After checking in, she sat in the waiting room by herself, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life, wishing her sister was here. But Kylie was back in Las Vegas buried up to her neck in research, and Slone was her bodyguard and driver, so she didn’t have many options.
Couples surrounded her, and she sensed their hopeful eagerness. A month ago she’d valiantly shared that same earnest desire for a child, happy with herself and her choices.
Pushing the unexpected weight of disappointment from her heart, she stood up when the nurse called her back to the waiting room. She faced a hallway with a dozen doors, so many hopes and dreams behind each one, including her own.
Donning the soft, well-washed gown, she sat on the leather slab covered by a strip of paper that crinkled under her backside. Dr. Hollerand greeted her with a smile, such a warm, kind man with an effervescent personality that made him perfect for the career of helping women and couples become pregnant, with or against the odds.
They went through the internal ultrasound, and her hopes notched up with each follicle he counted. “Looks like the Clomid did its job exceedingly well,” he announced. “You’ve produced eighteen follicles, and your ovaries could release as many as four or more eggs by this time next week.”
“That’s great,” she said, a bubble of pleasure rising in her chest. Then her heart stuttered. “Wait, four?”
“Don’t worry.” He smiled gently. “As we’ve discussed, within the week we’ll check again at the time of insemination and see the number of viable eggs. Often women with your condition still have high chances of pregnancy, but multiples are the exception, not the rule. If there are too many eggs released, we’ll hold off and dial back the dose of fertility medication, but I don’t expect that to be the case. Two to four eggs is the norm, and since you’re young and healthy, I anticipate one of those four will fertilize. You stand an excellent chance of pregnancy.”
“With just one?” she demanded, a frantic note in her tone.
“Yes, ninety-five percent of the time, it’s only one.”
She blew out a breath. “Oh, good. Because it’s just me, Dr. Hollerand. I don’t see how I’d handle twins, or more, on my own,” she admitted with a gulp.
“You’ll be fine, Lindsey. Let’s hope this first try is successful.”
“Yes, I hope so.” While twins would be overwhelming, no pregnancy would be devastating. “Thank you, Dr. Hollerand.”
“Looks like we’ll see you next week.”
She nodded. “Next week we’ll make a baby.” She choked. “I mean, you’ll inseminate me. Like, we won’t make a baby. You’ll help me make a baby—”
“It’s all right, Lindsey.” He smiled again. “I know what you meant. You’ll be fine. Relax, don’t worry too much. We’ll do what we can to make this happen for you.”
“Okay,” she murmured, before he dashed out the door to attend to his next hopeful mother.
Alone in the small, sterile patient room, she felt the pressure of tears behind eyes.
Hormones, she assured herself. But the convenient excuse she’d been using for the past six weeks suddenly seemed insufficient.
This is what I want. What I’ve hoped for and looked forward to for so long. No regrets. It has to happen now, or it never will.
Now that the stark reality of pregnancy, possibly with more than one baby, stared her in the face, the thought of approaching her entire future on her own momentarily terrified her.
Throat clenching, hands shaking, she stared at the black and white image frozen on the screen of her ovaries holding eighteen tiny dots. Soon a nurse would come in and download the pictures for future reference next week—when, with a carefully guided quirt, she’d have the chance to fulfill her dream of having a baby.
Absurdly unromantic, she thought, erupting into laughter. But safe and planned, with no second guessing. That’s what she wanted to provide for her child, a stable parent who loved and cared for him or her unconditionally. No regrets. No lofty goals or unattained dreams that would rip mother away from child, the way her mother had left her. Love, this baby would know only love. She wanted a baby more than anything. After realizing at eight years old she’d been unwanted and left by her own mother, Lindsey would never put her child’s faith in her in jeopardy.
At the same time, she needed to know something before she went through with her decision a week from today.
As she climbed into Slone’s truck outside the front door of the clinic, she wanted no lingering doubts whatsoever in her mind whether Slone could…that maybe he might want to be…the father of her child.
Because he touched something deep inside her she couldn’t explain.
With Slone she felt safe and secure, cared for and appreciated. But more than that, he gave her room to be herself. He accepted her as she came. Even if he poked fun at her sometimes, she’d seen the heat and yearning in his glance when he looked at her, his sincerity and thoughtfulness, and the conflicted emotions when she looked into his eyes.
Although she told herself not to wish or hope for it, part of her wanted his steady presence beside her. He’d become ingrained in her life, the way birds respond to sunrise, instinctive and certain. She wanted him there, instead of imagining a future of going through her pregnancy alone. Obviously, if she had a stranger’s baby growing inside her, Slone would finish his assignment with her and move on, but she didn’t want him to leave. Not quite yet. Not if there was one small, tiny chance he might agree to be the father of her baby.
So that evening as they stood together at the kitchen sink, washing dishes after dinner, she blurted out, “Can I ask you something crazy?”
“Sure. I’m used to that from you.” When she made a face at him, he winked. “Shoot.”
“It makes absolutely no sense.”
“Not surprising, but I’m curious.”
She rolled her eyes. “Forget it. Never mind.”
When she tried to let go of the dish, his fingers closed over hers, and he leaned in close, sending her nerve endings on high alert. “Tell me.”
At the last minute she chickened out and diverted the discussion to a different topic than she intended. “Half of the single teachers in school noticed you today.”
“Did they?” He took the dish, rinsed it, and set it into the dishwasher rack. “So are you saying it’s crazy women notice me?”
She snorted. “No, I expect every woman to stop, turn an about-face, and stare at you with no shame. I see it all the time when we go out.”
“I’m failing to understand the crazy part.” His tone didn’t come out arrogant or conceited, but simply matter-of-fact.
“You could date any one of them if you wanted to. They’re all smart, pretty girls.”
“What if I’m not interested in dating them?”
Without provocation her heart rate soared, along with her hopes. “I’m just letting you know. In case.”
“In case what?”
She flicked a quick glance at him and saw the covert intrigue in his eyes. “You know, if you want to hang out with someone on a Saturday night.”
“As far as I know, I’m with you every Saturday night for the foreseeable future,” he said casually. She handed him another dish to rinse and again his fingers latched onto hers. “Why are you telling me this?”
He maintained his grip on her until he forced her gaze to meet his. She shrugged. “Because you could have any woman you want, but you’re stuck with me.”
“I don’t want any woman. Just one.”
Pulse throbbing in her throat, she lowered her gaze unable to look him in the eye. “Slone, would you…want to…you know, the whole baby thing…with me?”
A heavy breath left his chest. He sent her an arrested stare that seared straight through her. “No, sweetheart.”
Oh. “Okay.” Her head grew dizzy. It was that simple, so easy for him to reply without a second thought. She had her answer. “That’s good,” she told herself aloud. “No complications. You go on
with your life, I go on with mine. Perfect.”
“It’s not that cut and dried, Lindsey—”
“No, actually it is. Thank you.” Her toes and fingers went numb, and she felt the intense need to walk away from him. “I wasn’t sure. There were some mixed signals, and I… No, you’re right.” She clenched her hand around air. “I know you’re right. This is for the best. Okay. Goodnight.”
If Slone hadn’t been holding the dish, too, it would’ve dropped and shattered on the floor. And despite her meticulous cleanliness she wouldn’t have stopped to sweep it up. She would’ve let it lie there in pieces until morning, maybe longer. Maybe forever.
Some pieces couldn’t be put back together.
She never should’ve said anything to him.
Her lungs weren’t working right. The air seemed too thin to sustain her even when she gasped.
Large fingers wrapped around her shoulder, but she moved away from Slone’s touch as fast as possible. She hadn’t asked him anything, straight out, so why did she feel rejected? Why did her heart seem to splinter in her chest? Why was she moving through the living room with the airless strides of someone walking on the moon?
Why did his voice calling her name sound like a distant echo at the opposite end of a long dark tunnel?
Why did she care so much about him it put her through agony?
Chapter 7
Over the following week she and Slone kept their distance from each other. Difficult to do while living under the same roof as him. She was more aware of him than ever. When he wasn’t at work or out for a run, she knew his exact position in the house at any given moment.
She’d believed the separation would make the inevitable more bearable.
Tomorrow, she went in for her insemination of her choice—Doctor Man’s donation. Excitement should be flooding her veins. She should be ready to leap out of her skin with anticipation.
Instead, she found the forced separation between her and Slone made everything worse.
Depressed, since Kylie was on a glamorous ten-day vacation with Cade in Aspen, she wished she hadn’t isolated herself from her roommate. Even though he’d become the catalyst for deep emotional conflict, she’d suppress her weariness in exchange for his company, someone to talk to and discuss her nerves raked raw by her doubts and fears.
The night before her life-changing procedure, lying in front of the fireplace that couldn’t keep her warm enough, she felt so alone. She should’ve anticipated this as a natural course for her feelings to channel through, but she’d expected loneliness to pass. It hadn’t. Although she’d expected to be on her own from the beginning, after she glimpsed an alternative with Slone, the unexplored possibilities with him had dimmed the once-bright light of hope surrounding the future for her and her baby.
From now until forever, it would be her and her baby. Not him, her, and their baby.
Racked by a shiver, she experienced the acute chill of aloneness; hope like the winter sun, weak and hazy and distant.
More than anything she wanted to hear Slone’s footsteps on the stairs.
The sound never came.
She let the fire go out, then hauled herself to bed.
*
The big day had arrived.
Slone faced it with the same choking dread he recalled from his fifth overseas Black Ops mission. After the excitement of the first four had worn off, because he knew the grueling toll it would take on his mind and body. Except today his heart had to endure the stifling pressure, too.
The only thing making his experience bearable was the brightness that had returned to Lindsey’s eyes. Today the clinic offered an incredible opportunity to make her dream come true. He hoped to God she became pregnant on the first try. For her sake and to salvage his own resolve to keep his hands to himself.
By all accounts she should get pregnant easily. She had youth, vitality, desire and a squeaky clean lifestyle on her side. With the scientific advancements in the field of reproductive endocrinology, which he’d read up on over the past week, she should face no problems in her pursuit of a baby.
After he dropped her off at the hospital’s front doors to check in, he pulled into the parking garage and killed the engine.
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a chain bearing two dog tags—his and his brother’s. He smoothed his thumb over the indentation of his brother’s name. His vision blurred at the edges.
“You had so many good years ahead of you, man. A full life to live. More babies to make. Kids to raise. A wife who loved you like crazy. It should’ve been me.”
Why couldn’t it have been me, instead of James?
He slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
Hauling in deep breaths, he pressed his fingers against his eye sockets until he regained composure. He gave his head a hard shake and climbed out of his truck. He traveled the covered walkway leading from the parking garage to the hospital like a condemned man walking a gang plank, about to meet a watery grave.
No doubt he looked like shit warmed over, judging by the startled glances he drew from nurses ending their shifts and heading to their cars. His stomach felt heavy, churning as if he’d swallowed a handful of grapeshot with a chaser of lighter fluid.
Damned if he didn’t feel like he was about to explode. His guts would make a nice abstract painting splattered on the glass walls he passed. He wondered if that’s how James had looked when the IUD shredded him to bits of bloody flesh.
Goddamn it. He pushed back against those gruesome images as he shoved through the double doors that normally opened automatically. He hadn’t felt like waiting.
A heavy-set grandmotherly woman in a distinctive red blazer approached him, concern etched into the folds of her face. “Can I help you, sir?”
“No,” he barked.
“Then you know where you’re going?” she asked with a forced smile.
Hell, right now he didn’t know which way was up. But this poor greeter didn’t deserve his wrath. “Maybe not.”
“Of course, it’s a large complex. I’m happy to help.” She pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “Which department are you looking for?”
“Babies.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Oh! Are you a proud papa expecting?”
That’s fantastic. Twist the knife a little more. “No. The reproductive center.”
“Ah, yes. If you’ll follow the corridor along to the elevators, you’ll take one up to the fifth floor. Then you’ll find your destination all the way at the end of the hall on your left.”
“Thanks.”
“Good luck,” she called after him cheerfully.
“Good bye,” he muttered.
The well-meaning old gal missed a few turns during her directions, but he followed the signs and found himself in the correct waiting room.
Either the depressing cloud had followed him or it had beaten him here. A pall of gloom hung in the air as he slumped into a seat. It appeared Lindsey had checked in and they’d already called her back to one of the rooms.
Covertly glancing at the faces around him while he pretended to read a sports magazine, he assessed his surroundings. Two guys on his right sat with an empty chair between them in the corner. Their ears singed red, they joked awkwardly about the purpose of their appointments.
The Spank Tank? That’s what they called the room where guys spooged in a cup for sperm collection? Jesus.
Across from him, a couple that looked to be in their early forties sat wearing power suits, stiff as rails. They didn’t look at each other or say a word. The wife fingered the string of pearls around her neck as though counting on a rosary. The well tailored husband had a lawyer look to him. He tapped his polished shoe against the carpet and checked his watch every thirty seconds like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
Another couple sat in the row of chairs facing the door, their backs to him. The girl kept passing a tissue under her eyes that came away marked with mascara. H
er husband held her hand, murmuring assurances. “This is our third in vitro. It’s going to happen this time.”
“We’ve already mortgaged the house twice. I don’t know how we’ll manage if we have no roof to put over our baby’s head.”
“We’ll find a way. We’ll make it work,” her husband insisted.
Unfortunately, Slone had been right. This room was proof purgatory existed on earth.
So many hopeful couples, good decent people with incomes and love enough to support the family they craved. Yet somewhere along the way nature chose not to cooperate. Talk about life being unfair.
Then a man breezed in, and for some godforsaken reason decided to sit next to Slone, despite the dozen empty chairs.
“Your first time here?” the guy asked.
“Yep.”
“I thought so. It’s easy to spot the first-timers.”
Without looking up, Slone flipped a page. “I’ll bet.”
“Don’t let the process get you down,” the man said, “even if it takes a couple tries. I mean, who are we to know what the Big Man Upstairs has planned for us?”
Slone went still. His brother used to say that exact phrase.
When he looked up, he saw the man’s smiling blue-gray eyes and almost fell off his chair. The guy was the spitting image of James.
“Sometimes life throws us a curve,” the man continued, “but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t step up to the plate.”
Slone managed to find his voice. “Batting averages are notoriously abysmal. Babe Ruth averaged four hundred hits in a thousand. That’s only forty percent, for the best batter in history. Not exactly inspiring.”
The man smiled. “But when he did hit those homeruns, they soared out of the ballpark. That’s what is inspiring.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” Slone said, going back to his magazine.
The Bodyguard's Baby (Billionaire Bodyguard Series) Page 8