempered with grief for his father and the rejection of the rest of his family. This reunion with Mal had no drawbacks, no riders, and no addendums. This was their happily ever after, and he was going to wallow in it for as long as he could.

  Mal met with Uncle Jonas and Uncle Nick the next day. Trent didn't warn them ahead of time. If he had to tolerate a shock like Mal showing up on his doorstep, so did they. Both of them were happy, of course. Uncle Jonas was a little stiff around this new man in his nephew's life and a little concerned about the idea of a man who'd just come over for a relationship with Trent, but he loosened up after a few minutes.

  Uncle Nick, on the other hand, loved him right away. He seemed to love him almost as much as Trent did. By the end of the meal, Trent could relax in the comfort that if something happened while he was deployed, Mal would have the support of his family.

  Mal drove Trent to his follow up appointment with Dr. Steed a couple of days before Christmas. Trent was a little nervous about Mal driving in America. He didn't know the rules, or the customs, and his driver's license was apparently French. He took the wheel of Trent's Chevy, though, and they made it through traffic without anyone honking at them or cutting them off, so that was probably good.

  Mal was willing enough to wait in the lobby, but Trent invited him into the exam room. It was a simple matter of not wanting to be apart from Mal. It wasn't as though Mal hadn't seen the wound at its worst, or so people told him, and he'd surely seen worse in Toulon.

  Dr. Steed looked a little askan
ce at Mal's presence, but after Mal asked his first question he relaxed. "I'm sorry. I had no idea you were a corpsman." His whole demeanor changed to one of collegial respect, and he stopped talking about the injury in short words a toddler could grasp and launched into technical jargon.

  He broke out scans. Trent hadn't seen those scans during his time in the hospital. He hadn't seen them when he was discharged. These were his guts, his parts, and Mal and Dr. Steed were talking about them like Trent wasn't in the room.

  Mal looked at the newer scans, the ones they'd just taken today, and pointed to something. "So the nick to his intestine seems to be completely healed?"

  "Yes, absolutely. I had very few concerns about that. My biggest concern at the time was infection, but between the antibiotics prescribed at the time and the ones we administered to him here, we got that under control. You saved his life, Corpsman. The external wound has healed well, and it looks like the muscular injuries are knitting together as well."