by K. A. Linde
I might not have a real family anymore. But I’d found family regardless.
22
Katherine
Whitley didn’t have an open appointment until the next day at four thirty. It was technically a twenty-minute consultation, but Whit had just told Lark to book it. She didn’t even seem surprised. Apparently, she had been waiting for me to move over to her practice.
Of course, Lark hadn’t told her why I was really going in. I was the one who was going to have to deliver that shock. My stomach was in knots about it. Even though it was the right thing to do. It was the only actionable thing we’d come up with anyway.
I was wearing my armor for this meeting. After a professional blowout and a full face of makeup, I’d changed into a cowl-neck cashmere sweater over black leggings and thigh-high black boots. I’d paired it with a gray peacoat with gold buttons and a snakeskin bag. If I was going to confess my sins, I wanted to look the part.
Whitley’s office was on Park only a few blocks from the MET. Actually, it was surprisingly close to Penn’s apartment. I was glad that he was working, so I wouldn’t be tempted to go by and see him. He was probably the last person I should tell about any of this. He’d think I was insane to even want children with Camden Percy especially after how he’d behaved in Puerto Rico. But he didn’t know the circumstances of our arrangement, and I didn’t particularly want to inform him. In all this time, I hadn’t told anyone but Lark.
My phone buzzed as I entered the building and headed to the set of elevators. I glanced down at the name and sighed. Camden. Again. He’d been calling steadily all week. Never leaving a voicemail. Never sending me a text. How was I supposed to judge whether or not to call him back when he didn’t let me know why he kept bothering me?
Despite present circumstances, I was still mad at him for what he’d done in Puerto Rico. I didn’t want to talk to him. I wondered how many days he’d call before he got fed up with me for not answering and came to find me. Maybe I’d talk to him if he did that.
I rode the elevator to the fifth floor and entered into a well-lit reception.
A woman in scrubs looked up at me with a smile. “Hello. Welcome to The Plastic Surgery Institute. How can I help you?”
“Hi. I’m Katherine Van Pelt. I have an appointment with Whitley.”
“Ah, yes, you’re her four thirty. Here, fill out this paperwork and sign the release. Dr. Bowen will be right with you.”
Dr. Bowen, right. Not just my crazy friend Whit.
I took the paperwork from the receptionist and dutifully filled it out. Though I left plenty of it blank, considering why I was really here was a secret, even from the doctor.
My wait was short. In a couple of minutes, Whitley appeared in the doorway with a smile on her face. Her caramel-colored hair had strands of blonde through it now. I swore this girl changed her hair color more than anyone else I’d ever met in my life.
“Hey, Whit,” I said, coming to my feet.
“It’s about time.” Whit nodded her head to the back for me to follow her, which I did. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
I laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Always. Oh, want to hear my latest story?” Whitley asked, suggestively raising her eyebrows up and down.
“God, do I?”
“It’s tame! Promise.”
“Tame? Like the woman who picked you up for a threesome with her husband or like the guy who followed you around for a few weeks, leaving presents at your work and home?”
“Hey, I almost had to get a restraining order for that guy.”
“These are your levels of crazy—stalker or threesome.”
Whitley shrugged. “That seems reasonable. This isn’t that though.”
“Well, let’s hear it,” I said.
She stopped me at a station. She used a thermometer to get my temperature, checked my pulse, and then gestured to the scale. “Let’s get your weight.”. I gulped and stepped on the scale. She looked down at the number on the scale and frowned. She jotted the number down without comment. “Let’s move into a room.”
I followed her inside a consultation room and took a seat in the large black chair that dominated the center of the room. Whitley was making notes in an iPad. She looked back up at me.
“Okay, so…” Whitley said, biting her lip. “Robert and I are talking again.”
“What?” I asked in surprise. That was the last thing I’d expected. “But you said in Puerto Rico that he liked you more than you liked him.”
“Yeah. I mean… we talked it out when I got back. I think maybe I overreacted.”
My eyes bulged. “You are the definition of overreaction, Whit. And trust me, this is coming from someone who constantly overreacts. But you don’t say those things about a guy that you want to get back together with.”
“I don’t know. He treats me right. I’m not sure I gave him a real chance.”
“But I thought you and Gavin…” I trailed off at the horror on her face.
“What makes you think that?” she stammered out.
“Uh, the fact that you two were all over each other on New Year’s?”
“We’re always like that. It’s not… anything. He’s just”—she shrugged—“Gavin.”
“Uh-huh,” I said in disbelief. “And he’s friends with Robert.”
“So?”
“So, he’ll back off if you start dating Robert again because he’s a good guy.”
“Gavin King?” she asked with a laugh. “A good guy?”
I could see it in her eyes in that moment. She and Gavin had definitely hooked up. It had spooked her. Now, she was trying to distance herself from what had happened. Classic Whitley.
“Okay, Whit. If you say so.”
I let the matter drop when she turned back to her iPad.
“Anyway,” she said, stepping back over to me, “what are we doing today? Botox? Filler? We could do under-eye filler. It makes everyone look like they’re in their twenties. We also have light therapy for your face. Though I’ve seen you without makeup, and you’re flawless.”
“That’s what happens when your mother insists on a skin-care routine before you turn twelve.”
“Well, she’s smart. Everyone should do that.” Whitley’s eyes flicked to my chest. “Your boob job is incredible, too. You have a killer rack. I’m a little pissed that I didn’t do it.”
“Thanks. They were a present to myself.”
“If they make you happy—and they should… fuck, look at them—that’s all that matters.”
I actually was pretty proud of my boob job. It had cost a fortune but was worth every single penny. I fucking loved my fake boobs. I didn’t care what anyone else said. Sometimes, people tried to infer that having fake breasts made me somehow less of a woman or slutty or something. I didn’t understand the connection. All it meant was that I had silicone in my body and I’d have perky breasts… forever.
“So, where should we start?” Whitley asked eagerly.
“Actually, I kind of came for something else.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Butt implants? You really could use a bigger ass.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh. “No. No, not butt implants. I like having a small ass, thank you. It’s actually, um… a more serious matter.”
“Lark didn’t tell me what this was about.”
“I asked her not to.” I looked down at my hands. Fuck, I was not looking forward to explaining this. I’d had levity with Whitley to get me into this chair. Now, I had to tell her something almost no one else knew about me.
“You look scared shitless. Do I need to sit down?” Whitley asked, putting on her doctor voice for me. “Should we both sit over here?”
I shook my head. “No. I can tell you. I just… haven’t told anyone this before who wasn’t there at the time.”
“Doctor-patient confidentiality. Anything you say to me here will never leave this room.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Right. O
kay. So, during high school, a lot of shit went down with my father when he was arrested, and then… well, my brother disappeared, and my mom became a zombie. I kind of took the brunt of it all, and to cope, I started trying to be perfect.”
Whitley nodded encouragingly. I could already see the sympathy in her eyes, as if she knew where this was going.
“Long story short, I was hospitalized and told that I had anorexia. I was there for six weeks until they got me back on my feet. I attended group therapy for the next year and therapy for years after.”
“That’s good that you got help,” she said. “Are you worried that you have it again? Your weight is… low. Lower than I thought it would be.”
“I, um… no, I think I’m good. I’m working with a nutritionist and trying to stay on top of it.”
Whitley frowned. “Maybe you should start therapy again, just in case.”
“I’m worried I’m infertile,” I blurted out.
“Okay,” she said, completely serious.
This wasn’t Whitley Bowen, the bisexual flirt who ran her love interests in circles. The pixie who did shots until she kicked her shoes off and danced her heart out. This wasn’t story time. She was a doctor.
“I see. Tell me why you think this. You and Camden have been trying, I assume. How long have you been trying? How long have you been off birth control?”
“Um, no, I’m still on birth control.”
She furrowed her brow. “I’m confused.”
“We’re not trying, but we’re talking about it. I just… I saw a girl that I knew who had found out she was infertile, and it freaked me out. I wanted to… I don’t know… do a test to see if I am.”
“You’re not even trying yet? Why do you think you would be then? When was your last menstrual cycle?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t have one on the birth control I use.”
“Did you lose you period for more than three months when you were underweight?”
I nodded, feeling sick. “For almost a year.”
“Did it come back after you were a healthy weight again?”
“Yes. It was slow to come back, and then I got on birth control. But I just… want to get tested. I need to know,” I insisted. “Lark said you could help.”
“Katherine,” Whitley said gently, “there are plenty of tests for this. Do you want my professional opinion or what I really think?”
“Um… both?”
“Professional opinion: go to a fertility doctor. I can recommend one. She’s the best in the business and a friend. She’s discreet.”
“Okay.”
Whitley sank into her hip and gave me a look that I recognized as, Here it comes. “What I really think is, you need to throw out your birth control, go home, and fuck your husband.” I opened my mouth to object, but she kept going, “Fuck him a lot. Fuck him all the time. Download an ovulation app, if you haven’t already, and figure out when you can conceive. Fuck all day on those days. Take off work and fuck day and night. The practice is the fun part. If you don’t get pregnant in three months, come back and see me.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “That’s your advice?”
“Yes! There could be something wrong with you. But if you have no symptoms, except a history of anorexia and a friend with the condition, I think that you’re scaring yourself with worst-case scenarios. Most people who heal from anorexia go on to have a perfectly healthy body with therapy and can conceive. I think you should give your body a chance before you tell it that it’s broken.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “Go home and fuck Camden. Let’s do interventions when the need arises.”
“I think he’s probably going to be confused if I show up at his place and demand he fuck me.”
Whitley laughed. “What person in their right mind would be confused by that? I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“Damn straight.” She walked back over to the counter and pulled out a prescription pad. “Here, let me write you a note.”
She scribbled on it and handed it over to me.
I read the prescription, Have lots of sex. Doctor’s orders.
I shook my head. “Am I supposed to give this to him?”
“If he’s confused, you can set him straight.”
I’d come in, terrified to admit these things, and I was leaving with a prescription to have sex. Either Whitley was the craziest doctor in the world or the best one.
“You really think nothing is wrong?”
“I think everything that is currently wrong… is in your head, which is a terrifying place to be on a good day.”
“Can’t argue that.”
Whitley crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. “If something else is wrong, we can cross that bridge when we get there. I’ll be here for it, too. Okay?”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. If you ever need doctor’s advice though,” Whitley said, “you can just call. You don’t have to make an appointment.”
I laughed and stood from the chair, stuffing the note in my purse. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Hey, and if you want to fill me in on how it goes, I’m an excellent listener. I love sex details.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath. “I love you, you crazy bitch.”
“Love you, too. Now, go get some ass!”
I snorted and left the office, somehow feeling better even though we hadn’t done anything that I’d expected. But Whitley had put it all in perspective. She had figured out a way to talk to me that the plethora of information on the internet hadn’t been able to convey.
Maybe there was something wrong with me, but I wouldn’t know that until I tried. And if I was freaking out this much about not being able to have kids, did that mean I wanted kids? Did that mean I wanted them now?
Fuck, I really did need to talk to Camden. He’d been calling me all week, and I’d never answered. Which meant he wanted to talk to me, too. I knew he wouldn’t apologize for how he’d acted in Puerto Rico, but maybe we could come to some common ground.
It’d be good to get it all out in the open instead of constantly hurting each other. Either way, he had a right to know what was going on with me. Even if I didn’t want to tell him. And I really, really didn’t want to tell him.
Still, I swallowed my pride and took the Mercedes back to Percy Tower. He should be home by now.
The car dropped me off, and I took the elevator upstairs. I couldn’t stop fidgeting the whole way up. My stomach felt like it had bees buzzing around in it. I had no idea how he was going to react to this news especially because I had kept the hospitalization from him in the first place. He’d likely be pissed, but I was tired of running from my past. I had decided on Camden for the long haul. Maybe it was time to cash in on that promise.
The elevator dinged open on the top floor, and I stepped into the Percy residence. I only took a few steps before stopping in my tracks. Camden stood in the living room with his hands in his pockets. A woman stood across from him.
My stomach dropped straight through my body. Fiona was here. Camden’s eyes lifted to mine, and for a second, I saw horror cross his expression. Then Fiona turned around to face me, and I saw why.
She was pregnant.
23
Camden
Well, fuck.
Of all the bad times for Katherine to walk into my house. Now had to be the fucking worst time for her to choose. I could see on her beautiful face the realization that she must have come to when she saw Fiona’s slightly rounded stomach. It was going to be like dropping an atomic bomb in my living room.
“What the fuck is going on?” Katherine demanded. She clutched her bag close to her chest, as if it would protect her from what she was seeing. Or maybe she just wanted better leverage to swing it.
“This isn’t what it—” I began.
“Really?” she snapped. “This isn’t what it looks like? Rich.”
She roll
ed her eyes and then narrowed them on Fiona, who had, as of yet, said nothing. She stood there like a deer in headlights. She certainly hadn’t been expecting to see my wife when she asked if she could come over. I hadn’t seen Katherine in weeks. She had been avoiding me at all costs after what went down on that beach on her birthday.
“I can’t even fucking believe this.” Katherine shook her head as she glared at me. “That you would be careless enough to let this happen.” Then to Fiona, she said, “That you would show your fucking face here.”
“And why shouldn’t I?” Fiona asked, finding her voice. Which was not a good thing. She should have kept her mouth shut and let me handle this.
“Because the man who knocked you up is married to me.” She seethed, taking a dangerous step forward. “What exactly do you expect to happen? Besides humiliation.”
“Katherine,” I warned.
“Oh no, you can shut the fuck up right now.” She pointed her finger at me. “I will deal with you later.”
“You will deal with me now,” I growled.
“Fine. Fine.” Her eyes narrowed. “You act like I’m not trustworthy, get mad at me in Puerto Rico, say you can almost trust me. Then you do this shit? Camden, you are the epitome of hypocrisy. You act high and mighty when we’re together, but on the side, you’re fucking this half-wit.”
“Hey!” Fiona called.
Katherine waved her away as inconsequential. “And you’re not even smart enough to wrap it up? We’re fucking arranged. So, sure, do whatever you want. But that didn’t include embarrassing your fucking name and everyone associated with it. If you wanted to knock up your slutty side piece, then you shouldn’t have married me.”
“Are you quite through?” I asked in irritation.
“I have every right to scream my head off, Camden Percy. You did over a fucking birthday present, and now, you expect me to just roll over when your mistress shows up pregnant? I don’t think so.”
“God, you’re such an insufferable bitch,” Fiona crowed.