Chapter Twenty-nine
Lucas
I still can’t believe Ryder is back in town. When Regan told me yesterday, I wanted to go over and see him, but we both thought it would be better if I waited for him to reach out. Or for word to get around that he’s here. Which shouldn’t take long if he steps foot outside her shop.
But we agreed on one thing—not to tell him he’s going to be an uncle.
She still doesn’t know I told Blake and Dallas. I swore them to secrecy.
In the same conversation, Dallas swore us to secrecy about his upcoming proposal as well. He’s going to ask Marti to marry him. We’ve all known it was coming. They’ve been living together for months, along with her son, Charlie. But we assumed it might take longer for him to get there after all he’s been through. Losing his first wife and son several years ago really did a number on him.
He, of all people, deserves a happy ending. I stare off in the distance at the rear entrance of the doctor’s office. Do I?
Finally, after sitting in my car for twenty-five minutes, I get a text.
Regan: Dr. Russo will meet you at the back door in two minutes.
Me: I’ll be there.
I hop out of my car, race stealthily across the lot, and stand near the door, shifting my weight from foot to foot in nervous anticipation.
What feels like hours later, but is most likely only seconds, the door opens and an older lady wearing a white coat appears. “Mr. Montana, come in. I’ve got Regan in the room right over here.”
She motions to a door very near where she’s standing and ushers me through to where Regan is sitting on an exam table.
“I appreciate you going through all the trouble,” I say, removing my ball cap.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to bring a father in discreetly,” the doctor says. “You can sit there. We’re going to do Regan’s ultrasound. I like to make sure the pregnancy is viable before we go into all the specifics. Assuming we find a heartbeat, we’ll discuss the next steps.”
“We’re going to see the baby?” I ask.
“That’s the hope. At seven weeks, the fetus should be about the size of a coffee bean, or M&M if you prefer. About one centimeter in length.”
I smile and look at Regan. “M&M? As in Mitchell Montana? That’s got to be a sign.”
Regan rolls her eyes and lies back.
Dr. Russo holds up a long wand sheathed in what looks like an oversized condom and lubes it up. “This might feel strange.”
Regan giggles. “That? Oh, that’s nothing.” She catches my eyes and grins widely.
Now I’m the one rolling my eyes.
The doctor studies the ultrasound screen for a minute and types on the keyboard with her left hand as she holds the wand inside Regan with her right. Then she points. “This here, that black space, is the amniotic fluid. And this right here is the baby. I can visibly see cardiac activity.”
She pushes a button on the keyboard, and we hear a fast-paced thump thump thump echo throughout the exam room. “Fetal heart rate is one hundred sixty beats per minute. Perfect.”
Regan lets out a huge sigh.
Dr. Russo points out some anatomy that I have trouble deciphering. “This bulge is the heart. Right now, your baby is in the fetal pole stage, which means it’s curved and has a tail similar to a tadpole. When we do the anatomy scan between eighteen and twenty-two weeks, you’ll see quite a difference.”
Regan rises up on her elbows. “So everything looks normal?”
“It does. You’re measuring right at seven weeks. And based on your last menstrual period, that puts the due date at—”
“March 14 th ,” I say.
The doctor looks up. “I see you’ve been doing your homework.” She removes the wand, throws out the condom thing, and places it back in the holder. “I’ll step out for a moment to let you put your pants on, Regan. Normally, I’d have you come to my office for a talk, but why don’t we just do it here to reduce the risk of prying eyes. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She hands a strip of black-and-white photos to Regan. “These are for you.”
As she leaves the room, Regan stares at the printouts. “It’s really happening.”
I pull the chair closer, but I’m not looking at the photos. I’m looking at her . She’s so happy she’s practically glowing. And she’s so goddamn beautiful.
She looks up from the photos and chuckles. “Why, Lucas Montana, don’t tell me you’re getting all teary-eyed over this.”
I sniff and straighten my spine, trying to man the fuck up. “Me? No, uh—”
She touches my arm and a bolt of electricity shoots through me. “I’m kidding. But isn’t this exciting!”
“That it is.”
She sits up and makes a face. “Lucas? Can you hand me some tissues? I’m all lubed up down there.”
I swallow and try to think of anything else but how slippery she might be down there .
Well, shit.
I curse my burgeoning erection as I hand Regan the tissues.
She doesn’t fail to notice my rising problem, and her eyes home in on my crotch. “Are you seriously turned on right now? Here. In the doctor’s office?”
“Like I can help it.” I sit back down, hoping for some camouflage. “It’s a perfectly natural physiological reaction to a beautiful half-naked woman talking about how slippery her pussy is.”
She laughs out loud. “Did you just say pussy?”
“I did. Why? Did it turn you on?”
She laughs again. But I swear, for one brief moment, she’s trying to decide if it did.
“Lucas, I threw up five times this morning, and my boobs hurt so much they’re practically throbbing. If you think there’s any way in hell I could be turned on right now, you’re crazy.” She wipes her crotch. “Anyway, your job is done.” She holds out the tissues. “Here.”
I look at the soiled tissues like they carry the plague.
Her eyes roll. “Lucas, if you can’t touch a few tissues with KY Jelly on them, how will you ever change a diaper?”
I take them from her carefully, holding them only with the tips of my fingers, and cross the room to deposit them in the trash. Yup, that did the trick, my boner is definitely gone.
Regan gets off the table and puts on her pants. Well, not pants. Tights. Bright blue ones. And damn it if I don’t feel another tingle below the belt.
“How are things going with Ryder?” I ask.
“Fine. He’s manning the shop.”
“Ryder? Selling women’s clothing? I find that hard to believe.”
“If he wants to keep crashing at my place rent free, he’s going to help when I need it.”
“You think he’s going to stay in Calloway Creek?”
“I do.”
“It’ll be nice to reconnect with him. If you think he’d still want to be friends after finding out I knocked you up.”
“I think Ryder will need all the friends he can get.”
“Good.” I nod. “That’s good.”
In spite of the fact that I had ulterior motives for becoming his friend way back when, I was always glad I did. We had a lot in common. We both liked sports and video games. We were interested in going to the same college. And we both got our degrees in business.
When he took up with Amy, I saw him less and less. When they moved in together our senior year, he became almost a stranger. They took off to her hometown after graduation, and other than his wedding soon thereafter, and the occasional phone call, I have no idea what he’s been doing.
There’s a knock on the door and Dr. Russo comes back into the room. She pulls over the rolling stool and looks from me to Regan. “Well then, let’s go over the usual things. Regan, as with any geriatric pregnancy, there are—”
“Excuse me,” I say, brows knit. “Geriatric?”
“Regan is over thirty-five. That places her at an advanced maternal age. It comes with elevated risks.”
I turn to Regan. “Did you know about this?”
“Relax, Lucas. I just turned thirty-five. It’s going to be fine.”
“Most likely, it will,” Dr. Russo says. “But I’ll still go over the risks. You have a higher chance of miscarriage, preeclampsia, gestational diabetes, premature birth, and chromosomal and other genetic disorders. And with your BMI being what it is, there are compounding risks. We’ll keep a close eye on your blood pressure as you’re at risk for gestational hypertension.”
“I’ll buy her one of those home machines,” I say.
The doctor nods. “Being proactive will definitely help.”
“What else can we do?”
Regan looks at me and smiles. Does she like how I said ‘we?’ Because I sure as hell do. But then her words from earlier echo through my head. ‘Your job is done.’
“Make sure all of your preventative care is up to date,” the doc says. “Take a prenatal vitamin that includes folic acid. Exercise regularly, even if it’s just a brisk walk through the park. Don’t smoke or use alcohol. Reduce stress levels and get plenty of sleep. Eat a healthy diet with plenty of fruits, vegetables and whole grains. And with your BMI, I’d like you to keep your weight gain to less than twenty pounds.”
“Not a problem with as much as I’ve been vomiting,” Regan says.
“That may be true now, but your morning sickness will probably go away as you near the second trimester.”
They talk about her weight for a minute, but I’m still stuck on a few horrible words the doctor said. “Miscarriage… premature birth… genetic disorders. That’s a lot of scary shit, Doctor. Pardon my French.”
“I don’t mean to scare you. We’ll do blood testing around ten weeks to rule out chromosomal abnormalities. I’ll have you come in for early glucose screening. If you start experiencing frequent headaches, contact me.” She pats Regan’s hand. “Odds are you and the baby will be fine. Your chances of having a healthy baby are still much higher than miscarriage.” She stands. “I’ll see you back here once a month until the third trimester. Should any problems arise with blood pressure or whatnot, we will increase that frequency. You can meet with Janice out front to work out the billing.”
“I’m not going out front,” I say, locking eyes with Regan. “But I’ll be paying for all of it.” I pull a business card out of my pocket. “Can this Janice be discreet?”
“We’re all bound by HIPAA,” Dr. Russo says, taking my card. “I’ll have her bill you.”
I laugh. “HIPAA or not, we all know rumors spread like wildfire in this town.”
Dr. Russo nods. “I’ll do everything in my power to prevent that. But sooner or later…”
“We’re just hoping for later,” Regan says, sliding down from where she sat on the exam table. She takes my business card back from the doctor. “I’ll pay it myself.” She looks at me. “You can transfer me the funds after.”
“That might be wise,” the doctor says, confirming my fears. She motions to the door. “Shall I escort you out the back, Mr. Montana?”
Right. Regan is going out the front. Alone . I’ll quietly leave while she pays the bill and goes back to work. There will be no gushing over the ultrasound pictures. No talking about the excitement of hearing the heartbeat. No walking out of the doctor’s office hand-in-hand discussing what will happen when we find out the sex of the baby. Just the two of us going about our separate lives.
A deep sense of sadness washes over me when I realize this is the life I’ve subjected myself to.