Knocked Up By The Doc Box Set (A Secret Baby Romance)

by Claire Adams

  I sniffled and shook my head. “I feel like I failed her,” I admitted. “I know you probably don't understand that, but I really feel like I should have done more for her.”

  Eric sighed tiredly. “I felt that with Emily,” he said softly. “By the time I realized that she had cancer, it was too late to do anything about it. That's part of why I was so insistent that you convince your mother to have the treatments that she needed. I've always felt guilty that I didn't realize something was wrong with Emily while it could still have helped her, while we could have saved her. I honestly just thought her back hurt from picking up Emma so much or something like that, even though I knew Emma didn't weigh that much.”

  “I didn't know Emily died of cancer,” I said, shocked enough that I quit crying as I peered up at him. That explained so much about his frustration toward me, about the way that he had tried to distance himself from my mom and me over the past weeks. It didn't explain his reaction to the news of the pregnancy, but it highlighted again how little I knew about him.

  Unfortunately, I couldn't dwell on it at the moment. “I can't believe that I'm never going to see her again,” I whispered, starting to cry again.

  Eric pulled me into a tight hug, his hand returning to stroke my hair. He didn't have any words to say in response to that one, though. Instead, he just let me cry it out against his shirt until I was utterly exhausted.

  “Let me take you home,” he said finally, pulling slightly away. “You need to rest, and maybe you'll feel better when you're out of this place.”

  I nodded and let him lead me out of the hospital and into the parking lot. Outside, I took a deep breath of the night's fresh air, but I could still feel the sterile air of the hospital lingering in my lungs. Just like the tumors had lingered in Mom's.

  I looked uncertainly toward my car, not sure that I was fit to drive myself home. But Eric steered me over toward his car instead. “I'll arrange to have your car brought back to your place tomorrow,” he promised, and I nodded, trusting him. There was nothing else that I could do.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Eric

  I kept glancing over at Olivia on the ride home, but she didn't dissolve into tears again. Instead, she stared numbly out the window, her eyes barely registering anything. I knew she was exhausted after that bout of crying, but I couldn't help feeling worried about her, wishing that she would show a little more life.

  The first flicker of response that I got from her was when we arrived at her house. She looked surprised when I got out of the car with her. But I definitely wasn't going to leave her alone like this.

  Instead, I guided her inside the house, letting her cling to me as we went. I led her upstairs to the bathroom and sat her down on the toilet lid as I started a bath for her, making sure that it was warm but not scalding. Then, I turned toward her, starting to remove her clothing. She moved mechanically, to the point where it was almost like undressing a doll, or a robot, rather than a human being. But at least she didn't stop me.

  When the tub was full, I dumped in a bath bomb that was sitting along the back wall, nodding a little as a soft, peachy scent rose in the steamy air. The name of the game that evening was 'soothing.' I only hoped that it would work and that she would be able to relax enough to sleep eventually. I could tell that she needed it; those tears at the hospital had worn her out.

  I got her settled in the tub and put some soft classical music on my phone. It wasn't very loud, but I hoped it would work. “I'll be right back,” I told her gently. “You just relax. Cry if you need to. Or give me a holler if you need me.”

  Olivia stirred as I spoke to her, staring at me as though she'd forgotten that I was there. She looked lost, like a small, injured child, and I couldn't keep myself from bending down and kissing her forehead, much like I had done to Emma earlier that night.

  “I'll be all right,” she said as I pulled away.

  “I'll be right back,” I promised again.

  Outside in the hallway, I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and counting to 10. I hated to see her like this, in so much pain. I only wished that this hadn't happened to her. But I couldn't think about all of the 'what ifs' and 'could haves' now. It was too late for those; the best we could do was to start looking forward. I knew that Jeannie would have wanted us to.

  With that in mind, I headed down to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets, looking for something simple but comforting for her to eat. I quickly threw together a grilled cheese sandwich and put it on a plate with a couple of chocolate chip cookies. Then, I grabbed a glass of milk as well. I put all of that on the table and went to get Olivia out of her bath.

  She looked just as listless as she had when I had left, but as I helped her out and started toweling her off, she showed a little more life, actively moving with me rather than just standing there. By the time I put her in a pair of soft, flannel pajamas, she was actively helping me do up the buttons, and I counted that as a win.

  “I made you a sandwich,” I told her, leading her down to the kitchen.

  She made a face. “I'm really not that hungry,” she whispered.

  “I know,” I said sympathetically. “But I was hoping you'd at least try to eat a little. For me.”

  She stared at me for a long moment and then nodded, sitting unceremoniously at the kitchen table and taking a small bite of the sandwich.

  “If you want something else, I can make you something else,” I told her nervously. “I just thought maybe grilled cheese was comfort food.”

  Did I see a ghost of a smile on her face at that? She pushed out the chair across from her, and I hesitantly sat down. I wanted to talk to fill the empty silence between us, but I didn't know what to say. I could remember all the things that people had said to be when Emily had died, how they had all seemed like such stupid platitudes: 'everything is going to be all right' and 'you'll get through this.' I didn't want to echo those words at Olivia; I could tell that she wouldn't appreciate them.

  Olivia took a couple more bites of the sandwich, but even chewing seemed to wear her out. “I just want to go to bed,” she finally said, glancing briefly up at me and then looking away.

  “All right,” I said. “Let's get you up to bed.” I moved around the table to take her hand and lead her up there, but she flung herself into my arms again, hugging me fiercely. I hummed softly, rubbing her back and just holding her, letting her know that I was there for her, whatever she needed.

  Finally, she pulled away, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Then, she turned and headed toward the stairs. I trailed after her into her bedroom and tucked her into bed. “Do I need to tell you a bedtime story?” I joked. “I think I still remember most of what happens in Princess Pernilla and the Angry Bee; that's the one I read to Emma tonight.”

  Olivia laughed a little and then started sobbing, and I was reminded of that first night when we'd gone to dinner together. As with that night, my one instinct was to hold her while she sobbed.

  I climbed carefully into the bed and pulled her into my arms. Every tear felt like a knife to my heart as I pondered everything that had happened with Jeannie, wondering if this was all my fault. Even though I knew that it wasn't, that ultimately it was up to Jeannie what she wanted to do with her life, I couldn't help but feel responsible for Olivia's sadness now.

  I knew I couldn't leave her like this. Not alone, not this upset. I held her tightly as her sobs subsided and she drifted off to sleep.

  For a moment, I allowed myself to consider what it would be like if she and I were really in a relationship if the baby was really mine. If every night, I’d get to be here in this room, holding this beautiful woman, with Emma asleep in the next room over.

  I had never really considered having more kids. Emily and I had figured that we'd get through the first one and then see if we wanted more. But we'd never had a chance to discuss having more because by the time we would have been ready for it, she was already stricken with cancer.

&n
bsp; The thought wasn't unpleasant, though. Emma had her tantrums, but she'd make a great big sister. Somehow, I knew that instinctively. But maybe that was how every parent felt about their child. I smiled a little to myself.

  If the baby was mine, then in seven or eight months, we'd be welcoming him or her into the world. I knew from experience that the first months would be difficult, but I also knew, from watching Olivia with Emma, that Olivia was going to make a great mom. She had incredible patience, and she had such a soothing presence.

  When it came down to it, I still loved her. If I thought about it, I could picture a life with her, if we could just manage to put the past behind us. I hated to say it, but now that Jeannie was out of the picture, things would be easier for the two of us: we wouldn't be fighting about Jeannie's treatments and whether or not Olivia or I should be pushing the woman harder to accept the help that she needed.

  But that wasn't the only complication; I knew that. There was also the matter of Buck.

  I sighed, and for a moment, I tightened my arms around Olivia, who shifted in her sleep as though she could sense my distress. I quickly relaxed my arms, holding my breath and hoping that she kept sleeping. Fortunately, she did.

  Buck. As much as I hated remembering that he was part of the picture, I couldn't deny it. Although Olivia had denied ever sleeping with the man, there was the possibility that she had been lying to me and that it wasn't my baby. What if the thing popped out looking just like him? Even if the baby didn't resemble him, I would always have that doubt, wouldn't I? I supposed I could take a DNA test.

  I frowned. Was it possible that I could look past that and raise another man's child as my own? Could my love for Olivia be strong enough to allow me to overlook that possible indiscretion? If it turned out it was not mine.

  Unfortunately, I didn't have an answer to that question, and I wasn't sure that I would have an answer to that before she had the baby and I held it in my arms for the first time. But it wasn't fair to either of them, or to Emma, or to Buck, for me to go along with this if I didn't know if I was going to be able to be there for her.

  Besides, I didn't even know if Olivia would want me around as the father, whether or not the child was mine. I knew that Jeannie had raised Olivia on her own, so Olivia had to know that she didn't need me around. She could handle the child just fine on her own. And with all the bickering that had gone between the two of us, she might just as well decide that she didn't want any sort of negativity around the baby and that that meant cutting me out of her life entirely.

  I thought back to the way that she had announced the pregnancy to me. She hadn't wanted to come right out and tell me that I was going to be a dad. Instead, she had held me at arm's length, as though I was just the father of the baby and nothing more. As though I might have been the one who had gotten her pregnant, but now I was just her doctor, someone she was telling about her pregnancy because she had to.

  I hated that she might think of it like that: that she might want to let me know that the baby was mine but not want me to have anything to do with it other than making sure that she and the baby were healthy. If the kid was mine, I wanted more than that.

  But I had to admit. I didn't have the best track record for showing Olivia how much I cared about her and how much I wanted to be involved in her life. She had latched on to the idea that what we were doing was casual, but I had been the one to start that conversation. I had been the one who failed to contact her after we'd had sex, not knowing how to proceed. Sure, I'd been working through the pain of losing Emily, but it had to look to Olivia like I'd just been jerking her around.

  For all she knew, that's what I would continue to do when it came to her and the baby. I hadn't shown her that she could rely on me to be there.

  I swallowed hard, feeling like an ass. But I had to keep reminding myself that she had slept with someone else, that she must have slept with Buck. That this must be his baby, rather than mine.

  And so the question remained: could I raise another man's child as my own?

  The question kept bouncing around and around in my head, but I couldn't seem to find an answer to that question. It was a long time before I managed to join Olivia in sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Olivia

  When I woke up on Saturday morning, I could smell coffee and bacon cooking, and I blinked, scrunching up my nose and assuming that I must still be dreaming. But when I opened my eyes, the scent was still there, and I spared a moment to wonder what was going on.

  As I rubbed my gritty eyes, though, I remembered all the crying that I had done the previous night.

  Mom.

  I felt my heart constrict, but I refused to keep crying over her. She had made her peace with her decision, and it was time for me to make my peace with it as well. I felt bad saying that she didn't deserve my tears, but there was a part of me that felt that way. After all, she could have tried to fight the cancer, to prolong her life. It had been her choice to die when she had.

  I knew that that anger would get me nowhere, though. And abstractly, I knew that I wasn't really mad at her, I was just going through the grieving process. I had studied that my freshman year in Psychology 101, a mandatory class for all liberal arts majors.

  I pushed thoughts of the stages of grief out of my head and decided to make my way downstairs to investigate the smells coming from the kitchen. It was a little too warm for the flannel pajamas, but I didn't want to take them off when they were so soft against my skin. Plus, part of me could still remember the care with which Eric had bundled me into them.

  I blushed, remembering the way he had undressed me and helped me into a bath, then helped me out of the bath and into bed. I had a vague memory of him lying there in bed holding me, too, but I didn't think that that had happened. It had probably just been a dream, one born out of the sadness and loneliness that I'd been feeling.

  When I came down into the kitchen, though, there was Eric, frying up eggs and bacon on the stove and singing along softly to the radio.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked stupidly, unable to help myself. I knew that he had been there the previous night, but I would have expected him to be back home with Emma by now.

  Eric jumped, clearly not having heard me come downstairs, and gave me a sheepish smile. “Good morning,” he said, nodding me toward the table, where he'd already set out cutlery, placemats, and two glasses of orange juice. “I know you weren't really up to eating last night, but I was hoping you could try to get some food in you this morning. It may not feel like it, but it'll help.”

  I remembered what he had said the previous night at the hospital, about how he had gone through this same thing with his former wife. I took his words at face value and sat down at the table.

  “Thanks for cooking breakfast,” I told him softly as he poured me a steaming mug of coffee.

  “Of course,” Eric said gently. He looked like he wanted to add something, but whatever it was, it didn't leave his mouth. Instead, he filled a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast and set it down in front of me. “I hope you don't mind that I'll be joining you?”

  I shook my head; it wasn't as though I could protest when he was the one who had made the breakfast. And besides, why would I? I had to appreciate him taking care of me like this. I wondered if someone had done this for him when Emily had died, but I didn't know how to ask that question.

  So many things about him that are still a mystery, I mused.

  I supposed that he and Helen had had one another when Emily had died. And Eric had also had Emma to watch out for. He probably hadn't been able to go to pieces, because he'd had her to focus all his energies on. I couldn't imagine how difficult that must have been for him, and I shook my head, marveling at him for a moment as he made himself a plate of food and sat down across from me. As he turned a quizzical look toward me, I hurriedly looked down at my plate. But thinking about them took my mind off thinking of my mother for a moment, and I was grateful for that.
/>   I took a bite of the eggs, realizing I was hungry. I hadn't eaten the previous night: my dinner with Mom had been interrupted by taking her to the hospital, and I remembered not having the energy to eat the sandwich that Eric had made for me. Again, I appreciated his effort, though.

  It was hard to swallow past the lump in my throat, but I made a brave attempt at it, thinking over how strangely domestic this all was. What's more, I liked this. Even after I had realized that I was pregnant with Eric's child, I hadn't allowed myself to think about what things would be like if we put together a real family, him and Emma and myself and the new baby. Our new baby.

  The trouble was, if he didn't want to have a part of this baby's life, it only hurt me more to think of what could have been.

  I forced myself to keep eating, knowing that he wasn't going to let me get away with not eating anything. I was hungry. It was just hard to eat. After a few bites, I picked up the mug of coffee, holding it between my hands in an attempt to warm them. “Did you stay here for the whole night?” I couldn't help asking.

  Eric nodded, a faint blush spreading across his cheekbones. That was interesting. “I hope you don't mind. I just didn't want to leave you alone like that.”

  I frowned at him, wanting to ask if he'd been there in bed with me or if he'd stayed on the couch. From the way he had blushed, I had to assume that that memory I'd had of him holding me in his arms in my bed might not have been a figment of my imagination. If he had stayed with me, it would have been the first night that he'd done so. But I couldn't get the guts up to ask.

  I took a sip of my coffee. “Where's Emma?” I finally asked.

  “I left her with a sitter for the night,” Eric explained. “I called her as soon as the hospital called me. I had a feeling it might be a difficult night.”

  “Oh,” I said. I was grateful that he had stayed with me, I realized. I wouldn't have expected it, with how rocky our relationship had been lately. Maybe he was the good guy that I'd thought he was.