by Rush, Olivia
I leaned in to plant a kiss on her lips, but Chelsea stopped me with a fingertip on my mouth.
“But I’m not the secretary,” she said. “I’m the head of your social enterprise division. And don’t you forget it.”
“Touché,” I said, my mouth muffled by her finger.
I opened my mouth just enough to take her finger into it, but she took it away and slipped out of my grasp.
“No time for a lunch break?” I asked, the implication clear.
“Just had mine,” she said. “You’ll have to find something else to snack on.”
Chelsea slid into the office couch, crossing her legs. A pensive expression appeared on her face as soon as she sat down.
“You look like you have something on your mind,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Just thinking about the next step for the housing project. Getting all of the red tape cleared away just to be able to knock down the building has been so much pressure I don’t even know what to do with myself now that it’s all over. Maybe I should pester the architects?”
“Supervise the demolition and make sure that everything’s in order for the next phases.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “Just trying to catch a breather.”
Now that I had a chance to look her over, I noticed that there was something off about Chelsea, as though she was under the weather.
“You OK?” I asked. “I mean, physically?”
I took a seat on the couch next to her, slipping my arm around her shoulder. She placed her head on me as soon as I did, a sigh sounding from her lips.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve just been feeling weird recently. Sore in weird places, not sleeping well, and eating like an animal.”
“You’ve always had a healthy appetite,” I said. “It’s one of the many, many things I enjoy about you.”
She turned just enough to smile at me. “It’s different. I don’t know what else to say. There’s just something off.”
I considered the matter.
“I’d bet you anything it’s from you working that gorgeous ass of yours off,” I said. “You’ve been putting everything you have into this initiative, and as admirable as it is, you’re bound to run out of fuel at some point. Trust me—I know all about overworking.”
She nodded, nuzzling her head into the nook between my arm and my chest. I gave her a squeeze, savoring the feeling of her body against mine. My cock was still half-stiff, but now wasn’t the time for any of that.
“Have you called your doctor?”
She shook her head.
“How about this,” I said. “I’ll put in a call to the clinic near the apartment. They’re usually pretty good about getting me in without too much notice. We can have them check you out tomorrow and make sure that it’s nothing to worry about.”
“That would be nice,” she said.
“Like I said—I’d be shocked as hell if they told you it was anything other than fatigue. But not a chance in hell I’m not going to err on the side of caution.”
She lifted her head from my arm and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. “Thanks,” she said.
She slipped out from under my arm, the warmth of her body replaced instantly with the cool air of the office. I wanted her back next to me right away
Chelsea stretched out, the definition of her stunning legs visible through her pantyhose. My cock twitched again as her breasts strained against her blouse, and I scolded myself internally for getting so caught up in sex when she was suffering.
“OK,” she said. “I’m going to finish up a few things before heading out.”
“Perfect,” I said. “It’s Friday, so what do you think about some takeout and a quiet night in?”
“Sounds absolutely heavenly,” she said. “Maybe I’ll make you something special for dessert.”
She flashed me a wink over her shoulder, and my eyes followed her all the way out as she disappeared behind the shutting door.
As the door clicked shut, I realized that woman had a hold on me I’d never felt before. I got up from the couch and took a seat behind my computer, pulling up the number for the doctor’s office near my place. I dialed them up and made the appointment. Luckily, they were able to make room for Chelsea the next day.
I was all set to hang up and fire off a text to Chelsea. But just as I was saying my goodbyes to the receptionist on the other end, a call came through. The beep was a surprise—only a few people had my personal line. A quick check of my phone revealed the caller: MOM.
I quickly ended the call with the doctor’s and clicked over.
“Mom!” I said, a brightness coming to my voice. “How are you?”
“Oh, hello, Bryce,,” came the voice of Barbara, my adopted mother.
“How are you?” I asked, happy to hear her.
“I’m fine. I’m well,” she said. “How’s the business going?”
She was keeping things innocuous, but I could tell that there was a reason she was calling. And it wasn’t just to check in.
“It’s going fine,” I said, eager to get to whatever it was she had on her mind. “Just keeping busy with work and the new girl.”
I hated having to lie to my mom, but it came with the territory. At least I didn’t have to lie about us being romantically involved.
“I can’t believe I still haven’t met this girl,” she said, “but if she looks anything like that picture you sent, then she’s a beauty.”
A silence passed. I decided to get right to it.
“Mom, there’s something wrong. I can tell.”
A sigh came from the other end of the line. “Bryce, I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s your father.”
“What?” I asked, my voice rising, my heart beating faster. “What happened?”
“He had a stroke.”
I wanted to speak, but nothing came out. I took a breath then asked, “Are you serious? Is he OK?”
“He’s fine,” she said. “He’s doing just fine. It happened a couple of days ago.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“What? And why am I just now hearing about this?”
“Because,” she said, “it was very small, nothing to worry about. Even so, I wanted to tell you right away, but you know how your father is.”
Stubborn as hell was the answer to that.
“What, so he was just going to have a stroke and not tell me? What happened?”
“It was the strangest thing. We were at home like any other night, having some snacks and watching TV. Then your father tells me he’s feeling funny and then tries to get up. But as soon as he’s off the couch, he makes this choking noise and falls over like someone pulled the plug from him. I let out a scream, but he gets right back up to his feet. Then he tells me he’s feeling numb and needs to go to bed. I tell him there’s no way he’s not seeing a doctor right this instant.”
“Stubborn, stubborn man,” I said.
“You’re right about that. And good thing I didn’t let up, because as soon as we get halfway to the hospital he starts going numb in one hand. Anyway, I got him there fine, and the doctors took care of him, let him out in the morning.”
“And he didn’t want you to tell me.”
“Ridiculous, I know,” she said. “But that’s your father, never likes to show when he’s suffering. But I knew that you’d want to know, so here I am.”
I gritted my teeth, frustrated that he’d been so damn stubborn. But I wasn’t surprised.
“And when I decided to call you,” she said, “I realized how long it’d been since I’d talked to you, let alone seen you, baby.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I’ve just been so busy with work.”
“I know, I know—you’re the CEO and all that. I don’t want to lay the mother’s guilt on you too thick, but this could’ve been much worse than it was. We all got lucky.”
The hint was loud and clear, and I agreed with what she’d asked w
ithout asking.
“This might be a good weekend to come visit,” I said. “Chelsea’s just hit a major milestone with her division, and she should be able to take it easy for a few days before getting back into it.”
“That would make me so happy,” she said. “And your father, too. Not that he’d show that much emotion about it.”
I chuckled, knowing how stoic and old-fashioned he could be.
“I’ll run it by Chelsea, but it should work.”
“Let me know,” she said. “I love you, baby.”
“Love you too.”
Then she hung up. My heart finally began to slow down now that I knew my dad was OK. But Mom was right—it could’ve just as easily been a major stroke, one that he might not have recovered from.
I pulled up Chelsea’s number and fired off a text.
“How would you feel about a lovely weekend in the Pacific Northwest?”
Chapter 31
Chelsea
Seated in the examination room of the doctor’s office, I was beyond glad that I’d been able to get in for an appointment—last night I had a wave of nausea hit me while Bryce and I were watching a movie, and though I felt better now, I was glad to get checked out to make sure it wasn’t anything to worry about.
So there I sat on the crinkly paper in the examination room, listening to the droning of the air conditioner as I waited for the doctor or the nurse to come speak to me. I’d always hated doctor’s offices, and this experience wasn’t doing anything to change this opinion.
Finally, the door opened, and a short, stocky nurse stepped in. She was middle-aged, with curly blonde hair and twinkling eyes fanned with light wrinkles.
“Morning, Ms. Lane,” she said with a friendly smile, shutting the door behind her. “My name’s Nurse Stafford. Pleased to meet you.”
“Morning,” I said, a tinge of nausea running through me.
“So,” she said, looking over the clipboard in her hands. “Let’s talk about what’s been going on with you.”
The symptoms had been all over the place and I didn’t know quite where to begin.
“I’ve just been feeling strange,” I said. “I don’t know how else to put it.”
“Strange how?” she asked, sitting down on the folding chair across from the examination table.
“All kinds of symptoms that I can’t really figure are any one thing. I’ve been tired, then energetic, then nauseated, then hungry, then not hungry, and when I’m hungry, I’m craving the weirdest things. Like last night my fiancé and I were watching a movie and having popcorn, and all I could think about was getting a jar of pickles from the fridge and dumping all the juice over the popcorn and getting them all soggy.”
Nurse Stafford chuckled good-naturedly. “And did you do it?” she asked.
“Of course I did,” I said. “But my fiancé made me put half of the popcorn in a separate bowl. The look on his face when I dumped all the pickle juice onto my popcorn—priceless.”
Another chuckle, and Nurse Stafford went on. “I’m going to ask you a few basic questions,” she said. “Just to see where we’re at.”
“Sure,” I said.
She went through the usual stuff—medical history, if I was sexually active, that sort of thing. After she took my vitals, I plopped back onto the examination table.
Then she asked me a question that sent me reeling.
“And are you using any sort of birth control?”
“The pill,” I said.
She nodded, her expression turning a shade more serious than it had been.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just getting a clear picture,” she said. “And have you been making sure to take it every single day?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
But then I thought the matter over a little more.
“I mean, I’m ninety percent positive I have been. More than that—ninety-five percent positive.”
Nurse Stafford’s face remained extremely composed considering what I was saying.
“Now,” she said after I was done, “I’m guessing I don’t need to tell you that for the pill to be effective you have to—”
“Take it every day, I know,” I said. “I’ve just been so freaking busy with work that it’s been taking all I have just to keep my head above water. All the other details have been falling by the wayside.”
I felt silly right away at how I’d referred to possibly getting pregnant as a “detail.” My heart began to thud in my chest.
Nurse Stafford placed her hand on my knee, her touch calming me instantly.
“Let’s not get too carried away with maybes,” she said. “I’m going to let the doctor know what’s going on, and he’ll take it from there. Sound good?”
“Sure,” I said, suddenly feeling short of breath.
She nodded and left the room. Almost as soon as she shut the door behind her, a doctor entered. He looked to be in his sixties, with a wide forehead, short dark hair, and a wiry build. He went over all of the information I’d given Nurse Stafford, confirming that it was all accurate. Then he let me know that we’d need to do a blood test to confirm whether or not I was pregnant.
“Sure, sure,” I said, now desperate to know one way or another.
The doctor left, and Nurse Stafford returned, now with the necessary tools to draw some blood. She pricked my arm with the needle and filled a syringe with thick, crimson liquid. When she was done, she dabbed the spot where she’d stuck the needle and placed a small Band-Aid on it.
“OK,” I said, “so how long until I know if I’m pregnant? The test with where you pee on the stick takes twenty minutes or something, right?”
Nurse Stafford chuckled.
“Blood tests are a little more complicated than that. We have to do some lab work, which normally takes a day or two. But it’s the weekend, so we’re looking at an extra day on top of that.”
“I won’t know until Tuesday?” I asked.
“At the latest,” she said. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but that’s how it goes.”
“I could take the pee-stick test, though, right?”
“You could, but those are known to have false positives and negatives. I’d recommend waiting, that way you know one hundred percent one way or another.”
“Thanks, Nurse Stafford,” I said, resigning myself to the fact that I’d be spending the weekend stressing out.
“Try and relax if you can—after all, you’re getting married! And you might be a mother too! This is a joyous occasion.”
It didn’t feel that way.
I spent the walk back trying to talk myself out of going crazy with worry, to no avail. I’d been unbelievably careless. But then again, so had Bryce. We’d been pretty good about using protection recently, but a few of those first times were so intense and passion-driven that fumbling around for a condom hadn’t even been on my mind.
I entered the apartment to see Bryce seated at the dining room table in front of the tall glass windows that looked out onto the city. A cup of steaming coffee was in front of him, the newspaper in his hand. His eyes latched onto me as soon as I entered.
“Hey,” he said, getting up and hurrying over to me. “How was it? What did they tell you?”
I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I should tell him right then and there what I’d learned. That way he and I could figure out what to do next together, as a team, as a couple.
But I just couldn’t do it. I needed time to process it all, and more than that, I needed to know for sure. So, instead, like an idiot, I lied.
“Stress,” I said. “Simple as that.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Really?” he asked. “The nausea, the weird cravings—all that’s stress?”
“Yep,” I said. “Apparently it can do some weird things to you.”
“Good,” he said. “Things ought to be a little less crazy for you now that the demolition’s underway. You ought to spend the next week relaxing and gettin
g your bearings.”
Then he looked away, and I knew he had something to say.
“But there’s something I need you to do this weekend.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of saying anything, he led me over to the couch. Once we were seated, an expression of concentration took hold of his handsome features, as though he was looking for the exact right way to say what he had in mind.
“It’s my parents. My dad, specifically.”
Whoa—this was huge. Up to this very moment, Bryce hadn’t talked very much about his parents. I knew the basics, of course, but he kept his family life very private.
“Go on,” I said.
“I know I mentioned my adoptive parents, Steve and Barbara?”
I nodded, encouraging him to go on, and I listened intently as he shared.
“As far as I’m concerned, they’re my biological parents. Wherever my birth parents are, whatever they’re doing, I couldn’t care less. Barbara and Steve, they’re the ones who were there for me when no one else was.” He shook his head slowly, as if trying to put himself back on track. “Anyway, my mom called me a little while ago letting me know that my dad had a small stroke.”
“Oh my god,” I said. “Is he OK?”
Bryce nodded.
“He’s fine—my mom said it was a small one, and he’s already back on his feet. But when we talked, I realized how long it had been since I’d gone to visit them. And his stroke made me realize that I don’t have all the time I thought I did.”
“So you want to go up there for the weekend.”
“I know it’s a little much, especially considering everything that’s going on between us, not to mention with you feeling under the weather. But it would mean a lot to me.”
I took his hands into mine, his skin warm and rough, just how I liked.
“Of course,” I said.
A small smiled curled the side of his mouth. “Great,” he said. “Thank you.”
“When do you want to go?”
“As soon as we can. White Roads is about an hour out of Portland, and we can take my private plane. If all goes well, we can be there tonight. We’ll spend the weekend there, be back in time to start work on Monday. Sound good?”