by BWWM Club
“You did great, babe,” Bryce said, yawning loudly.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Lateisha said, yawning in return.
“What should we name our little early bird?” Bryce asked, settling next to Lateisha in the hospital bed and looking down at their son.
“How about Chance? Chance Bryce Henderson.” Lateisha said with a smile.
“I like it,” Bryce said with a large grin, “Because if I hadn’t taken a chance with the first poor college grad that entered my office to carry my baby I would have never found my lovely wife.”
Lateisha nodded, tears beginning to cloud her vision. Or if I hadn’t taken a chance with a crazy idea, she thought, resting her head against Bryce’s shoulder. She stared at her little family, all snug in the hospital bed. Gone was the irresponsible, purposeless girl of almost a year ago. This was Lateisha’s purpose in life and she wouldn’t change it for anything.
The end.
A note from the author Cher Etan:
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More Books By Tyra Small
If you enjoyed that, you'll love The Billionaire's Surrogate by myself Cher Etan (sample and description of what it's about below).
Description:
Money is nothing without someone to love.
Max is a billionaire with a lot going for him. He has the money, the looks, and a personality to boot. But when diagnosed with prostate cancer, his life turns around in an instant.
Everything that was once important now seems trivial to him, and he soon realizes he hasn't achieved his one main goal in life:
Having a baby.
With his cancer treatment predicted to leave him sterile, he decides hiring a surrogate mother to bare his child is the best option. And Christine, a relative of his house keeper, agrees to the role.
But soon after the process, further tests reveals Max doesn't have cancer after all and won't become infertile. Now the question of where this leaves him and Christine arises.
Will she simply remain the mother of his child? Or will an even more personal relationship form from this unexpected turn of events?
Sample:
“Dear all, we are gathered here today to celebrate the nuptials between Christine Alexandre Richards and Rudy Sinclair. If anyone has any objection as to why these two individuals should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, please speak up now or forever hold your peace,” the priest said solemnly. He was inexplicably dressed in a red jumpsuit and had on make up. In fact, he looked very much like RuPaul if Christine was not mistaken. Still, it was her wedding day and she was ecstatic.
“I object,” the voice said. Again and again and again; that voice always objected. No matter what other details of the wedding changed, that one remained the same.
Slowly, even though she tried to stop herself doing it, Christine turned around. It felt like one of those slow motion scenes in movies when something horrible is going to happen. The heroine is only ever in time to turn around with a scream and shout “No” in that slow motion voice that sounded like a nineties tape recorder when the tape stuck. The woman was always standing there dressed head to toe in yellow…yellow; such a festive color to choose to go around breaking up people’s weddings…and their hearts. She was a white woman, taller than average and curvy. In fact her ass was just about the curviest thing Christine had ever seen…and she’d grown up in an African American neighborhood so she should know. She wore high yellow heels, they were almost golden in fact and her toes were gaily painted blue. She had on a hat…with a veil. The veil just barely covered her blue eyes and her red lined smiling lips were staring cruelly and mercilessly at Christine as she voiced her objection. When she was sure she had everyone’s attention in the room she sauntered over to the altar and slipped her hand through Rudy’s. He seemed to be frozen to the spot and didn’t object.
“You can’t marry him because he’s already mine,” the woman said with a triumphant smile.
It was always at this point that Christine startled awake in a cold sweat; the dream that wasn’t a dream not fading conveniently but echoing as if continuing in some other dimension close by.
“Rudy,” she would whisper in despair and then get out of bed to go rinse her face and get herself a glass of water.
“Bad dream?” her grandmother would ask, coming out of her room when Christine did. Christine would shrug like it was nothing and go to the kitchen. Her grandmother would follow and begin heating some milk for hot chocolate.
“You don’t have to do that,” Christine would say.
“I know,” her grandmother would reply, eyes on the milk to make sure it didn’t boil over.
*****
Max Lestrange was in the front row, sitting next to his beautiful model date, he was pretty sure her name was Kendal but he wasn’t a hundred percent positive of that. They were here to watch the big fight as guests of the mayor of Las Vegas. Max was good friends with her husband. He had been like a father figure to him as he learned the ropes of being an attorney at law and in turn Max had supported him when he and then his wife, had run for office. The press was out in force because the match was a big deal between the defending champion and his closest contender. Max was trying to enjoy himself but it had been a strange day; perhaps he was getting old because all he wanted to do was lie down. The wine he’d taken with dinner was making him dizzy and not in a good way and the room was hot in spite of the air conditioning. He could feel the sweat on his forehead and his upper lip. He really was not liking himself today and wished he could just excuse himself and go lie down. The match was starting though and servers were coming around with more champagne. Maybe that would make him feel better. He took a glass and downed it at once, more for the cold wetness than the taste but it did not make him feel better at all. In fact, if he was honest it made him feel queasy and nauseous. He was afraid he would have to excuse himself soon if things did not settle down on their own. Kendal or Kim or whatever her name was leaned toward him with a smile, murmuring something about how exciting it was. Max murmured something suitable in reply and then leaned over to speak with the mayor.
“Carolyn, I have to excuse myself,” he said standing up. fighting the wave of dizziness that assailed him. He really needed to lie down.
“Oh, what’s up?” Carolyn asked.
Max opened his mouth to reply but then the world was replaced with darkness and he knew no more.
*****
He woke to a beeping sound and the feel of a cool breeze on his buttocks. He had difficulty opening his eyes, they seemed welded shut…that or he had no eyes any longer.
“Hallo,” he croaked still trying valiantly to open his eyes. “Anybody there?”
“Mr. Lestrange sir, you’re awake,” the voice of his housekeeper said sounding relieved. “I’ll get the nurse.”
“Martha wait,” he said sharply and felt her stop moving. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”
“Oh, they applied some sort of paste over them, I think to stop them fluttering…you were convulsing si
r. Anyway, I’ll get the nurse,” Martha said.
Max waited impatiently for someone to come and tell him what was going on with him. He continued to try and open his eyes. He thought of wiping the paste off with his hands but when he tried to move them, he felt a pinprick of pain and a pulling sensation he didn’t like so he ceased to do that forthwith.
“Ah, Mr. Lestrange, welcome back to the land of the living,” a low male voice said to him, sounding too familiar for someone he’d never met.
“And you are?” he asked coldly.
“I’m doctor Schofield, your physician,” the voice said.
“I see,” Max replied. “And what exactly is wrong with me?”
“We’re not sure yet,” the doctor replied breezily.
“Could you remove this paste so I can open my eyes?” Max asked irritably.
“Of course. Nurse?” the doctor’s voice said. After a moment, Max felt a cool cloth wiping him gently around his eyes. He could feel whatever was holding his eyes closed loosen its hold and suddenly he could see again, his eyes were open and he was staring at Martha, his black housekeeper for nigh on fifteen years now, and a young man with black hair and vivid blue eyes who was wearing a white lab coat. He was also smiling at him as if he couldn’t be more pleased with himself. Max hated him on sight.
“So you don’t know what’s wrong with me, why am I here?” he asked coldly.
Dr. Schofield’s smile faltered a bit but it came back, almost at full wattage. “We’re running tests. Your temperature was elevated very high when you came in. So much so that you were convulsing. You almost went into shock but we pulled you back. Your white blood cell count is also elevated which means you’re sporting an infection of some kind. Hopefully once the blood work comes back we’ll know more.”
Max stared into the middle distance. “I see,” he said. “My doctor’s name is Carlyle Benson; I’m sure my housekeeper’s told you. Would you kindly summon him?”
“Your housekeeper did inform us of your doctor’s name and the fact that you would want him – but he is not affiliated with this hospital and so-“
“Then move me to a facility with which he is affiliated,” Max interrupted.
That at least wiped the smile off Dr. Schofield’s face. “Mr. Lestrange you have to know that you are very weak right now and not in any position to be moved,” he said in a more subdued tone than he’d been hitherto using. “It would not behoove you to try and do so. At least wait until you’re stronger.”
Max glared at him, wanting to punch him in the face but truly feeling too weak to move. He hated it, this weakness; and it scared the hell out of him. What had happened to him?
“Have you checked my system for drugs?” he asked.
“It's one of the tests requested,” Dr. Schofield said. “If you can be just a little patient we should know in an hour or two what ails you.”
“An hour or two?” Max exclaimed in disbelief.
“We ordered extensive tests sir,” Dr. Schofield said.
Max just glared at him, wanting to get out of bed, possibly hit something; preferably the good doctor. But he just lay back in defeat and stared at the ceiling.
“Martha, did you bring my bed clothes?” he asked.
“Yes sir, right here,” Martha said placing a pair of pajamas on the bedside table where Max could see them.
“Can I at least change out of this mortifying gown?” Max asked the doctor.
Dr. Schofield opened his mouth to explain hospital policy but then closed it again. This level of politics was above his pay grade. “Sure,” he said and walked out of the room together with the nurse so that Max could change. As soon as they were alone, Max relaxed.
“Martha what happened?” he asked.
“You collapsed at the fight sir,” Martha begun at once. “The casino called an ambulance and the mayor called me. They had already brought you here to this hospital by the time I could get here. I called Dr. Benson and he arrived to check on you but they only allowed him in as a professional courtesy but they said he could not treat you because of that affiliation thing. He said to call him as soon as you woke. I’ve already sent him a text.”
“Good girl. Anything else?” Max asked.
Martha shook her head. “Everything is under control sir. Whitby is handling the press, Constantine has informed the board of what is happening.”
“What’s he telling the press?” Max wanted to know.
“No information at this time,” Martha said.
Max nodded. “That might not be the best strategy for the stocks. Ask him to change that to a bad case of the flu.”
“Yes sir,” Martha said taking out her phone to text Whitby.
“Where is Andrea?” Max asked.
“She’s taking care of canceling or rescheduling appointments sir. She should be here this afternoon.”
“Right. Good.” Max said.
“Also, your mother called,” Martha said tentatively.
Max was silent, staring at the ceiling.
“She…wanted to know how serious it was,” Martha said.
Max turned to look at her. “What did you tell her Martha?” he demanded.
Martha shrugged her ample shoulders. “I told her the doctors didn’t know. She asked me to keep her informed.”
Max’s eyes narrowed and Martha hastened to add, “I said I would tell you to get in touch.”
Max’s brow cleared and he snorted, “She probably was hoping I’d cop it and she’d have a chance at inheriting everything.”
“Yes sir,” Martha said obediently.
Max looked around the room, his frown returning.
“I have some things for you in the car, your robe, slippers, laptop, some flowers to brighten the room and your throw rug for the floor,” Martha said seeing the frown. Max nodded his approval.
“Great, bring them in. Especially the laptop,” he said.
Martha nodded and left as Max lay back.
*****
“Hey gra, how are you?” Christine called as she heard her grandmother come in. She looked at the clock tick tick ticking away in the hall. Ten pm. Late even by her grandmother’s standards. That Mr. Lestrange worked her too hard.
“I’m good, how are you?” Martha replied.
“Wonderful. We got a new intern at work today. Eager to please, good looking…I hate him,” Christine replied.
Martha laughed shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you Chris?”
“Stop calling me by a boy’s name?” Christine asked. “Anyway, why are you home so late? Another dinner party?”
Martha stopped massaging her feet to look up at Christine in surprise. “Mr. Lestrange is in the hospital Chris, show some compassion.”
“What? What happened?” Christine asked moving to help her grandmother with her other shoe.
“The doctors say it's some kind of infection. I don’t have the details. I’m not kin,” Martha said.
Christine snorted, “You’re as much kin as any that man has.”
Martha did not disagree.
“So…? Is he gonna be okay or are you out of a job?”
Martha glared at her. “You are so unfeeling at times girl.”
“I’m not…I just…I don’t think Max appreciates you as much as he should,” she said.
Martha smiled. “Girl you know nothing. Now go get me a cuppa tea and stop bitchin,” she said making Christine laugh as she went.
*****
Strings had been pulled and Dr. Benson had been given a temporary pass to treat his patient, Max Lestrange in the hospital. The tests were back and Dr. Schofield and Dr. Benson stood before him to explain the results.
“Your blood work showed elevated levels of white blood cells which would seem to indicate an infection. We did differential testing to narrow down the source of the infection and we’re pretty sure it's some form of prostatitis. We still need to do further tests, including a biopsy, to narrow down the possibilities,” Dr. Benson said.
“Yes. It's just to cover all bases. You’re thirty eight years old and that’s still below the high risk age for prostate cancer but we can’t ignore the possibility,” Dr. Schofield replied.
Max studied them and then nodded. “Okay then…when?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Dr. Schofield said.
“What does it entail?” Max asked tensing just a little bit.
“The procedure we’re going to do is known as a trans-rectal biopsy,” Dr. Benson said. “It means we’ll be accessing your prostate through your rectum. The procedure will be done right in this room. A nurse will be by early to give you an enema.”
“Enema?” Max repeated in horror.
“It's necessary,” Dr. Benson replied.
Dr. Benson turned to the nurse motioning her forward. “Nurse Marcus here has a consent form for you to sign, feel free to read it over and if you have any questions I’m around.”
“Thank you,” Max said taking the form and trying to read. His vision was blurry however so he picked up his phone and hit speed dial two.
“Clarence? I need you to come tell me if I should sign this consent form or not,” he said into the receiver.
“I’m at the administration wing facilitating your move to somewhere where we can control the environment better. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Clarence said.
“Okay,” Max said and hung up. There was movement at the door and he looked up to behold a fairly tall woman the color of café au lait, her honey eyes regarding him with cool curiosity. She’d tied her curly black hair in a pony tail with the ends exploding all over the place like a squirm of wriggling worms; only much better looking. Her cupid’s bow mouth was pursed in disapproval like it always was when she looked at him. She had on some sort of dark lipstick and she was dressed for work in blue coveralls.