The Trouble With Him: A Secret Pregnancy Romance (The Forbidden Love 3)

My head remains low. “I don’t feel like celebrating.”

“Fair enough. Just promise me you won’t be alone, okay?”

I’m unable to nod nor promise her anything, keeping my words at bay. Lane places her hand on my arm, then leans over and kisses my cheek. “Austin, you’re worthy of being here. You’ve helped so many people who needed you. Please never forget that.”

It’s almost as if she knows my heinous thoughts, how I feel unworthy of even being on this earth. Why me? Why am I spared my life when somewhere in this city, a family is mourning the loss of their son?

Grabbing my clothes, I change out of my scrubs, slamming the locker door. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I walk the corridors quietly, but all I hear is the shrilling scream repeating in my head.

Lane is right, I can’t be alone tonight. With no plans, I decide to go home first to dump my stuff and have a much-needed shower, willing to gain some normality and attempt to wash off today’s event.

Under the steaming hot water, my movements are still, allowing the water to cascade down my back. I run my hands through my hair, flashing back to the moment I told my parents I wanted to study medicine, and how proud they were because my grandfather was a heart surgeon prior to his passing.

As I grew older, it’s all I could think about. It became my drive when I had to produce high grades to get accepted into Johns Hopkins. Then, as the years passed and fate played somewhat of a part with Millie, the decision to transfer to Columbia University felt like a step in the right direction. I was surrounded by the best, and as far as ERs go, we were the busiest in the city.

I knew it would be challenging, but I find myself questioning my strength when these times present themselves, unsure if I have it in me to go all the way. One day, I’ll be in Dr. Trainor’s position, delivering news to families just like tonight, and that thought alone brings on another level of fear. Am I born to be this person, or will I fail miserably? Again, the questions plague me endlessly.

The water is so relaxing as I lose track of time. When I finally turn the faucets off, I dry myself then wrap a towel around my waist while walking toward my closet. Not in the mood for anything dressy, I opt for a pair of jeans and my favorite navy hoody. With my white sneakers on, I also grab a jacket, given it’s predicted to hit below twenty tonight.

There’s a stream of messages on my phone from friends inviting me out tonight and a few women I’ve hooked up with over the last year, but the more I think about it, the less appealing it is to have to make an effort and pretend everything is great. What I need is a drink, something stiff, then call it a night—alone.

I walk to a bar called Alistair’s two blocks over from my apartment. It’s an Irish pub, and given this part of the city isn’t as busy as some areas like Times Square, I’m hoping to get a seat and drink before midnight.

As I enter Alistair’s, the sound is deafening, precisely what I need to drown out the noise in my head. Pubs often cater to a different crowd, much more lively and friendly than some of the upper-class bars Manhattan is known for.

My gaze falls upon a few rowdy patrons, obnoxious on the dance floor with a glass in hand. One, in particular, is relentless in his pursuit of what appears to be a much older woman than him. The sight of it is amusing, and I welcome the distraction.

But then, my eyes unknowingly gravitate to a woman at the bar. The long, lean, tanned legs are crossed with a pair of black opened-toe heels. Jesus, she must have been cold outside. It amazes me how women will do anything for fashion, wearing the skimpiest dresses just to look sexy.

Her body sits on the wooden stool, facing the bar. A jacket had been removed, hanging off the backrest and catching my attention is a bandage wrapped around her wrist. Fuck, my mind thinks the worst—a whole lot of problems and a possible suicide attempt gone wrong. No, don’t overthink it, she looks too well put together and confident in her attire.

She releases a laugh, the corner of her mouth lifting. Okay, relax, it’s probably just a minor injury.

My shoulders loosen, alleviating the momentary tension as I admire her curves in the very revealing gold dress she wears, noticing it barely covers her body. If I’m not mistaken, she’s not even wearing a bra.

Fuck, like I need to be thinking with my dick right now.

But something about her draws me in, a moth to a very burning flame. I tilt my head, bewildered by the curiosity until she angles her face giving me a better look at her side profile. Instantly, I recognize the beautiful woman like a friendly ghost from my past. A past I’d long forgotten.

Ava Edwards.

As I take steps closer to her, the man beside Ava appears to be coming on a little too strong, physically. Unwillingly, my fists clench as her face is less than pleased, and my hostility toward this stranger causes my teeth to grind, enough for me to warn him to back the fuck off.

Ava spins on her chair, the emerald eyes meeting mine. For a split moment, I see my past come back. My life with Millie, a lot of ‘what-ifs’ and a trip down memory lane which hasn’t happened in a long while. So many mixed emotions from just one goddamn stare.

The shimmer in her eyes reflects back at me, but there’s something about it that causes concern, almost as if she puts up a façade and wants everyone to see a different Ava.

Without a second thought, she throws her arms around me. I allow myself to feel her embrace, the familiar scent which brings a sense of comfort. Ava and I had a friendship for years, thanks to my relationship with Millie, but we drifted apart, and I assumed her ties lay with her new brother-in-law.

We both linger a little too long, and judging by the glass in front of her, she’s had a fair bit to drink already.

There’s no holding back, heading straight to the liquor to ease the tension as we catch up on life. Neither one of us appears to be in the best of moods, denying the truth of the cross we bear because tonight is supposed to be a time to celebrate life.

I enjoy the whisky served, though bourbon is a personal preference. In the end, nothing matters. Whatever can erase my memories, and

the quicker, the better.

The close proximity gives me a chance to raise the topic of her injury, which is bandaged poorly in my professional opinion. Thankfully, she allows me to examine her wrist, which appears to be a minor sprain. Still, I suggest she have it x-rayed in case there’s further damage.