Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
We reach the locked doors that lead into the BICU, and I’m about to slide my ID through the sensor when I pause and turn to glance at her. I know once these doors open and we step into the unit, this discussion has to end for the time being. We have patients depending on us. Our responsibilities are too big. However, there’s one thing I can’t sit on all day, one possibility we haven’t yet discussed.
“Natalie,” I say, catching her eyes. “You are going to keep it, aren’t you? Because yes, in the grand scheme of things, I agree with the right for a woman to have governance of her own body, but in this situation…with you…I—”
Her hand reaches out to touch my arm gently. “Yes, Connor. I’m keeping it.”
I huff out a sigh of relief, nod, and then swipe my ID.
I’m elated.
It doesn’t even occur to me to dwell on the hard facts, the details about how she could have conceived while on the pill (it happens) or what we’re going to do from here (doesn’t matter). I want to be a father and that’s the only thing I can focus on. Fatherhood. A tiny child that is half me and half Natalie. A little boy or a little girl with her dark hair and hazel eyes. I walk in to see my patients that day with a dopey smile on my face. I tell the nurses to play something upbeat in the operating room. I wonder if I should call and tell my parents, but I realize it’s way too soon. Things could happen, bad things that will break my heart. Still, my mom is going to flip. Her first grandchild. I can practically hear her squeal of delight over the phone even now.
I see Natalie off and on throughout the day. The first time is when we finish up our surgeries and pass through the sterile core at the same time.
“How did it go?” I ask, brows furrowed.
I toss my mask into the trash and then step toward her, gently tugging her wrist toward me.
“Good. No nausea today.”
She frowns at my boldness, but now isn’t really the time to care about that sort of thing. I nod, glad to hear she did well in surgery, and then press two fingers to the radial pulse on her wrist, just under her thumb, counting in my head while I watch the clock.
It’s slightly elevated, but nothing to be worried about.
I brush my fingers back and forth gently before I begrudgingly release her arm, aware that we’re about to be interrupted by residents scrubbing out.
“Satisfied?” she asks with a small private smile.
“For now.”
At lunch, I look for Natalie in the lounge, but she’s not there. At the call room, I rap gently on the door, and when I open it, she’s there on the bottom bunk, asleep. She looks years younger than she is with her eyes closed and her lashes fanned across her cheeks. She’s huddled on top of the blankets with one hand under her cheek and the other wrapped around her stomach. I know she has to be exhausted. I wonder if she slept at all last night with all this on her mind.
I leave the food I picked up for her down in the cafeteria beside her things on the desk and resist the urge to touch her. If she’s lucky, she can manage another twenty minutes of sleep before her afternoon work begins, and I don’t want to interrupt that.
At the end of the work day, I’m in my office, dictating notes as quickly as I can, eager to be done so I can head back to the townhouse. I haven’t seen Natalie since lunch and I’m not sure when she’ll be done for the day, but I plan on suggesting we order in, whatever she wants. I just want a few hours with her to myself.
Then I check my phone and see the missed call from my contractor and another from my designer. Shit. I forgot I have to be at the house today for another walk-through. I’d cancel, but it’s already hard enough getting all three of us on the same schedule. I call my contractor to let him know I’ll be on my way in twenty minutes and then am about to text Natalie when I realize I don’t have her number.
So, as I pack up for the day and leave the hospital, I call Noah.
He answers on the second ring. “Connor. What’s up?”
“Hey, can you text me your sister’s number?”
“Good to talk to you too, buddy.” He laughs sarcastically.
“Yeah yeah, I miss you. Listen, I don’t have a ton of time.”
“Fine, whatever. I’ll send it after we hang up.”
“Thanks.”
“Is there any point in asking how things are going between you two?”