Doctor Dearest

I feel him shudder and thrust harder, painfully deep, one final time. His racked breathing stirs my heart and I wrap myself around him as tight as my muscles will allow.

After, I keep my eyes closed for so long as we lie there, catching our breath, our bodies trying to reframe our surroundings. Hot skin and cool sheets and toe-curling remnants of pleasure. Hard muscle and soft thighs and him, still pulsing inside me.

What a life, I think. What a life we could have…might have.

Suddenly, I need him off me. I need air and a second to gather my thoughts back into the mason jar where they’ve lived all these long years.

I push him away and roll to the side, and he reaches out for me.

“Just going to the restroom,” I promise, tiptoeing over our strewn clothing and breathing a sigh of relief when I make it out to the hall.

In the bathroom, I leave the light off and sit down on the toilet, dropping my head into my hands, wishing tomorrow didn’t have to come.“Another,” I demand.

“That’s the fifth one.”

“You’re a doctor, aren’t you? You of all people should know you need a large sample size if you hope to have verifiable results.”

Lindsey levels me with a hard stare. “You’ve done four tests and they’ve all shown the same result. You’re—”

“Don’t say it! God. Don’t say it out loud! Can’t you see I’m freaking out here? Give me another dipstick.”

I stick out my hand, but she doesn’t immediately deliver. We’re huddled together in front of the sink in a bathroom near Lindsey’s office. It’s early; the hospital is still asleep. The night crew hasn’t been relieved. I shouldn’t be here for another hour, but well, here we are.

I wiggle my gloved fingers but she ignores me still.

I think she’s still annoyed that I woke her up so early, but what was I supposed to do? Last night—after Connor and I pretended to go to sleep then promptly launched into round two before finally deciding to relegate ourselves to separate corners of his bed and shut our eyes—I lay awake tossing and turning. There was no way I was going to actually sleep, so eventually, I just gave up, threw off my covers, and called Lindsey. Of course she called me all sorts of names for waking her up at the crack of dawn. Nonetheless, here we are.

I try to steal another test. They come in packs of a hundred, individually wrapped. I’m pretty sure she can spare a few more, but she holds the box up, just out of my reach.

“Any more and I’m billing your insurance.”

“Lindsey.”

“Face it, Natalie. Four tests, all with the same result.”

I’m sweating bullets.

“Just one more.” Our eyes lock. “Please.”

She sighs and hands it over. I rip into the plasticky-foil wrapper and reach in for the test strip. Carefully, like I’m being graded on my technique, I dip it into my sample cup until it’s covered to the blue line and then I lay it on the lip of the cup and watch as it develops. I lean down and prop my hands on my knees, watching as the dye seeps up the white strip, coloring it a pinkish red. The first pink line appears in the control region and then…slowly…a second band darkens half a centimeter underneath it, in the test region.

My stomach drops.

Five samples.

Five samples can’t be wrong.

I look up at Lindsey. “Check the date on that box.”

“They aren’t old. I checked.”

“Right. Well then, what else causes false-positives on pregnancy tests?” I snap my fingers, trying to recall my OB/GYN rotation, but it’s been years. I used to have a handy little pneumonic using the acronym TAHFD. Tell Anna Hi For Dad. That’s it! Tranquilizers, anticonvulsants, hypnotics, and fertility drugs.

Then, sadly, I realize I don’t have any of those in my system.

“Natalie?” Lindsey says, gripping my shoulder.

“Yes?” I ask, despair evident in my sad one-syllable word.

“You’re pregnant.”Chapter Twenty-OneConnorMy alarm chirps at my bedside and I reach out, feeling the other end of the bed with my eyes still closed. Pillow, sheets, comforter, but no warm body. I roll over, blink my eyes open, and frown when I see that Natalie’s already up and out of bed. I’m disappointed. I would have liked to wake up with her, or better, with her lips on mine. Then I spot the note she left on my bedside table.

Good morning! I left you breakfast downstairs. XOAnd then down in the kitchen, beside a plate of toast and eggs which were covered by a huge mixing bowl (I think her way of trying to keep them warm?), there’s another note.

Eat up! :)I can’t help but laugh as I scoop room-temperature scrambled eggs into my mouth. Visions of Natalie straddling me flit through my mind as I down my coffee. There’s no point in trying to think of anything else. Last night will fill my head all day. It was…well, let’s just say if I were with a group of guys, they’d all be giving me major shit because I can’t wipe the smile off my face. I can’t think of one damn adjective that describes how good it felt to be with Natalie that wouldn’t wind up getting me punched. It was magical, okay? Fucking magical and I want more. A lot more.