The Fighter (Ziall Horlik)AU M-preg

Chapter 24

Niall's POV

The sun crept through the windows of our bedroom the next morning, forcing me out of my peaceful sleep. I rolled over in bed slowly, but only then did I realize I was completely alone. I sat up with a slight struggle because my bum was sore and I was also in the middle of growing a human.

My eyes scanned the room for any sign of my dark haired boyfriend, but got nothing. My mind immediately went back to the last time we had made love and I had left him, thinking it was better for things. I started thinking that's what he had just done to me get pay back for me hurting him. I wrapped my arms around my bump and shook my head to rid those stupid thoughts. I knew Zayn wasn't going anywhere. He promised us and so far, everything he promises always gets delivered.

I got out of bed and limped over to get a new pair of panties on then one of Zayn's really big sweaters he never wears. It was a knit purple sweater my mum had bought him, but he refuses to wear anything but black, so that gift was short lived. I also slipped on some fuzzy socks to keep my feet warm before wandering out of our bedroom to hopefully prove those stupid thoughts I had when I woke up, wrong.

"You're not signing up for any more, Zayn. You have three left and you should be set for the rest of Niall's pregnancy, then you can agree to more that are worth your time." I heard Mark's voice say from the kitchen. I walked in and saw Zayn was standing against the counter wearing boxers and a white t-shirt as he sipped at a cup of tea. He looked over at me and smile lightly, but for some reason I decided to break down crying. He set down his cup and ran over to me then held me tightly to his chest. I cried for no reason at all, but all of me felt like it was right. Maybe I was just relived he was here and didn't leave me. I'm not exactly sure at all.

"You're okay. I'm right here, baby. What's wrong?" Zayn asked me. All I did was shrug before he was picking me up and setting me on the counter. Zayn wiped my tears a little then went over to the kettle and made me a cup of my special decaffeinated tea. I tried to stop crying while he put the right amount of sugar and cream in it before bringing it back to me and standing between my legs.

"Is that better? Good morning, by the way." He chuckled to me. I blushed at him for my emotional behavior, then took a few sips of the hot tea Zayn always seemed to make just right for me. Mark stood up from our kitchen table, making me remember he was actually still in the room, and walked over to Zayn with a soft look on his face as he glanced at me.

"Just remember you're going to be a dad and it's not always safe to have so many fights pressed so close together. I'll see you for training in a few hours." Mark said to Zayn in a fatherly tone. He gave Zayn a hug, then pat my knee before showing himself out of our house.

"What was he talking about?" I asked my boyfriend. Zayn nodded the way he always does when he's trying to put all the right words together. My eyes followed him as he went to put some bread in the toaster and got out the jam that he knows I'm kind of in love with at this moment in my pregnancy. That alone made my stomach growl in hunger, but I was still wanting to know what Zayn and Mark had just discussed.

"There are a few pro fighters that want to get a match scheduled. I still consider myself very amateur, but everyone is saying my stats put me as a professional. Mark doesn't want me fighting pro for who knows what reason, but I know those fights are more money. It's just stupid stuff that we both know is inevitable because I'm a stubborn jack ass and he's still the man that believes in me." Zayn told me, then sighed. Part of me wanted to tell Zayn that if he became a professional fighter that would mean he would get that much more hurt, but I know when he's in the ring he turns into iron and doesn't feel pain. Instead, I feel it for him.

"When do you have to leave for training?" I asked him, changing the subject before I started crying over the images that never leave my mind of him getting hurt in his stupid sport in the name of money. Zayn got our toast on two plates and brought it over to me. I watch his fingers as he used the butter knife to spread the jam over the toast and watched as his tired brown eyes looked at what he was doing. Something about this morning was making me almost infatuated with watching him. Last night was actually the same thing.