Chapter 26 - Cross
TWENTY-SIX
CROSS
A surge of uncharacteristic anxiety rolls through my veins as I hurry toward my father’s rooms. Days ago, he told me I’d be sitting in on an upcoming exam for Twenty-Two—the one that will reveal the gender of the child she’s carrying—but the summons had finally come today just before we were due to sit down for our evening meal.
I scrub a hand through my hair as I hurry to join him.
Nolan waits for no one, not even me, and I don’t dare arrive later than what he believes I should.
His expectations have always been ridiculously high, and my entire life has been spent rising to whatever challenge he’s laid out for me.
I don’t want to fail and don’t want to give him any reason to deny me this latest opportunity.
He’ll be impatient now that he’s decided the timing is right, it’s just his nature.
Taking the stairs downward as fast as my feet will carry me, I hit the main corridor and turn left.
There’s some soft music coming from somewhere at the end of the hall.
No doubt my father is playing one of his records again.
I don’t know if he feels like it sets some sort of soothing atmosphere in his exam rooms or what, but I find it oddly disquieting.
I’m also sick of all three albums. I think he brought the turntable here with him in the very beginning.
They’re scratched in spots, and sometimes they skip.
It’s anything but calming. I much prefer my guitar when I need to escape.
“There you are.” My father’s head pokes from the doorway to peer at me. “Ready for this?”
“Definitely.” I give him a brief smile and a nod as I close the distance, hoping I’ve managed to not keep him waiting too long.
“I decided to do this now so it’d be just the two of us present to minimize the uproar in the house until it’s absolutely necessary.
In the past, there have been issues.” I arch a brow, uncertain what he means by that, but at his beckoning, follow him into the room.
It could have to do with the gender of the child.
Or the suspected paternity, maybe? I believe Finneas thinks Twenty-Two’s child is his heir.
But obviously from what Arrow and Cross told us they’ve witnessed my father do, he seems to have a certain claim on her as well despite what he’d said about hoping the child is mine.
My hands go clammy at the thought. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about any of it.
As we enter the room, my eyes land on the woman in question, and I do a double take.
When my father called me in for one of her exams more than a week ago, she’d been clothed from the waist up.
This time, she’s naked as the day she was born, lying on one of the exam tables with her feet in the stirrups.
I stare for several long seconds because I haven’t seen any other woman in a state of complete undress except Delilah …
and certainly not one who is close to bearing a child. I’m awestruck. Curious.
Hiding any sign of trepidation, I move directly to the sink and wash up before snapping on a pair of gloves.
“Any discomfort after last night, dear?” my father questions, resting a hand on the swell of her belly.
“No, nothing.” She smiles faintly at him, exhaling unsteadily as he runs a finger from her clit downward, then parts her vaginal lips and bends at the waist. Her full breasts jiggle a bit as she shifts, and he reaches up with the other hand to squeeze one of her nipples.
Odd. Some of this is not part of a standard third trimester checkup.
His gaze lingers between her legs, gently probing at the opening before inserting his fingers.
The pad of his thumb applies pressure to her clit, and he closes his eyes, feeling around for what seems like a very long time.
Twenty-Two gives a shuddering gasp, and her hips buck involuntarily I think … as if they’re seeking something.
I bite down on my lip, waiting for him to look up from his ministrations, suddenly uncertain of what I’m watching. “Father?”
An odd noise rumbles from his chest before he finally meets my eyes, a smile curving his lips.
His chest heaves as he rights himself, then slowly draws his fingers from her.
“All normal. No dilation or effacement yet.” He chuckles.
“Her cervical opening is closed up tight like a drum. Plug, intact.”
My brow furrows, and I glance at him, wondering at not only the differences in how he performs this procedure, but also the timing of the exam schedule. It’s far different than what’s recommended in the medical texts I’ve been studying. I clear my throat, as he gestures that I should step in.
The concerns I have are mounting and have begun to knock insistently inside my skull.
Our women are brought in for checks far more than is necessary.
My father says his preference is every couple days, but at this stage of pregnancy, it should be two to three weeks between visits.
And pelvic exams aren’t routinely done until the latter part of the third trimester.
Again, my father deviates from standard procedure.
I take a minute to study the deep bluish purple of her flesh, which I noted the other day has to do with increased blood flow, then insert two fingers.
Palpating her cervix, I find her as he’d said, no clear signs of impending labor, simply every indication that she’s in her third trimester from the consistency of her cervix, which makes sense.
By my estimate, she might be thirty-four weeks along, give or take a week.
I remove my fingers, then discard the gloves as the truth barrels into me. Holy shit. Arrow and Hayze had mentioned they’d seen Twenty-Two had been naked in my father’s bed.
Right on the heels of that, my father’s question to her rings in my ears. Any discomfort after last night, dear?
He’s fucking her. But why? It’s just not done. There’s no need. And without knowing the paternity … Fuck. Don’t be obtuse, Cross. The why is obvious. Because he can. Because he wants to.
“Okay, Cross. Tell me what else we might do during an exam in the third trimester.” I quiet the questions that rage inside me. It wouldn’t be wise to question my father, especially not in front of her.
Shoving all that aside, I run through the list I’ve memorized. “Weight and blood pressure check, measure the fundal height, and get a urine sample.”
“And you’re looking for what, son?”
I rattle off every bit of information I can recall from my studies. “Appropriate weight gain and fetal growth. Signs of preeclampsia or gestational diabetes. Infection.” I keep my tone clinical, not deviating from the answers I know he wants.
He nods, seemingly satisfied. “Very good. I took care of those details before you got here so we could focus on the ultrasound.” With a flourish, he gestures to a piece of equipment that sits off to the side of the exam table.
I’ve never been allowed to study it before. Slowly, I nod. “Okay. Is it crazy to assume we’ll get the fetal heart rate at the same time we look at the baby, instead of using the handheld Doppler?”
“Right you are.” My father gives an approving smile as he pushes a button and the screen flickers to life.
There’s some text on the screen and he leans in, fiddling with a dial and a few buttons.
“In addition to the fetus’s heart rate, we’ll also be able to confirm the position of both fetus and placenta, though I did already feel the head is down.
” His lips twitch. “I think you’re going to enjoy this. ”
I let out a low whistle to disguise the discomfort creeping down my spine. “It must have taken you some time to learn how to use this.”
“Well, yes. But I’ll teach you.” He points to a bottle then Twenty-Two’s swollen belly. “Squirt some of that gel on her for me, would you? It helps reduce friction and eliminates air pockets. Ultrasound waves don’t travel well through air.”
My brows shoot up, wondering if my father has any medical texts that’ll help me understand better, but I do as he says. Soon, all the questions I have fly from my head as I watch him work with the equipment.
Touching the transducer to her belly, it slides easily through the slick gel. He flips a lever and all of a sudden there’s sound, the gentle, but rapid whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat fills the room.
My eyes flick to the screen, realizing that an image has appeared. It’s a mangled mess of black and white that makes no sense to me, but my father seems content enough as he continues to work.
“I don’t understand what we’re looking at.” My brows furrow as I watch the rapidly changing image.
“Basically,” Nolan says after a pause, “the equipment produces sound waves that, in turn, echo from internal organs and tissue before sending signals back and relaying them on the screen. That’s what you’re seeing.
” He points to a spot on the display. “See? There’s a little face. Eyes, nose, mouth.”
My brows dart upward. “Oh.”
“If the babe cooperates, we might get a glimpse of the sex. It can be tricky.”
“And the cheek swab and blood testing that you told me about? When—?” My mouth snaps shut on my question at the sudden grim look that comes over my father’s features.
He glances up from the screen before quietly murmuring, “I’ve already done that testing.”
My eyes widen as realization dawns. He’s already done it. “The last time you took a sample from us. That’s what you were doing.”
He spares me only the barest glance. “Yep.”
“I didn’t realize …” My head tangles as I attempt to make sense of all that. “But how does that work? How do you—?”
There’s an uncomfortable beat before he answers. “We send the samples off to a lab.”
“Oh,” I mumble, digesting that information.
And then, to my surprise, he continues quickly, “It was one of the errands Finneas was due to complete on his supply run.” His lips press together, agitation rising. “Of course, we won’t know the results until we can get back to pick them up.”
And suddenly, it’s blatantly obvious why the Collective has been so fucking out of sorts about the bridge.
It was never about the lack of ability to get supplies.
I’d thought it was curious that we have the capability to sustain ourselves for months on end and then they’d been thrown into a fucking state of panic over having to rebuild the bridge.
Granted, it’s been awful to feel like we were cut off and unable to procure more supplies, but it shouldn’t have been nearly the emergency it’d been made out to be.
Finneas must really want to know who this child belongs to for him to be pushing so hard for us to rebuild so quickly.
That realization leads to a whole host of other questions. Why? What does it matter? What’s mine is yours and all that …
But it does matter because while they don’t ever discuss it, I know they named Finneas as leader because he’d impregnated One and Two almost simultaneously at the very beginning.
Hayze and Dragan were born the same month, just days apart.
The other three weren’t successful in their attempts at procreation until many, many moons later.
A knock on the door interrupts any further thought on the matter as well as anything else my father might have told me. He tears his gaze from the screen, clearly agitated, then bites out, “Enter,” before continuing to sweep the transducer over Twenty-Two’s stomach.
The door swings open to reveal Delilah standing there with Eight behind her. My heart thumps wildly at the appearance of my blonde-haired fury. What the fuck is she doing here? Our eyes meet and lock before she remembers herself and lowers her gaze to the floor.
“You may come in, sweetheart,” my father rasps. “We’re ready for you.”