The Doctor's Pregnancy Bombshell

“OK?” Debbie sighed. “Look, she’s my boss and my best friend—it’s wrong on so many levels for me to be talking to you.”

“I just want to know that she’s OK.”

“She’s pregnant and you dumped her. What else do you want to know?”

Was that how Melissa saw things? What she’d told Debbie had happened?

“I didn’t dump her.”

“Then where are you? Because you sure haven’t been here for her the past couple of weeks, have you?”

Was he wrong? Or being selfish to want Melissa to care more for him? To place value on their relationship? No. He wasn’t. But knowing he needed to stay away and being able to not check on her were two different things.

“She’s eating?”

“Not much.”

“Make her.”

“You should know better than to tell me that.” Right. No one could make Melissa do anything unless it was what she wanted. “If she needs anything, you’ll call?”

“She needs you to come home.”

If only she really did. “I can’t do that.”

“No, I guess you’re too busy.”

Venom dripped from Debbie’s words, giving James pause. Each time he called, Debbie’s tone was full of sarcasm. Leaving had made him the bad guy. He could deal with that because leaving had been the right thing to do, even if he questioned that rightness a thousand times a day.

“Give me your word you’ll call if anything happens.”

“I told you I would. That hasn’t changed.” Debbie paused, then added, “Personally, I think you’re both crazy.”

James closed his cell phone and dropped it back into his pocket. He wouldn’t argue about his foolishness. What kind of man resorted to calling a woman’s best friend just to make sure she was OK?

Not one he liked falling into the same category with, that was for sure.

Ignoring the woman studying him, James scribbled a note on the document he was scanning.

“It’s been a month, James. Are you or are you not going to tell me what happened?” Kristen leaned across the counter. When he continued to ignore her, she tapped on the paper. “James, I asked you a question.”

“I already told you, I don’t want to talk about it.” Calling Debbie for information daily was bad enough.

“You haven’t said anything about what happened, and I know it couldn’t have been good. For that matter, you haven’t said much of anything, period. You just walk around all roboticlike, holding everything in, and I’ve had enough of it.” When he continued to ignore her, she jerked the pen out of his hand and tossed it onto the counter with a resounding whack. “I want my friend back.”

James watched the pen flip, then roll across the counter and drop to the floor. He ran his fingers through his hair, looked around the laboratory he and Kristen used for their research. Three high-tech computers topped one counter. Another counter ran the entire length of the room and curved halfway around the adjacent wall. Two double sinks broke the monotony. Cabinets hung above the counters, more rested below them. Models of hearts were crammed into a corner. Numerous anatomy posters lined what free wall space there was. Nothing fancy, but they didn’t need fancy.

“Look, I’ve had a rough few weeks and prefer not to have this conversation.” Hoping she’d take a hint, he picked up the pen and made more notes.

“It’s a proven fact that talking helps.” She tapped her short, unpolished fingernail against the countertop and gave her bossiest look. “So talk.”

“Since when did you get a PhD in psychology?”

“My specialty is hearts. Do you think I can’t see that yours is breaking? I’ve given you space. At first I thought that’s what you needed, but you’re not getting any better.” Her green eyes searched his, saw that she had his attention. “Talk to me, James. Let me help.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“I take it Melissa refused your proposal?”