Chapter Seven - Rachel
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rachel
I should’ve known. Like, l really should’ve known that something was going on.
I’ve never been to the emergency room before, but I’m fairly certain the nurses don’t usher patients to private suites or stick their heads in every few minutes to ask if I’d like more ice chips or warm blankets.
Aren’t ERs supposed to be wild and chaotic? The waiting room certainly was, so why would I, a pregnant twenty-two-year-old with the lowest level of health insurance available, be treated like I’m some sort of royalty?
That’s when the anxious thoughts—which have been relentless between my work schedule and the first trimester of my surprise pregnancy—go silent, and I realize with terrifying clarity just how aware I am of Ryder Bates.
I can’t see or hear him, but I swear I can feel him.
My fingertips fiddle with the bandage over my arm where the IV had been before the nurse took it out ten minutes ago. My toes curl, tugging the thin socks down my ankles, and my ears ring like they’re desperate for the honey-smooth sound of his voice to reach them.
“Miss Lance?” I barely hear the doctor—whose name I forgot as soon as he told it to me—because that’s when I finally hear it.
“Which room?” he barks, and, somehow, the sound is still sweet enough to be considered a lullaby.
The doctor must notice something strange, too, because he doesn’t attempt to get my attention again. We both look to the door just in time for it to swing open, hitting the wall with a bang that makes me jump.
Thick beads of sweat slide down his forehead, wetting the black t-shirt that spans over his broad chest. His shoulders rise and fall with concerning speed, and his nostrils flare with each intake of breath.
And his eyes…
Those eyes, which are always so contemplative and thoughtful, are burning with purified rage in a glare solely directed at me.
How the hell did he find me?
I don’t get to see the undoubtedly confused nurses bustling in the hall before Ryder slams the door shut behind him. I wonder if he even notices the doctor in the room with us because he doesn’t spare a glance at anything aside from me.
I’m about to break the tense silence by announcing the doctor’s presence, but I don’t get the chance.
“Mr. Bates,” the doctor exclaims, seeming a lot more star-struck than surprised. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I can assure you we’ve been caring for Miss Lance with the utmost excellence.”
My jaw goes slack.
What the…
With what seems like a great deal of effort, Ryder drags his eyes away from me and manages to hold out a cordial hand to the doctor.
“I’ll be sure to inform Mr. Moreno of your dedication, Dr. Rocha.” His eyes snap back to me. “Could you give Miss Lance and me a moment of privacy?”
“That’s not necessary,” I assure him.
“Of course, sir,” Dr. Rocha says, completely ignoring me. He leaves with a respectful nod to Ryder.
I make a point of not looking him in the eyes once Dr. Rocha leaves us, but I don’t cower either. I scoot up on the bed and meticulously adjust the covers around me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask and want to pat myself on the back for saying it without letting the words shake.
“What. Am I. Doing. Here?” he repeats, drawing out each word with deadly precision.
One gentle but unyielding hand grips my chin and tilts my head upward.
Rage flashes in his eyes like lightning. Wrath swirls in black clouds that not only block the light but suck any hint of radiance from existence. It’s a vicious storm, ready to wreak havoc until everything in its path is demolished.
And I am currently in that path.
I’ve rarely seen any emotion touch Ryder’s features, so this unbridled outrage is almost as fascinating as it is scary.
But scary definitely wins.
“What the hell were you thinking by not telling me you were here?” The voice that usually wraps around me like velvet tightens around my throat like it’s been a noose all along.
The ease with which he talks to me like I’m a petulant child is what triggers my anger.
I jerk my head away and push him off me. Then, before he can reach for me again, I scramble to my feet on the opposite side of the bed, glad to have the piece of furniture between us, though I know it won’t stop him if he wants to dominate my space again.
“Last I checked, I don’t answer to you.”
“Last I checked, you’re carrying my baby, which means I have a right to know when said baby requires a hospital stay.”
“The baby is fine,” I tell him. “I didn’t want to worry you over nothing.”
“Didn’t want to worry me over nothing?” His humorless laugh is chilling. “You were rushed to the emergency room after passing out at work! That’s not nothing. Your blood pressure was at levels that could harm the baby, and you didn’t think it was something I needed to know?”
His effortless balance of aggression and concern is almost intriguing enough to distract me from the real meaning of his words.
“How do you know about my blood pressure? Isn’t that a private record?” I ask, as another fact processes. “How do you know my doctor? How does he know you? And how did you know I was here in the first place?”
The questions pour out of me, and with them, the realization that I might not know the man whose child I carry half as well as I thought.
It’s been a month since Ryder and I confirmed the pregnancy.
By that time, I was twelve weeks along. My menstrual cycles have always been unpredictable, so I didn’t even notice when my period was absent for so long.
Since Ryder and I constantly use protection, I never considered pregnancy as a possibility.
Except we didn’t use protection the night we met.
I’d expected to be filled with dread at the news that a man I barely know put a baby in me, but—aside from the initial shock—I’ve felt nothing but excitement.
I’ve always wanted to be a mother. Of course, I thought it’d come years from now, once I was settled into a career and married to the father.
But this works, too.
I’m not sure what I expected Ryder’s reaction to be, seeing as I made it a point to keep communication to a minimum when we were together, but I was caught off guard by his…
optimism. Where the best men in our arrangement would’ve graciously accepted this responsibility, it was almost like Ryder hoped something like this would happen.
After we confirmed the pregnancy, I thought we’d sit down and figure out what this means for us—for our future.
That didn’t happen.
Instead, Ryder moved back to Los Angeles—where he apparently lives—only days after we learned about the baby.
In the weeks we spent our nights together, I was determined to make things as uncomplicated as possible.
It seemed simple enough—he calmed my anxiety, and we were physically compatible.
We didn’t need pillow talk or relationship expectations, only each other's company.
Unfortunately, in this attempt to give my mind regular quiet time, I neglected to learn that Ryder never actually lived in Sacramento but was only here temporarily for work.
In the past month, I’ve seen him once when he flew in for an appointment that I had last week.
He calls me every night, and it’s easily the most awkward part of my day.
We barely talked when we were in person, so making phone calls feel normal is a chore that neither of us feels particularly passionate about.
We’ve settled for an awkward silence in between him asking how I’m feeling, what I’ve had to eat, and how much sleep I’m getting.
I should’ve asked more questions when Ryder said he was moving back to LA for work, but I didn’t think it mattered.
Now, sitting in a hospital suite across from a man who made my doctor tremble in fear and awe, tracked me down when I was brought to the emergency room, knows my medical records, and whose baby is inside me right now, I wish I’d asked more questions.
A lot more questions.
One moment, Ryder’s a ball of tension, ready to burst with frustration, and the next, he’s the picture of perfect neutrality. His hands, which were balled into fists, fall to his sides, and his jaw relaxes from its rigid lock.
“That’s not something you need to worry about,” he says, with no hint of the poisonous thorn that’s been biting into me throughout our entire conversation.
I scan the room, wishing someone else was here to confirm how strange this encounter is. It’s like someone is flipping a switch between his moods.
“Let me get this straight. You need to worry when I’m diagnosed with high blood pressure, which I’ve always had and am fully capable of handling on my own, but I don’t need to worry about the fact that you could track me down, access my medical records, and influence my doctors?”
“You cannot handle this on your own,” he states matter-of-factly.
Of course, that’s all he gets from what I said. And as if this isn’t already a confusing conversation, Ryder’s next words stun me.
“You’re moving to LA with me.”
We sit in a silence that I can’t bring myself to acknowledge is awkward because I’m too busy waiting for the punch line to whatever joke he’s trying to tell.
Unless he isn’t joking.
“Excuse me?” I ask, and the two words are choked and breathless.
Ryder doesn’t miss a beat. “I need to stay in Los Angeles for work, and you’re coming with me.”
The laughter that pours out of me is not amused but a haunted sound that makes me wonder if I’m starting to lose my sanity.
Ryder’s stony neutrality is unmoving despite my boisterous laughter bouncing off the walls.
“I’m sorry,” I say between fits of giggles. “I could’ve sworn you just suggested I move to LA with you.”
“I’m not suggesting it,” he states. “I’m informing you that you’ll be moving to LA with me.”
My laughter dies, but the hysteria is very much alive.
“You’re serious.”
He nods sharply.
“Ryder,” I start, shaking my head almost manically. “I can’t just pick up and move across the state because you said so. I have work, school, and friends. My parents are here, for heaven’s sake! There is absolutely no way that’s going to happen.”
He scoffs, taking one leisurely step after another around the bed and lifting a hand to tick off items as he talks.
“Work has already been dealt with. You’re no longer employed by that dump of a pub.
School isn’t an issue either. You’ll transfer to the online program and finish remotely.
Your only two friends just moved away for their respective jobs.
” He’s standing a foot away by the time he ticks his fourth finger.
“And your parents are working ten-hour shifts, six days a week, for their landscaping company that’s barely making ends meet.
They hardly have time to eat, let alone see you. ”
With one last step, we’re chest to chest. I’m backed against the hospital wall with Ryder’s muscular arms caging me in on either side.
“Do you really think that staying here will help anything? Working that job could be life-threatening to our child, and finishing your degree in addition to that? Absolutely not. Shay and Rosie won’t be around to help you, and neither will your parents.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I blink them away.
I know I’m not in an ideal situation, but I’m doing my best, and he can hardly belittle me for doing what’s necessary to make ends meet. As he’s so eloquently stated, it’s not like I have a large support system to rely on.
“Come to LA with me,” he says, and the soothing voice that I’ve come to find comfort in wraps around me like a blanket.
The mask of indifference slips away, and there’s a genuine plea in his eyes.
“I’ll support you and the baby. All you’ll have to focus on is school.
Your parents and friends won’t have to worry about you.
You’ll be cared for, and, more importantly, the baby will be safe. ”
“I barely even know you,” I whisper, but it’s a weak protest, and even I know it.
With a charming lift of one eyebrow, he holds out one hand in the minimal space between us.
“I’m Ryder Andrew Bates, the father of your child and a man who protects what’s important to him.” He gently tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “And you, Rachel Anne Lance, mother of my child, are very important to me.”
My hand—which would normally ache with the need to pop my knuckles when put on the spot like this—tingles with the desire to take his outstretched one.
But I can’t do it, right?
“Let me take care of you,” he says, “and our baby.”
This is crazy—certifiably insane.
He’s right, of course. I am in a bad place financially, and my support system is nonexistent. What he’s offering me is the ticket to solving all of my problems like magic.
So, I’ll agree and let him believe that it was his smooth-talking that got me, but in reality, the truth is far simpler.
For the first time in a month, my mind is quiet.
I used Ryder’s effect on my mind to hush the anxiety before I found out about the baby, and then—when I needed the silence most—he left. The last few weeks, I’ve been a tightly wound mess. My mind spirals into all sorts of negative scenarios throughout the day, and I can’t make it stop.
It’s been so bad that when I woke up in the ambulance earlier, I wasn’t even surprised that I’d passed out.
I need to go because, whether I like it or not, Ryder is the only one who can give me the peace I need to get through this pregnancy.
“Okay,” I tell him, hardly able to believe my own words as they pass my lips. “I’ll go with you.”
I expect a smug look to settle on his face, but instead, he looks stunned, like he didn’t expect me to actually agree.
That makes two of us.
Ryder nods, but it seems more to himself than me. “There’s one thing we need to discuss before we go.”
I’m sure there are millions of things we need to discuss before we go, but I humor him anyway.
“And that is?”
“My job.”