Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“He works alone,” I explain. “And he only sees a few private patients.”
She looks at me, understanding dawning on her. “Is he some sort of shady doctor you pay off? Is that where we're going?”
“He's not shady. I trust him,” I counter. “He's never steered me wrong, and he specializes in obstetrics. You'll be in good hands—I would never let anyone touch you if I didn't trust them. You know that, right?”
“Of course.” Still, it does nothing to erase the anxiety in her features. What I don't want to mention, what I would rather not burden her with, is I'd rather not take her somewhere we could be spotted. Somewhere Jack might be able to pay off some dipshit nurse for Bianca's records. Is it likely that would happen? Probably not, but it is a possibility.
“Come in, come in.” Doctor Oscar waves us into the small, outdated waiting room with paneled walls and faded carpet. Do I not pay him enough to renovate? After introducing himself and shaking Bianca's hand, he says, “I understand you're here for an ultrasound today, Bianca.”
“That's what I've been told,” Bianca jokes with a nervous laugh. True, this was my idea, but I hate seeing her so nervous.
He offers a grandfatherly chuckle that matches his general appearance and demeanor before patting her shoulder. “You'll be just fine. Nothing wrong with making sure everybody's healthy. Callum here wouldn't be the first father who wanted a little extra peace of mind.”
We end up in a typical exam room: white walls, a tiled floor, a table complete with stirrups, and an overhead light. The machinery beside the table is, I assume, what will be used for the ultrasound. It's clear the money he hasn't put into renovations has gone to equipment, and I can't pretend to disapprove. The room might be cramped, but my little bird will receive good care and that's all that matters.
He gestures to the folded gown waiting at the foot of the table. “Take your time and make yourself comfortable. I'll need you to strip from the waist down, and you can use the gown for modesty. There's also a sheet you can drape over your legs.”
“Thank you.” She eyes me, but I shake my head. I'm not leaving her alone in here. Not with her looking so jittery and shifting her weight from one foot to the other while her gaze bounces over the instruction posters on the walls. The typical sort of thing you'd find in the doctor's office—anatomy and the like, this time focused on fetal development and the mother's health.
Is she overwhelmed? Still feeling touchy after the conversation with Tatum? No matter the reason, I'm staying with her. The doctor seems to get the hint, offering a small smile before stepping outside and closing the door. He can play the benevolent doctor all he wants, but he knows who pays his bills and keeps him in this office after his penchant for writing scripts for cash got him in trouble.
Once we're alone, she lets out a shaky breath. “I don't know why I'm so nervous,” she confesses with a soft laugh, wringing her hands together.
“You're going to be fine. This is more for my peace of mind than anything. I know they said you were doing okay at the hospital, but I would like to be sure. And hey, we still don't have a due date.”
“That's true.” She goes through the motions of removing her shoes and leggings, then her thong. Once she's seated with the gown covering her, she stares down at her lap and fidgets, picking at her nails.
“Hey. Is there something you're not telling me? Some reason why you're so nervous?” I brace myself, expecting her to tell me she's been cramping or bleeding and didn't want to worry me. It would kill me to lose this baby, but I wouldn't be surprised with all the stress and trauma she's endured, either.
“I don't know. I'm anxious, I guess. I still feel guilty. And I'm afraid all our dreams will be for nothing if we get bad news here.”
“We aren't going to.” Standing in front of her, between her knees, I slip my hands beneath the sheet draped over them. “Take a deep breath. It's time to start expecting the best instead of the worst. All of that shit is behind us now.”
“You're probably right.” She won't look at me, though, her voice detached.
“How can I help? What can I do to relax you?”
“I wish there was something. I really do.” The worry lines between her brows deepen when she glances toward the equipment that will soon be used. “What if there's something wrong?”
“There won't be.” No amount of reassurance will fix this, that much is obvious. What else can I do to ease her nerves? Strange, the things that come into a man's head at a time like this.