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Jack Abbot was halfway through a consult, his coat flared open as usual and tie nowhere to be seen, when the radio call hit the ED like a freight train.
“Possible assault victim en route—female, late twenties, head trauma, stable vitals. ETA two minutes.”
He didn't flinch—until Dana’s voice followed up a second later.
“She asked for Jack. Said he’s her husband.”
Jack froze. It was one word—husband—but it cracked something wide open. He barely noticed the file slipping from his hand or how the residents stopped mid-motion, watching him.
“Jack?” Dana prompted gently, already moving toward the ambulance bay.
He was sprinting past them a second later, lab coat whipping behind him like a cape.
She was seated upright on the gurney, but barely. Blood matted the edge of her hairline, a deep bruise blooming purple down one cheek. Her hands trembled where they clutched the blanket around her.
“Jack.” Her voice cracked.
His face broke. “Jesus—Y/N.” He dropped to his knees at her side like the world had ended. “What the hell happened?”
“Todd’s dad. He came back after pickup… he was angry I reported the bruises on Todd’s arm,” she whispered, wincing. “He hit me. I—I fell into a desk.”
Jack’s hand hovered near her cheek, like touching her would shatter her. “I’m going to kill him,” he said, dead serious.
“Jack,” Dana warned quietly behind him, but her voice was calm—supportive. She gave a look to the residents loitering at the edges, whispering, wide-eyed.
They’d never seen Jack like this.
He was always blunt, always sharp—but now his rage simmered under the surface, focused like a scalpel. Not yelling. Just quietly, terrifyingly furious.
“She’s going straight for a CT,” he said to the nurse. “Neuro consult. Full trauma panel. I want her monitored until I say otherwise.”
“Already paged,” Dana said. “Let’s get her comfortable. Jack, you’re not on shift anymore. You’re with her.”
He just nodded, eyes never leaving you. His hands were bloodied from where he'd clenched his fists too hard. No one dared point it out.
Dana placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got the floor covered.”
One of the interns leaned toward Dr. Ellis. “He looks like he’s about to murder someone.”
“Because he is,” she whispered back. “And I hope someone tells that asshole parent to lawyer up.”
Jack looked at the resident team, tone sharp as broken glass. “If anyone fucks this up, I’ll bury your med school dreams where no one’ll find them.”
They all nodded. Not one made a sound.
~~
The curtain was pulled, monitors humming low in the dimmed room. You lay curled on your side, hospital bracelet loose around your wrist, the scent of antiseptic lingering faintly under the warmth of clean blankets.
Jack sat beside you, one hand cradling yours, thumb moving in slow circles over your knuckles. He hadn’t let go since you were cleared. Concussion. Some bruised ribs. A sprained wrist. Nothing internal. Nothing broken. But you were shaken.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” His voice was raw now—stripped of its usual edge. “Really okay?”
“I’m here,” you whispered, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “And you’re here.”
His jaw ticked. He leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead so gently it made you ache.
“I should’ve been there,” he murmured. “I should’ve—”
“You can’t be everywhere,” you said softly. “You were here when it counted.”
He closed his eyes, forehead resting against yours. “I’ve never felt that scared before. Not even in med school. Not even in war zones or trauma bays. Just—you. Hurt. And me not there to stop it.”
You slipped your free hand to his jaw, guiding his gaze back to yours. “You’re here now. That’s all I need.”
Silence stretched, warm and heavy. Then you shifted a little, your voice barely above a breath.
“I was going to wait… make it special… but after today—”
Jack tensed. “Wait for what?”
You smiled, nervous. “They did a blood panel. One of the nurses saw my chart and asked if I knew yet. And I did because I was going to make it special but-”
He blinked, brows knitting, voice steady as he interrupted. “Knew what?”
You reached for his hand, and this time, you brought it low—rested it gently over your abdomen.
“I’m pregnant, Jack.”
He froze. Just for a second. His palm spread wide against your belly like he was afraid to press too hard.
“You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re sure?”
You nodded, eyes glassy. “Six weeks.”
Jack let out a long, shaky breath, then leaned forward and kissed you—long, lingering, reverent. His hand never left your belly.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So damn much.”
“I love you too.”
Outside the curtain, Dana walked by with a quiet smile. One resident started to ask something, but she shook her head.
“Not now. Let them have this.”