Wethering the Storm (The Storm 2)

“Sure I do, but we’re not telling them until we know everything is okay. I don’t know of a good obstetrician—do you?”

I shake my head.

“Then Stuart it is.”

“How exactly will Stuart know about obstetricians? He might be gay, but he hasn’t magicked up a vagina overnight that I know of.”

That gets a smile out of him. A small one, but it’s a start.

“Because, smart-ass, there isn’t anything Stuart doesn’t know or can’t find out. That’s why I pay him so well.”

Lifting my hand from his, I say, “Okay, well, just don’t tell him I’m pregnant. Tell him I’m having women’s problems.”

Not only do I want to tell my parents first, I don’t want anyone to know about the baby until I know everything is okay.

I wasn’t worried before Jake said something. But now…now I’m terrified there could be something wrong with the baby.

Three hours later, Jake and I are sitting in the office of Dr. Suzanne Kline, doctor to the rich and famous and the best obstetrician money can buy.

Her receptionist let us into her office. She looked less than happy to be working on a Saturday, but the instant she saw Jake walk in behind me, her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

She seated us in Dr. Kline’s office, with the offer of a drink, telling us that Dr. Kline would be with us shortly.

I have to say it’s the nicest doctor’s office I have ever been in.

It’s light and airy, all cream and beige. I’m sitting in the comfiest leather chair I’ve ever sat in, in front of a huge mahogany desk that looks like it cost more than I earn in a year. There’s a sofa in the corner resembling the one we have at home, and there are pictures of babies everywhere. I’m guessing famous babies.

My child is going to be famous.

Crap. I hadn’t even registered that fact. Sometimes I forget Jake is famous. Even though it’s thrust into my face on a daily basis, I still just think of him as Jake Wethers, my best friend and boy next door.

Our child is going to be famous simply for the fact Jake is.

The baby’s not going to have the chance for a normal childhood like I had.

It’s going to live its life accompanied by bodyguards, safety always a cause for concern.

I’m going to have to talk to Jake about this. I want our child to have as normal a life as possible. I know he’ll want that too, so we’re going to have to figure out a way to make it happen.

Jake hasn’t sat still since we arrived. I can feel nerves and tension radiating off him. I have never seen him this worked up before. It’s freaking me out.

I rest my hand on his thigh, settling his jigging leg.

He looks at me, giving me a tight smile.

“It’s going to be fine,” I say, trying to sound convincing, even though I am less than confident myself. I become even more so as the minutes pass.

“I hope so,” he utters. “I really hope so.” He takes my hand, bringing it to his mouth, and brushes a kiss over my knuckles.

It’s at this point Dr. Kline finally makes her appearance.

Imagine the one doctor you wouldn’t want in the same room as your hot, ex-womanising, rocker boyfriend. Well, yeah, that’s Dr. Suzanne Kline.

She is tall, early thirties, I’d say, long blonde hair that is tied back in a sleek ponytail. She’s wearing high-waisted blue jeans that only stick-thin people can wear, with a button-up white shirt tucked in, which sits just perfectly around her perfect-size chest. No gaping buttonholes for her.

Basically, she’s gorgeous. And I hate her instantly.

Remind me to kick the crap out of Stuart when we get home.

She may be the best OB/GYN in LA, but I would have rather settled for the second best, even the third, as long as they didn’t look anything like her.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” she says, advancing across the room toward us.

Reaching her hand out to me, I spot her perfect manicure and cringe at my chipped red nail varnish.

“I’m Dr. Suzanne Kline,” she says. “But please just call me Suzanne.”

“Trudy Bennett,” I reply. But please just call me Ms. Bennett, I’m tempted to say just to be a bitch.

I bite my tongue, hard.

Turning to Jake, she releases her hand from mine and offers it to Jake. He takes it. “Jake Wethers,” he says.

“I know who you are, Mr. Wethers.” She presses her lips into a quirked smile, looking a little shy, and I see her eyes have widened in his gaze. In this instant she looks like one of his groupies.

I hate the effect he has on women. She’s a smart, successful doctor, one who comes in contact with celebrities on a regular basis, yet one touch and a look from Jake and she’s a teenage girl again.

I think I may vomit.

“Jake, please,” he says, and he sounds so smooth that I have the urge to slap him up the back side of his head.

Releasing her hand, he instantly takes hold of my hand again, pulling it to rest in his lap.

I feel like giving a smug smile, but I don’t. I know I’m being irrational, I know that Jake only has eyes for me, but I hate the way she was looking at him. I take a quick glance at her left hand as she makes her way around the desk to her chair.

It’s a yes on the wedding ring. But when has the little matter of having a husband ever stopped women from trying to get into Jake’s pants?

“Please excuse my attire,” she says in her sexy American twang, gesturing to her clothes as she sits down. “I came straight from family brunch.”

“Sorry to pull you away,” Jake says. “But I wanted Tru to see a doctor today.”

“No worries. What seems to be the problem, Tru?” She directs her question to me, leaning forward in her seat.

I stiffen a little under her blue-eyed scrutiny. “Well, I, um, took a pregnancy test—three actually—and they all said I’m, um, pregnant.” I have no idea why, but my cheeks are bright red, and I feel flustered.

“This is good news…for you both?” she asks carefully, moving her eyes between Jake and me.

“Very good news.” Jake smiles at me, squeezing my hand. “Unplanned but very much wanted.”

My heart melts.

“That’s wonderful news.” She beams, smiling a bright white Hollywood smile. If possible, she looks even more gorgeous.

Ugh.

“Many congratulations to you both,” she adds.

“Thank you,” Jake replies.

I can’t reply because I’m too busy gnawing over the fact that I’m going to get as fat as a house and my baby doctor is a glamazon.

Dr. Glamazon.

There really should be a law against this kind of thing. People as beautiful as her should not be allowed to be baby doctors.

I think I might kick the crap out of Stuart twice now, just for good measure. He’s officially off my Christmas list.

He’s just introduced Jake to a smart, beautiful glamazon who knows her shit about women’s bits, probably men’s too, so therefore, she will be awesome at sex. And I’m about to turn into fat, dumpy Tru, who very soon won’t have a lot to offer in the sex department.

“I’m taking it from the urgency to see me today, you have some concern over the pregnancy,” Dr. Glamazon states rather than asks, cutting into my bitching thoughts.

“Yes.” Jake sits forward in his seat but keeps a tight hold of my hand. “It’s public knowledge of my use of drugs and that I was in rehab getting clean.” I feel him tense, so I rest my free hand on his knee. He gives me a quick glance and continues. “What isn’t public knowledge is that a little over seven weeks ago, I started using again.”

“Are you still using now?” she asks.

“No.” He shakes his head vehemently. “I used for two weeks, stopped, and I’ve been clean for the last five.”

“What drugs were you taking?”

“Cocaine.”

“I take it you’re worried you might still have had drugs in your system when you conceived?”

“Yes.” His grip on my hand tightens to near pain, but I don’t say anything. I’m as anxious as he is to hear what she has to say.

I’m watching Dr. Glamazon, trying to gauge her reaction to what Jake’s asking, but there’s not a shred of emotion in her face.

Poker face. I bet she’s had Botox done.

She leans back in her chair, elbows on the rests, fingers steepled.

“I understand your concern, Jake, but honestly, there is nothing for you to worry about. There’s been a lot of research done about the possible side effects on sperm from recreational drug usage, and to date there is nothing to prove that drugs cause any long-term side effects on a developing fetus.”

I feel Jake relax beside me. And me too. It’s such a relief to hear.

“The only known side effects are significant reductions in sperm count,” Dr. Glamazon continues, “sometimes resulting in infertility—which obviously hasn’t been a problem for you.” She gives him a hinting smile, which raises my hackles.

I know she’s a doctor, but she seriously shouldn’t talk about my man’s virility like that.

I clear my throat and raise my eyebrow at her.

She breezes a look to me, composing herself, and says to Jake, “Most commonly, the issue we see from drug usage and a developing fetus comes directly from the mother. If a woman uses drugs when pregnant, the drugs will pass through the placenta and directly to the baby. That’s when we have issues such as deformities and long-term health problems.”

Ooh, you bitch.

I’m seriously getting a new baby doctor.

“I have never touched drugs in my life,” I state, probably a little too loudly. I dig my nails so hard into Jake’s hand, I hear him wince. “I don’t even smoke cigarettes, let alone joints!”

“That’s really good to hear, Tru.” She smiles pleasantly.

Now I just want to slap her. Hard. A few times.

God, what the hell is wrong with me? Is this what pregnancy does? Or have I always been this jealous?

I guess I’m just jealous when it comes to Jake.

He runs the pad of his thumb across the palm of my hand.

I know he’s trying to settle me, but I’m a riled right now and in no mood to be settled.

“I was still on the pill when I got pregnant,” I blurt out.

Crap, how did I forget that? Actually, how the hell did I manage to get pregnant while on the pill? It’s never failed me in all the years I’ve been taking it.

“You were taking the pill when you got pregnant?” Dr. Glamazon asks, her perfectly shaped brow raised.

Does she think I’m lying or something? Or that I’ve trapped Jake by getting pregnant on purpose?

Does he think the same?

I sneak a quick glance at him, but his face is impassive as he looks at Dr. Glamazon.

I wish I knew what he was thinking right now.

“Yes, I’ve been on the pill for a really long time, and it’s never let me down before—obviously,” I mutter, not helping my case at all.

I start to chew on my free thumbnail, killing all hope for my nail varnish.