Temporary Doctor, Surprise Father

by Lynne Marshall

  He took hold of her neck and drew her closer to him. “Understand what? That you ran away from me?”

  “I didn’t run away. My mother sent me.”

  He ran his hand over her hair, remembering Karen Stewart and the despising stares she was famous for. Don’t mess with her daughter’s future, her fierce eyes had communicated at every chance. She’d had big plans for January. “I know she hated me, but that never stopped you from sneaking out to see me. You could have gotten a message to me. Somehow.”

  She covered his mouth with a cold hand. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “Beck, I was pregnant.”

  He swept her hand away and rose up onto his elbows, a sucker punch stealing his breath. “Pregnant?”

  She nodded as tears glistened and flowed over her lids.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” He shot up to sitting. “We could have worked something out. I had plans for us.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  A torrent of mixed-up feelings swept over him—anger, grief, frustration—swirled together, making him feel queasy. He jumped off the bed, fought for balance and set off pacing the floor. “You were pregnant with my child and you didn’t tell me?” He bit back the wave of nausea that pressed against his stomach and threatened to move up his throat. “How could you not tell me?”

  “I found out the night before you left for bootcamp. Mom threatened to have you arrested for statutory rape if I said anything.” She got up, throwing on her robe as she pleaded with him to understand,

  “That’s horse manure!” He rounded on her and glared, the nausea quickly being replaced with rage. “I had a right to know.”

  “She told me all kinds of lies to get her way. Made me think she could ruin your military career. She made me promise to go away and lie in order to protect you.”

  “You should have fought for us, January.” He slapped his chest with his palm, trying to keep the wave of rage under control. “You should have told me.”

  “Beck. Please, try to understand. I did fight for us. The only way I knew how. She wanted me to have an abortion, but I refused.”

  He stopped in mid-pace. “You didn’t have an abortion?”

  She shook her head and shuddered with a new wave of tears. “I had the baby.”

  An eerie cold chill pulsed through him and slid down his spine. “Our baby,” he corrected, a bleak hunch strangling the hope that had flickered in his heart.

  “I had our baby and gave her up for adoption.”

  “Without ever telling me?” Red-hot anger surged through him, stamping out the chills.

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, her face going rubbery with emotion.

  “Who gave you the right to take my kid and give it away?” He rounded on her. She backed up, fear blooming in her suddenly wide eyes.

  “I was young. I didn’t know what to do.” She gulped for air and shook with emotion. “I didn’t want to ruin your life. Please, try to understand.”

  He grabbed her arms and stared into her watery eyes. She trembled beneath his grasp. “You robbed me of my kid. How could you?”

  She crumpled toward the floor. He caught and guided her on her wobbly legs to the bed and helped her sit down. Fury and frustration roared in his chest, drumming a loud rhythm in his temples. He wanted to slam his fist through a wall or yell at the top of his lungs. He wanted to drive his motorcycle a hundred miles an hour to try to outrun the pain that chased him down. She’d given their baby away and never had the courtesy or the courage to utter a word to him about it. This from the girl he’d once trusted with all his heart.

  He stared at the woman, the stranger, who only moments before had had him at her mercy when they’d made love like randy teenagers. Never could he have guessed the secret she’d harbored while he’d entered her with the most intimate act of all. She couldn’t be trusted. How could she make love to him without telling him?

  “How could you?” he roared, after pulling on his jeans and tugging on his sweatshirt. “That girl on the refrigerator. Is that her?”

  January gave one nod, rolled toward the bedside table and opened a drawer, from which she produced the framed pictures of the most precious pre-teen he’d ever seen. Remorse took hold as if two huge hands wrapped around his neck and strangled him. He could barely breathe and shook with sorrow as he reached for the frames. He recognized the face, like one of those computer-generated picture versions of two people who wanted to see what their kid would look like. Part January. Part Beck. His daughter. Innocent. Oblivious. Happy.

  Unaware he even existed.

  “What’s her name?” he asked, almost inaudibly.

  “Meghan.” Her voice quavered. “She’s almost thirteen and she lives in northern California with two wonderful people.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “We had an open adoption. The Williamses had me come and live with them when I was pregnant. That’s where I went. Not modeling school. They helped me finish high school and apply to college. Mom wanted them to pay extra money after the birth, but they tricked her and only agreed to pay it to me when I turned eighteen. I’m a nurse because of them.”

  He turned a deaf ear to the pleading in her voice. Venomous anger snaked through his veins. He couldn’t hold back the raging thoughts. “All for the low price of our baby.”

  She gasped at the insult he’d lobbed at her. “Please, try to understand…”

  “What’s to understand? You lied to me and gave my baby away.” He wanted to shake sense into her, but didn’t dare go near her for fear of what he might do. As a boy, he’d been at the wrong end of the destructive side of rage more often than he wanted to remember. He’d never lift a finger to harm a woman, but his reeling emotions made him doubt his restraint at the moment. He took a step back. “I tried everything to track you down and when you finally called me you acted as if I was nothing to you. Do you remember that?”

  She nodded. Apprehension formed like a mask on her face, paralyzing it. She spoke in a drone, staring at the floor. “My mother made me promise to break up with you. You have no idea how much it hurt me to lie to you.”

  “You made it seem so easy. ‘I don’t love you any more, Beck. I’m sorry.’” He took his time repeating the words and glared at her. She didn’t look back. “Do you remember that? That’s exactly what you said.” The searing pain he’d felt all those years ago returned as if she’d just broken his heart all over again.

  She covered her face with her hands and rocked on her knees on the bed.

  “I was young and stupid and scared,” she bit out, tears and mucus streaming down her face. “I made a huge mistake, and I’ve paid for it every day of my life since.”

  No wonder she’d dreaded seeing him again. No wonder she’d avoided him. No wonder she’d lost the sparkle. She’d traded it in for deceit and guilt, and it had taken a toll on her both physically and mentally.

  And she deserved it!

  Yet she’d seemed to come back to life in his arms the last couple of days. And he couldn’t deny she was a caring and talented nurse. He chewed on the inside of his mouth as he glanced at the picture of his daughter again. The decent side of him wanted to try to understand her plight. But a fierce new wave of anger commandeered his thinking.

  “What about me?” He was a father and he’d never even known it. She’d robbed him of what was his, and she could never be trusted again.

  Anger flamed in her eyes as she showed the first sign of fighting spirit. “You? You went off to see the world on your big adventure.” Her trembling hands splayed across her breasts. “I was just the girl you left behind.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JAN watched a muscle pull in Beck’s jaw and clenched her fists, letting her own anger at how unjust he was being fill her, trying her best to keep from falling apart.

  “I’m leaving for Afghanistan the end of this month,” he said in a guttural tone, changing from outraged to sullen. “Then I’ll be out of your life for good.” Without saying
another word, he left, taking one of the framed pictures of Meghan with him and slamming the door.

  Jan stood shivering, afraid to move for fear of stumbling. Tears streamed down her face, and her throat thickened to where she couldn’t swallow. She gasped for air, demanding that her mind step in and figure something out while her body went into total meltdown.

  She owed it to Beck to make things right, but how could she do that? She’d been in his arms and made love with him and allowed herself to remember every secret thought she’d hoarded for thirteen years. He’d touched her deepest feelings and brought back every memory of what it had been like when they’d been together. Though their bond had remained buried, it was unbroken. She couldn’t lose him again.

  But was she willing to make a third casualty of Meghan in the process?

  Her mind leapt from thought to thought and back again. Nothing made sense. Exhausted from worry, she almost gave up. She could never respect herself until she made things right. Then one last idea popped into her head.

  She’d promised the Williamses she’d never interfere with their lives…unless invited. As of today, she promised herself there would be no more lies, and it was time to talk to Yvonne.

  The latest letter came into her mind. Meghan was studying genetics and had broached the subject of her adoption. It wasn’t like she didn’t know she was adopted, it was just that she considered her adoptive parents to be her only parents. The Williamses were reasonable people—maybe they’d understand Beck’s need to meet his daughter. But would she jeopardize her relationship with them for lying, and would they forgive her?

  And could she guarantee that meeting his child was all Beck wanted? In this litigious age could she trust Beck not to do something horrendous and damaging to everyone involved?

  The endless questions whirled in her head. Dear God, she’d botched things up.

  Jan knew what she’d done to Beck. She couldn’t blame him if he wanted to get Meghan back, prayed he wouldn’t try, but couldn’t completely trust him either. Regardless, she needed to make it up to him somehow. In order to respect herself and move on with her life, she needed to do something to regain some portion of his respect.

  She dropped to her knees with a thud and clutched her hands together, praying there could be a civilized way out of this mess. The mess she’d created with her lie.

  Grateful that Beck was nowhere in sight, Jan started her work shift on Monday afternoon. Her stomach had been in a knot and she’d been unable to eat or sleep. The dark circles under her eyes had shocked her when she’d washed her face that morning. Fortunately her glasses covered up the swelling and bags. Now if she could only find a way to act as if her entire life hadn’t crumbled…again.

  She grabbed a chart and walked to the waiting room, calling out a name. “Jared Winslow?”

  Two young men in baggy clothes stood to accompany a third male dressed similarly into the ward. He hobbled along, a tight grimace etched deeply on his face. He moaned with each attempted step. “This is tore up from the floor up,” he uttered between clenched teeth.

  Jan searched for a wheelchair and had the friends put the patient in it. He moaned again.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Breakdancing,” one of them spoke up. “Twitch is a B-boy. He did a flip that went bad.”

  “My bad,” Jared “Twitch” said.

  Jan recalled a range of injuries that had presented in the ER over the past few years from the athletic, unpredictable and sometimes dangerous form of dance. The ER staff had even started naming specific diagnoses to injuries caused by breakdancing. “Breaker’s Neck,” “Breakdance Back,” “Breaker’s Thumb,” “Brokeback Breaker.”

  The patient wore a red beret. Jan lifted it from his head and noticed an area of alopecia. “Twitch” obviously liked to spin on his head, too. If that was the case, head and neck injuries would need to be ruled out.

  “Did you land on your head?”

  The gangly trio shook their heads.

  “Are you having any numbness or tingling anywhere?” she asked as she wheeled him into the exam room.

  The patient tentatively rolled his ankles and wrists. “I can’t feel my left foot all the way, and my neck is jacked up.”

  She thought back to a recent patient with a C5 compression fracture and subluxation who had become a quadriplegic after a botched breakdance front flip where he’d landed on his head. The laminectomy surgery had been unsuccessful. At least Jared’s injury was less extreme.

  Passing the nurses’station, Jan mentioned to Carmen that her patient would need a thorough neuro examination. For safety’s sake, she put a C-collar on “Twitch” and placed him in a supine position on the gurney. If he’d been brought in by EMTs he would have been strapped to a backboard, too.

  Expecting to see just Gavin show up, a burst of fireflies winged through her chest when Beck appeared at the bedside with him. She’d just finished taking Jared’s vitals, and she fumbled to fold the blood-pressure cuff. She slanted a glance his way and caught him watching her. The stone-cold stare clearly communicated his loathing, and it knocked the breath out of her.

  She had to get away.

  “Call me if you need anything,” she said to Gavin, starting for the door. Thankfully, Gavin had been oblivious to her odd behaviour, concentrating solely on the patient. Before she left, she heard Gavin switch into teacher mode after introducing himself to the patient.

  “One time we had a breakdancing injury where a kid flopped when he meant to flip and he had a C7 spinous process fracture.”

  When Gavin continued on with technical language, she knew his spiel was meant for Beck, not the patient.

  “Fortunately,” he continued, “there wasn’t any neurological deficit. All the kid had to do was wear a soft cervical collar for a few weeks, wait for the swelling to go down, and he was fine. Hopefully, the same will happen for you, Jared. Let’s get some stat portable cervical spine films.” He called over his shoulder. “Beck, you can do the neuro check.”

  “I’ll order the X-rays now,” Jan muttered as she slipped out of the room, devising a plan to avoid Beck for the rest of the shift.

  The next morning, Jan’s hand trembled as she punched in the numbers she’d only dialed a handful of times in thirteen years. She sat stiffly on the edge of her couch and listened to the phone ring. She’d called during school hours to avoid having Meghan answer the phone.

  How would she explain her predicament? She’d always suspected the Williamses knew she’d lied when she’d told them—as her mother had coached her to do—that she didn’t know who the father of her baby was. She’d cringed, assuming they’d think much less of her with the implications of that statement, and had worried they might call off the adoption process.

  But they’d understood. She hoped they’d understand this time, too.

  Yvonne answered the phone with a friendly chirp.

  “Hello. This is January Stewart-Ashworth.”

  “January, what a pleasant surprise. How can I help you?”

  She repeated her story as she’d rehearsed a good hour before getting up the nerve to make the call. When she’d finished, there was dead silence on the other end.

  After a pause, Yvonne responded with a cautious tone. “Do you anticipate any problems from this Beck Braxton person? Do we need to get a lawyer involved?”

  “I don’t believe so, Mrs. Williams. I believe he’s a reasonable man. He’s a SWAT officer and a Special Forces trained medic in the National Guard. He doesn’t have the time or the inclination to make a big stink out of this, I don’t think.”

  “Let me talk to Daryl and I’ll get back to you. I have to admit, it would be the perfect time for this. Meggie has a whole list of questions for her birth parents to answer for a term paper on genetics. Of course, Daryl and I couldn’t answer the questions. We were going to e-mail them to you.” After another pause, she said, “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. This genetics-genealogy business has open
ed a whole can of worms. Lately, she’s been very curious about her birth parents.”

  They ended the call on a friendly note, and Jan cautiously allowed herself to feel hopeful that things might work out. She understood that she’d never have a chance to be friends with Beck again, and it tore a chunk out of her heart. But she’d violated that privilege when she’d allowed her mother to pressure her into lying thirteen years ago. If this was the price she’d have to pay for her deceit, she’d have to accept it and move on. It was finally time to come out of hiding and reclaim her self-respect.

  Her insides roiled with the thought of losing Beck again. In the short time they’d had together since he’d come to Mercy Hospital, the emotionally comatose part of her had started to come back to life. His touch had resurrected feelings she’d shoved into the depths of her soul, and the intense love she’d once had for him felt as if it had never died. How could that be?

  She shook her head and blinked back the sharp pinpricks behind her lids. She hadn’t cried this much since she’d first been pregnant.

  Panic struck through her core. Once she heard back from Yvonne, one way or the other, she’d have to confront the man she’d betrayed—the man who wanted nothing more to do with her. Beck.

  The thought sent her stomach reeling, and she had to rush for the bathroom.

  Later, with every ounce of courage she could muster, Jan stood at Beck’s front door and prepared to knock. What she had to say needed to be said in person. She couldn’t change the past, but she sure as hell would never repeat it. Even if it was already too late, she’d never lie to Beck again.

  Did that include telling him how she still felt about him?

  She’d called Carmen and gotten Beck’s address then looked up the directions to his Glendale home on the Internet. She hadn’t dared warn him she was coming for fear he wouldn’t talk to her.

  The door opened after one knock. If she trusted her people-reading skills, he wasn’t the least bit happy to see her.

  “What are you doing here?” he rasped. She heard the low sounds of a TV on in the background.