by Elise Faber
Damn. He had to do something.
When it occurred to him, he realized he was an idiot.
Jordan picked up her hand, pressed her right thumb to the home button.
It worked. The screen unlocked and he hurriedly keyed in 9-1-1.
“I need an ambulance.”
Six
I was freezing. My stomach felt as though it had gone five rounds with the Tilt-A-Whirl.
With a groan, I peeled back my eyelids and winced against the bright lights.
Where the hell was I?
Last I remembered, I’d been puking into another trash can. In front of—and thank you, universe, for that one—Jordan. For the second time.
Awesome. Lovely. The perfect ending to what had amounted to a hellish last two months for me.
“You’re awake.”
I carefully turned my head to the side and, of course, Jordan was there, looking gorgeous in his suit. It fit his body like a second skin, and my body remembered the feel of all that glorious hardness in minute, extremely descriptive detail.
The heat of him. The prickle of stubble against my throat. The way his abs had felt like granite. The press of his hipbones to mine. Hard to soft. Hot to warm. Spicy. Masculine—
Not. Mine.
“I’m awake,” I agreed and closed my eyes, shifting my head back to the center of my pillow.
“You passed out,” he said.
The lights were uncomfortably bright through my lids, so I tilted my head again. Away from Jordan.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m getting that.”
“You scared me.”
The words made me jump, not only because they surprised the hell out of me, but also because they came from approximately eight inches away from my face.
I hadn’t heard him move, but he was there. Crouched next to the bed and right in my face.
“I’m sorry.” And I was. “Thanks for not leaving me.”
Jordan’s brows pulled down. “Why would I have left you?”
“Um, because I was mean to you and puking uncontrollably.”
He snorted. “Fair point. But I don’t think you were feeling like yourself.”
Now wasn’t that the truth? I’d been feeling off for a couple of weeks but had chalked it up to my hypoglycemia. Which basically meant that my body didn’t process insulin correctly and my blood sugar dropped unpredictably. But other than small, frequent meals and sometimes getting a little dizzy, it hadn’t affected my life all that much.
Trust it to make me pass out for the first time in my life in front of a god.
Now that fit in with how things had been going as of late.
“My assistant couldn’t find your insurance card.”
I blinked, eyes flying to his. There was something in his expression . . . calculating? Careful?
Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.
“It’s in my apartment.” I sighed. “I was using it to apply for new insurance. I was laid off this week.”
He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” My job gone in the span of fifteen minutes. And I couldn’t even say it was because I’d screwed up or the owners had been unfair.
Frank and Susan deserved their retirement. Except, I’d all but run their graphic design business for the last few years. It had become my baby, and now it was gone.
“My bosses decided they needed to simplify their life, sold the business, and bought a giant RV.” I shrugged. “At least they left me a nice severance package. I’m good for a bit.”
Not that I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Did I want to spend the rest of it designing websites and logos?
No, I didn’t think so.
But I also didn’t have a reasonable source of income.
And a girl needed money to survive.
“That’s good,” Jordan said.
I pushed all thoughts of my former job out of my head and focused on my immediate surroundings. Which I probably should have done the moment I woke, but there you go. My brain didn’t always work in a straightforward, A to B, important to least important way.
Sometimes I got stuck on insignificant details and veered off course.
Sometimes I fussed with the placement of one letter for hours, so focused on that one small point that I forgot about the big picture.
“How’d I get here?”
“An ambulance.”
“What?” I guess I figured he’d driven me, because damn, being transported to the hospital in an ambulance for my hypoglycemia was going to be expensive.
Shit.
Jordan’s lips pressed together. “You wouldn’t wake up, and I couldn’t get into your apartment. I was worried.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just—” I shook my head. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Aside from a lot of tests when I was younger”—I explained my hypoglycemia and what it meant—“I’ve never even been in the hospital.”
He nodded, looking thoughtful. “The doctor said something about your blood sugar being off.”
“Dang,” I said. “I—”
A warm hand laced with mine. “Hey, it’s okay. The doctors will get you sorted out and you’ll be on your way.”
My nose wrinkled as the smell of Jordan—was it his deodorant? It almost had a spicy scent, like men’s grooming products—hit my nose again. In a second, I went from feeling a little weak but mostly fine, to my stomach tying itself in knots.
“Let go.” I pulled my hand free, scooted back on the bed. “Stay there,” I said when he leaned in, face concerned.
“What is it?”
I put a palm up. “That smell. You.” I tried to breathe through my mouth as saliva pooled around my tongue. “Your . . . deodorant.”
Don’t puke. No puking allowed—
I gagged.
Jordan backed up.
“I can’t with the smell. It’s horrible. It’s going to make me pu—”
He snagged a trash can from near the door and extended it toward me. “I don’t understand why the smell of my deodorant is making you sick—”
The door opened and a doctor filled the threshold, taking in the garbage bin on the bed, my hand over my mouth, and Jordan pressed into the corner.
“Stomach still touchy, huh?” The doctor, a middle-aged man in blue scrubs and a white coat, with gray-blond hair neatly combed, pushed through the door. He used his palm to press some sanitizer from the container mounted on the wall and rubbed it between his hands.
I nodded. “Yes, unfortunately.” Though the roiling was subsiding with Jordan out of nose-reach.
“I’m Dr. Williams.” He crossed to the computer and typed a few keys before scrolling through several screens. “I think I have the answer to that.”
“My hypoglycemia?”
Dr. Williams turned and came close to the bed. “Your hypoglycemia was almost certainly the reason for the fainting. Your stomach upset is for a completely different reason, I suspect.”
I frowned.
“When was the date of your last period?”
I pressed back into the bed. “I’ve had an IUD for years. I hardly ever get periods anymore. It’s been months.”
Dr. Williams sighed. “Well, here’s the thing. We drew your blood”—he nodded at the bandage at my elbow—“and that sample says you’re pregnant.”
My entire body went numb. That couldn’t be right. I hadn’t—
I couldn’t—
“In fact, your HCG levels say you’re about eight weeks pregnant.”
I felt Jordan move in the corner, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the doctor.
“But I have an IUD.”
“Unfortunately, no method of birth control is one hundred percent effective.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “In fact, my youngest daughter is the byproduct of a failed IUD.”
This couldn’t actually be happening.
Not now. Not with my job imploding. Not with my dad deciding—
A hand touched mine and
I opened my eyes to find Dr. Williams staring down at me, dark eyes kind. “You’ll be okay. The OB will be down in a few minutes to check on you and then you can get out of here. You’ll need to make some follow up appointments to ensure you and the baby stay healthy, all right?”
“All right.” I gripped the sheets tightly as he logged out of the computer and left the room. The cotton was cool against my clammy hands, but it was more than that. Something concrete to hold on to when the rest of the world was falling apart.
I was ignoring the fact that I was going to have to let go at some point.
Pregnant.
How in the hell was I pregnant?
“Goodbye, Abigail. Take care.” And with a small smile, Dr. Williams was gone.
I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before I frowned and glanced around the room.
Jordan was gone.
How typical.
Seven
“So your prescriptions should be ready by the time you’re out of here, and you’ll need to follow up with me in two weeks,” Dr. Stephens said.
She was a young blond woman with a perky ponytail and honey-colored eyes. Her gaze was warm and her demeanor straightforward.
I liked her. Despite where her hands were.
“There,” she said after a moment and turned the ultrasound machine so that I could see the black and white picture.
My heart stuttered, and I ignored the uncompromising wand between my legs for the first time since it had made its appearance. “Is that—?”
“Your baby?” Dr. Stephens hit a button on the machine, printing out the image. “Yes. Or maybe I should say, there’s your raspberry since your little one is just about the size of one of those berries.”
“Really?” I asked, my hand coming to my belly.
“Really,” the doctor said. “And this here. The fluttering?”
I nodded.
“That’s the baby’s heartbeat. Which looks nice and strong.”
Relief coursed through me. I hadn’t even realized I’d been tense, but everything that was happening seemed so fragile. So small.
A raspberry.
I could crush it with barely a thought. An hour ago, I’d thought I was coming down with the flu, and now I had a baby inside me.
Evidence that I could see on the ultrasound, could hear on the ultrasound—my baby’s heartbeat whooshing away.
And instead of panicking, instead of freaking out, I just felt relief that he or she was okay.
That I hadn’t screwed up this part of my life.
Not yet anyway.
“So everything looks great,” Dr. Stephens said and slid the wand free.
I wrinkled my nose at the feeling of lubricant between my thighs. It was cold and sticky. Gross.
“Because of your health history, I’ll want to keep a closer eye on you than my typical patients.” Her ponytail bounced as she peeled off her gloves. “That is, if you want to continue your care with me. You can easily see your normal gynecologist for the duration of your pregnancy.”
“I don’t actually have a gynecologist.”
“Good. I’ll take you.” White teeth flashed before Dr. Stephens frowned. “When was your last pap smear?”
“Uhh.” I bit my lip. “Maybe five, six years ago? I’m not sure.”
“Well, that won’t do. Let me see if I can find anything on your chart. Was it in this hospital?”
“Yes.” I gave her my former doctor’s name and saw her nose wrinkle. “Yeah,” I said, “he wasn’t exactly my favorite.”
“Honestly?” Honey eyes met mine. “He wasn’t my favorite either. Let’s see.” She scrolled down several screens on the computer. “Ah. There it is. Seven years ago.”
“Oh. Is that—?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you caught up.” She smiled. “And it’s completely safe to do during pregnancy. That way we’ll tick it off the list while I have you here and your results should be in by the next time you’re in the office.” She pulled out a phone from her pocket. “Let me just find out if there are any kits handy. Hang tight.”
The nurse came in barely a minute later, a sealed pack in her hand. Dr. Stephens opened it, arranged it on a tray, and put on a pair of gloves.
“Ready?”
“Joy,” I muttered, sliding back down the table to put my feet in the stirrups.
I was in this joyful position, speculum inserted, when the door opened.
At first, I thought it was the nurse and didn’t take my eyes from the ceiling.
“Almost done,” Dr. Stephens said.
The crash was what made me look.
Jordan had slammed into the tray and was facing the wall.
Jesus Christ.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the wallpaper. “I should have knocked. I—”
“Done,” the doctor said, covering me as she pulled off her gloves and spun her stool around. “You must be Dad.”
“Jordan.” He carefully turned, eyes flicking in my direction for a heartbeat before his shoulders visibly relaxed. “I’m Abby’s friend.”
“Dr. Stephens.” She tossed her gloves into the trash and extended a hand before tilting her head in my direction. “Take care of this one, okay?” To me, she said, “Two weeks. I’ve put the office number on your discharge instructions, so get that appointment on the calendar.”
“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”
With a wave, she left the room.
And cue silence . . . of the awkward variety.
I forced a laugh, crinkling the edges of the paper drape covering my lady business from the rest of the world. “Just when you thought you couldn’t see more of me . . .”
I went for a joke because that was all I had.
I mean, really, what could I say? “Here’s an even more up-close image of the female parts that couldn’t keep you interested. Just what you’ve always wanted!”
Humor was all I had. Well, that and crying, and I decided that I wasn’t quite up to crying in front of Jordan.
Not after our night together.
Tears, panic, and a mental breakdown could come when I was tucked into bed, my softest blanket pulled to my chin, and a worn paperback in one hand.
“What was that doctor doing to you?” Jordan shuddered instead of addressing my lousy joke. “It was like you had a drone up your—”
He broke off, wincing at the same time his cheeks went bright red.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” He blew out a breath. “I just mean that it looked uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure if you’d need help and . . .”
“That,” I said, deciding to throw him a bone, “was a Pap smear. A lovely procedure where they scrape cells from the surface of a woman’s cervix to check for abnormalities. It’s uncomfortable, but necessary.”
“Was it safe?” he asked. “For the—um . . . for the baby?”
I nodded. “Typical prenatal procedure, I was told.” I hesitated for a moment before deciding to press on anyway. “Why are you here?” I put a hand up. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, just that you heard pregnancy and disappeared. I didn’t exactly expect a return trip.”
Jordan crossed the room, pausing near my bedside, and I realized that his hair was wet.
“Did you shower?” I asked, incredulous.
He shrugged. “I smelled bad, apparently. I asked Dr. Williams if I could use the physician lounge and he kindly agreed.” His smile made my stomach twist, but not in the I’m-going-to-puke way for a change. It looped, knotted itself up in a this-guy-is-the-most-beautiful-specimen-of-manhood-I’ve-ever-seen, and that bubbly, wiggly feeling actually felt kind of nice.
“Wow,” I said and not just because of the wiggly feeling. That he’d showered was perhaps the single most thoughtful thing a member of the opposite sex had ever done for me.
My father included.
“Go on.” Jordan lifted an arm, distracting me from the melancholy about my dad and drawing my focus back to him. All thin
gs considered, eyeing Jordan’s man-meat wasn’t exactly a tough job. “Freshly cleaned with unscented soap,” he announced. “Your nose should be safe from me.”
I gave a cautious sniff and was relieved when my stomach stayed calm.
“Good?”
I inhaled deeper, felt nothing more than a fluttering that had absolutely nothing to do with nausea. “Good.”
He smiled and it made my heart skip a beat.
“So,” I said, tugging the sheet more fully over my legs, “are we going to talk about this?”
One brow lifted. “About what? The fact that women are way tougher than men could ever hope to be? Or the other thing?”
I bit my lip. “The other thing.”
“Want to maybe wait until you’re fully clothed for that one?”
Good point.
“I guess. It’s just—”
“I know I haven’t exactly given you a reason to trust me, but I take care of my responsibilities.”
The words might have meant more if I hadn’t heard them before, from a man I’d trusted my entire life.
“Okay,” I said.
“What is it?” Fingers laced with mine.
I forced a smile. “Let’s see, we’ve danced in a bar, had a one night stand, and a hospital visit, and we haven’t even had a first date. Is there anything else on the daytime soap circuit we’ve missed?”
Jordan laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“Then let’s table all the discussions until I’m no longer bottomless, okay?”
“I can do that.” He paused, considering. “So what kind of TV shows do you like?”
“Uh. Are we really doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“The getting to know each other spiel? You’ve seen my insides.”
He fixed me with a look. “I’ve also seen you naked and know what you sound like when you moan. Though”—his expression went rueful—“not what you sound like when you come. I’d been heading to your apartment, intending to wait around for you. Intending to make that particular part of our evening together up to you, when I saw you go into the bar.”
“You saw me?”
“I did.” Jordan rubbed a hand against his chin and the sound of his stubble rubbing against his palm raised the hairs on my nape. I remembered the feel of it on my throat, my breasts.