Chapter 32
I ’ve successfully dodged Carter all day.
After the ten-thousandth call, I texted him back, stating that I was at Oliver’s and that I needed space and time to think.
I felt bad for ignoring him for as long as I did.
I wasn’t trying to hurt him—I’d never want to do that.
It’s just that everything feels like it’s been parachuted on top of me, and I need a minute to breathe.
A moment to regroup and get control over the situation that has zero chance of being controlled.
Him telling me that we were going to have to cut back my work schedule was my breaking point. I hadn’t realized how close I was to hitting it until he dropped that on me, and I lost it completely.
I took an Uber down to Oliver’s house in Chestnut Hill—thankful I was smart enough to leave with my phone and purse this time.
At my call, he turned off the alarm and unlocked the front door for me.
He didn’t ask me why I was running to him in the middle of the night.
He didn’t ask me what had happened with his brother.
He just gave me a hug and showed me to the guest room, knowing I wasn’t ready to talk.
I spent the rest of that morning thinking things over. Deciding what I want and how I want it and how I’ll make it happen.
The bright side is my blood work came back. Everything is normal with the exception of my HCG (the hormone your body produces when it’s pregnant) level that came back over 7500.
Pregnant for sure.
I went to the hospital this morning and repeated the test to make sure those numbers increase—hopefully double—from my initial test. Now I’m here, sitting in front of my neurologist.
I still have to find an OB or midwife. I have to think about what genetic testing I want done.
If I want to learn the sex. But this appointment needed to come first. I need to come up with a safe plan for this pregnancy that takes my epilepsy into consideration.
I also want to know if it’s safe for me to work. If he tells me it’s not, I’ll listen.
It’ll break my heart, but the baby comes first.
“I appreciate you squeezing me in,” I tell Dr. Bates, sitting up straight in his office chair that feels more like what they electrocute people in.
“It’s my pleasure. Tell me what brought you here today. Have you had another seizure?”
“No. I’m pregnant. About six weeks along.”
“I see.” He sits back in his cushy office chair, rocking gently. “And you’re concerned about how your epilepsy will affect the pregnancy?”
“Yes. I want to know from a neuro standpoint what precautions I should take. What things I’m still safe to do.”
“Proper seizure control is the primary goal in treating pregnant women with epilepsy. That said, many of the medications we prescribe are dangerous for the growing fetus. Some interact with essential vitamins like folic acid. Psychological, hormonal, and pharmacokinetic changes in pregnancy may escalate seizure activity. But other than that break through seizure you had and taking as needed benzos, you haven’t been on regular medication in about a year. ”
“I’d rather not start on anything new unless I absolutely have to.”
“No. I don’t advise it. The loading doses of those medications alone aren’t safe.
Your third trimester is another issue, as I’m sure you know, but we can address that when it gets closer and see how your body is responding to the pregnancy.
Honestly, your best course of treatment right now is to continue exactly what you’ve been doing these last four years.
Exercise. Eat well. No alcohol or drugs, but that’s a given with your pregnancy anyway.
Sleep when your body tells you it needs it and then get some extra whenever you can.
Be warned, if you have any concerning symptoms, mild or severe alike, we will have to readdress this plan.
I’d like to get regular EEGs. Say once a month just to confirm we’re on the right track. ”
I blow out a breath only to suck one immediately back in. My hands clasp onto the wooden arms of the chair, white knuckling the ancient timber that creaks beneath my grasp. “What about work?”
He grins knowingly, reading my trepidation for precisely what it is.
“I don’t see why you can’t continue your residency as you’ve been doing.
I wouldn’t sign up for extra shifts and you will require extra breaks, rest, and snacks, as I mentioned.
But you’ve been doing this for two years already, Grace and medical school prior to that.
Your body is used to the rigors of your practice. I think you should be just fine.”
I walk out of his office feeling exalted. Vindicated. There’s no turning back now. Passion and love. Both of which I desperately hope Carter is still on board with.
Still, I can’t find it in me to call him.
I’m angry. I’m hurt. His words, his previous actions after my last seizure, none evoke a great deal of trust. I know I need to communicate more, I own that, but he has to stop trying to control and take over everything I do.
Trust is a two-way street and neither of us has breached that divide yet.
It’s as if everything Janet said to me about Carter was dead on right and I cannot let that stand. I won’t. If he wants to keep me, he’s going to have to work with me, not against me.
First, I need to tell him it looks like Luna Longbottom is definitely pregnant, likely six weeks along.
I need to tell him a lot of things. And while every fiber of my being aches for him…
I’m lost in fear. Fear that he will continue what he’s already been doing—pushing me out.
Fear that by doing that he’ll make me choose—my career or him.
What if falling so hopelessly for Carter, giving him everything that I am, turns out to be my biggest mistake of all?
It might be.
It truly might.
But I refuse to choose one or the other. I want them both.
I have to take a leap of faith. He says he’s wanted me all along—deep down I know he has. I’ve been the hold-up. Not anymore. I’m ready. Even before I found out about this baby, I think I was there. It took me a while, battle wounds take longer to heal and even after they do, they leave scars.
But I can’t let the scars of my past dictate my future.
I’ll miss too much by doing that.
I’ll miss out on Carter and that would be the biggest mistake of all.
I meander my way through the farmer’s market, lost in my introspection.
About this baby. About Carter. About what the next chapter of my life will look like.
It’s a lot to take in. Nearly too much to process.
Especially with so much uncertainty looming.
By the time I decide I’m ready to go home and face Carter, it’s well past late.
I stop at a Dunkin Donuts since I’m looking for quick and easy and grab a muffin, eating it on my way home.
Not exactly the best or healthiest of dinners, but starting tomorrow, that will all change.
I’m going to eat regular meals. Healthy meals—no more junk unfortunately.
I’m going to do whatever I have to do for me and this baby.
For all of us.
My thoughts battle, my nerves war as I finally open the door to the condo. I have no illusions. He’s supremely pissed off that I ran out on him and then didn’t pick up when he called. I was too fired up and anything that would have come out of my mouth in that moment, would have only hurt us more.
No. This distance was essential.
It got my head and my heart straightened out. Allowed me to think on my own without anyone else’s thoughts or opinions weighing me down.
I step inside, locking the door behind me and dropping my keys in the small bowl on the foyer table.
My heart thrums out an uneven beat as I slip off my shoes and quietly pad toward the kitchen and great room.
Carter is standing there, his hair in disarray, wearing nothing but a pair of flannel pajama pants.
The look in his eyes pulls me up short. They’re breathing fire and thunder, loud and explosive without him even having to say a word. The air changes, crackling with turmoil, my breaths coming out choppy.
He jerks forward, like he’s ready to launch at me, only to stop short.
He’s blazing with intensity, with lust, with love, I think.
But beneath all that, lurks the questions.
The threat of potential heartache. I stumble back a step, colliding with the wall behind me.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this level of standoff wasn’t it.
No turning back.
“Carter,” I start, licking my lips. “I—”
In a second, he’s in front of me, his dark eyes consuming my vision as his fingers ghost over my lips. He doesn’t say anything. Just shakes his head, but the meaning is unmistakable.
Not yet. Not tonight.
I worked myself up, created the perfect script in my head, but he doesn’t want to hear it. My face burns, scorching my eyes and the tip of my nose as I do everything I can not to cry.
Tremors overtake my knees and just as I’m about to shove him away and run, he whispers, “Come with me.” Fingers grasp mine, gently squeezing. His voice is low and smooth, but it hits me so deep it compels me to allow him to lead us through the kitchen, down the hall, and into his bedroom.
I glance around, finding my robe hanging on the back of the open closet door and I’m positive I didn’t leave it there the last time I wore it. Upon entering the bathroom, a gasp flees my lips. All of my things are in here. My toiletries, hairdryer, all of it.
Did he move me into his room?
Something about that alleviates some of the unease from my chest.
Carter wants me.
He knew I’d come back. He was giving me space and time. Precisely what I asked for. And as he starts the shower, it seems he’s giving us a little more. No words tonight. Just simple, straightforward movements and actions that feel anything but.
He undresses me, taking care to remove my jeans and underwear, kissing and caressing my lower belly as he goes.
My stomach quivers at that, those tears threatening once more.
My shirt and bra are next and once I’m completely naked before him, he strips down too, starts the shower, and guides me in under the warm spray.
My eyes fall closed as his hands rake through the tresses of my hair, wetting them and massaging in shampoo.
His shampoo, though mine is now directly beside his.
My caveman is staking his claim, branding me in his scent, and I have no complaints about it.
His brand of possession swarms my chest until I have to gulp for air.
It’s consuming. Raw. Passion-filled and without mercy.
It makes my bones ache and now I can’t stop the tears.
They fall, some silent, others not.
Carter doesn’t stop. He washes out the shampoo and starts in on the conditioner. His body wash is next, touching, caressing me with scented suds without lingering. There is nothing sexual about this. It’s purposeful and that hits me on a different level.
Carter and I have been ravenous for each other from the start.
He moves me in here, to his room, but he hasn’t kissed me.
His heated eyes have sought, but they’ve not explored.
Is this him proving he wants to take care of me—that he wants me for more than just sex and fun—or is he done with that side of us because I got angry and ran out and now he’s just playing the role of the baby daddy?
I shudder and shake, wanting answers to my questions, but refusing to put sound to them. He’s not speaking. Not a word or a sound. Only the water slapping against the marble and my tears breach the silence.
I came home tonight, ready to fight for him, to tell him I was ready and that I want this.
Him. And now here we are, and I don’t… I’m doing everything he said I do.
Overthinking and allowing my thoughts to stray to bad places.
But he knows I do this. He knows! And he’s still staying silent, not allowing me to speak.
The water abruptly shuts off, the kiss of the cool air-conditioned air hits my skin, making me explode in goose bumps. Carter swathes me in a fluffy white towel, another for my hair, and then he’s gone, a towel around his waist.
When he returns, he’s dressed in boxer briefs and nothing else, but he has one of his T-shirts and a pair of my panties. Nothing special. Just a plain satin thong, since those are all I generally wear.
I can’t meet his eyes.
I can’t meet my own in the mirror as I brush my hair and teeth.
This is not how I saw any of this going. I expected quick words and sharp tongues. I expected heat and passion and love. Carter is achingly tender and it’s throwing me off completely. On any other night, I would welcome this, but not tonight.
“Carter?” I finally manage as the lights are off and we’re in his bed, his arms around me, his chest to my back.
“Shhh,” he shushes. “Not tonight, sweetheart. Tonight we’re just going to get some rest. We need rest.”
He drops a kiss to the crook of my neck and then settles in, holding me, forcing my mentally and physically exhausted body to eventually succumb to sleep. Leaving me bereft. Reeling. Grappling with more questions and no answers.
Scared that it’s too late to fix this.
Especially when I wake up alone and realize he’s already gone.