Chapter 17
Gail
I wake with a start, the sunlight streaming through the blinds cutting through the dark room like a knife. Blinking away sleep, I groggily rub at my eyes, trying to remember where the hell I am. The events of the past—I mentally count the days—six days come crashing down on me like an avalanche.
Being kidnapped by two insanely hot, fucked-up hockey players, and now… I rub my belly, which has only swelled in my imagination—it’s still flat as ever, making it impossible for anyone to see Fet growing inside of me.
As if summoned by the thought of the life I carry, pangs of hunger hit me so hard I feel dizzy. The hunger strike I’ve been on for the past few days only makes my stomach churn in protest. I whimper, curling myself into a ball, trying to soothe my aching belly. I know I need to eat for both of us, but the thought of putting anything in my mouth given to me by Mickey or Soren makes me want to retch.
They can’t be trusted.
Suddenly, the door bursts open, startling me out of my thoughts. The guys stalk inside, their expressions etched with concern, and I feel my heart leap into my throat. What now?
“Get up, Gail,” Mickey barks, his voice low and authoritative. He jerks his head toward the bathroom. “Shower. Get dressed. We have an appointment you need to be at.”
“What appointment?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.
Soren rolls his eyes like I’m unreasonable for asking. “We need to confirm the pregnancy.”
Slowly, I slide out of the bed, my muscles aching from the days of barely doing anything but lying on the bed. “Fine,” I say icily, lifting my chin for good measure, an attempt at exuding confidence I don’t feel. Since I still don’t have any clothes to wear, I’m greeted by the cold air of the room, and goosebumps immediately break out on my skin and my nipples pebble.
I don’t miss the way both pairs of eyes trail over my naked body, making my stomach twist into a hard knot as their angry faces flash across my mind. The memory of what they did to me when I last showered with them around churns inside me like a storm. Disgust coils around guilt, strangling any remnants of self-respect I’d been clinging to.
Without sparing them as much as a glance, I stride into the bathroom, immediately turning on the shower. Since I still don’t have my pregnancy products, I don’t use any soaps, just the warm water to rinse myself off. I tilt my head back, letting the water cascade around me, trying to ignore the bile rising in my throat.
Closing my eyes doesn’t help, I can still hear them, still feel them—feel their… cum. It’s like a stain on my skin. No amount of scrubbing can wash away the sensation of their jizz on my face and body. I shudder, the self-loathing so intense it’s almost suffocating.
Once I’m done, I dry myself and brush my teeth with the toothbrush Soren gave me the first night. As I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize the hollow-eyed, pale imitation of myself staring back at me. I look haunted, like a ghost of my former self.
Shaking my head, I leave the bathroom and walk back into the bedroom, where they’re waiting for me. At least they allowed me to shower in peace.
“Want me to go to the doctor’s in nothing but my birthday suit?” I quip when I don’t see anything for me to wear.
Soren rolls his eyes, but Mickey actually smiles. Of course, he wipes the evidence of his amusement away as quickly as it arrived, then he scowls like his reaction pisses him off. Tough shit, jerk.
“As entertaining as that would be, you could also wear the clothes in the bag,” Soren deadpans as he holds out a paper bag I didn’t notice him holding until now.
Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, deliciously soft yoga pants, and a pair of black sneakers with black and white laces, perfectly matching my dual colored hair. My damp hair is gathered in a messy bun at the base of my neck, and since I don’t have my wig, the locks are on display.
The bra I’m wearing is so comfortable I barely notice it. Seriously, whoever bought the clothes should get a gold star for guessing my cup size correctly. Most of my own bras are no good anymore, too small for my preggo tits, but this one fits like a dream.
“Thank you.” When my gratitude is met with impassive expressions, I just scoff and walk over to the door Soren’s holding open, gesturing for me to walk through and follow them.
Downstairs, he practically forces an egg and bacon sandwich into my hands with a grumbled, “You need to fucking eat something.” Although I want to flip him off and tell him where to shove the sandwich, I’m too hungry and wolf it down in record time.
“Time to go,” Mickey growls, jerking his head toward the front door.
“I need my things,” I counter, remembering the jackass has my phone, which I need to show the pictures and videos to the doctor. “There are some things the doctor needs to see.”
The guys exchange a look that makes it abundantly clear they don’t trust me, which is fine since I don’t trust them either. Fucking kidnapping me, locking me up, and then taking me to the doctor like I’m a leashed pet they can drag around. Bastards!
“You can have your phone when we’re there,” Soren says.
I sigh dramatically, which in my opinion fits their over the top ridiculous behavior to a T. “Fine.”
Before I have time to mention the lack of a jacket, which is very much needed since March in Minneapolis is still freeze-my-ass-off cold, Mickey tosses one at me. It’s black, so long it reaches my knees, and unbelievably stylish and soft. If they weren’t such assholes, I’d allow them to redo my entire wardrobe since everything so far is spot on.
The drive to Dr. Patel’s office is silent, the kind of silence that screams. It claws at my insides, leaving raw scratches that no one can see. The city blurs past the car windows, a watercolor painting left out in the rain. We arrive, and I’m ushered through sliding doors into a sterile world of antiseptic and anxiety. A receptionist hands me a clipboard weighed down with paperwork, each sheet another shackle to be locked around my wrists.
“Fill these out, please,” she chirps, ignorant of the battle waging within me.
Seated between Mickey and Soren, I scratch answers onto the forms with a pen that feels like a dagger. Judging by the questions, the doctor already knows why we’re here. Good, that makes one of us. I mean, I know why they want to confirm Fet’s existence, but on the other hand, I don’t. It’s not like either of them have jumped up and down with joy, giving me the impression they want Fet.
So… “Why are we here?” I ask, my voice strangled as a thought hits me out of nowhere.
“Why?” Soren scoffs. “To find out if you’re lying or not.”
“And if I’m not?” My heart thunders in my chest, thumping harder for every second my question hangs unanswered in the air between us. “I’m not giving up Fet,” I hiss venomously, my free hand protectively cradling my stomach.
“Just answer the fucking questionnaire,” Mickey growls.
My handwriting shakes, betraying the turmoil I work so hard to contain. Every question is a prying eye, every blank space a demand for confession.
“Need help?” Soren leans in, his breath warm against my ear. His proximity sends a jolt through me—an unwelcome reminder of desires I can’t afford to acknowledge right now.
“I’ve got it,” I snap.
I finish the last question and let the clipboard clatter to the table. My heart hammers—a trapped bird against the cage of my ribs. I glance up to find Mickey watching me, his gaze intense, unyielding.
“Done,” I say, standing too quickly. The room tilts, and strong hands steady me—Mickey’s hands, calloused and unbreakable.
“Steady there,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Wouldn’t want you falling apart on us.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I retort, my voice dripping with sarcasm to mask the fear of why we’re here squeezing my throat.
“Let’s get this over with,” Soren adds, standing and guiding me toward the nurse, who just called my name.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. We walk together—me, a woman on the edge of a precipice; them, the gravity threatening to pull me over. And as we move, I know that whatever happens next, my life will never be the same again.
“We need a urine sample from you,” the nurse says, smiling too widely for my liking. “Follow me.”
She tries to stop the guys from following, but when they make it clear there’s no way they’re leaving me alone, she gives up. Her lack of fight on my behalf is insulting and… fuck, why does it hurt? I kinda already figured they wouldn’t trust me to go anywhere without them, but I was banking on the medical personnel being professionals.
“You’re not watching me pee into the cup,” I hiss when Soren leans his shoulder against the door I’m trying to close.
His green eyes darken as they bore into my blue ones. “Don’t take too long.” That’s all he says before relenting, allowing me the illusion of privacy as I pee. Once I’m done, I put the lid back on and wash my hands. Then I leave the bathroom without looking at them. There’s no need, since I can hear and feel them behind me.
As I hand the cup of urine to the nurse, I have to temper down the urge to ‘accidentally’ spill it all over her lap, since she left me alone with the two jerks. “Dr. Patel will have the result for you in a few,” she chirps. Either she’s oblivious to the tension between me and the guys at my back, or she’s ignoring it.
This time, I don’t sit down. I lean against the wall, wrapping my arms around myself as I wait for us to be called into the examination room. I don’t know how long it takes, but it feels like hours pass by until my name is called and the display above the receptionist flashes a number to let us know what room to go to.
Mickey and Soren flank me as we make our way to the room. The first thing that hits me as we walk inside is the sterile scent that wraps around me like a shroud. My stomach churns, threatening to send the delicious egg and bacon sandwich back up. But luckily, that doesn’t happen.
“Good morning,” Dr. Patel greets us, gesturing toward the three chairs opposite hers, with a big oak desk between us.
Dr. Patel is a petite woman who looks to be in her forties. Her raven black hair is cut in a short, stylish bob, making the locks cradle her jaw. Her brown eyes are cold, oozing with professionalism rather than warmth. It’s so unlike the other times I’ve seen her that I’m momentarily taken aback by the hostility coming from her.
“I was informed this appointment was to confirm Abigail’s pregnancy,” she says, tapping away at her keyboard. “But there’s no pregnancy.” The last part is said without preamble, without emotions.
Dr. Patel puts on a pair of plastic gloves and holds up the test I assume was dipped into my pee. Jesus, I didn’t even notice it on the table. That’s kinda disgusting, even if it is resting on a paper towel.
The guys curse, and I can feel their angry glares digging into my skin like tiny daggers.
“So nothing’s cooking in her oven?” Soren drawls, his tone harsh, his green eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Guys, I’m not lying. I took at least ten tests at home. All positive,” I defend myself, feeling cornered, a wild animal ready to bare teeth.
“Then explain this,” Mickey waves a hand at the negative result, his frustration palpable.
“Maybe she screwed up the test,” Soren suggests, but there’s no real conviction in his voice.
“Right, because peeing on a stick requires a PhD,” I snap back, rolling my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I hold out my hand. “Give me my phone.”
I don’t know if it’s something in my voice or if Mickey is too stunned, either way, he pulls it out of his pocket without a word. Dr. Patel asks me a few questions; why I thought I was pregnant is just one of them. But I tune her out as I scroll through the photo app on my phone.
“Here!” I say, showing her the screen as soon as I find what I’m looking for. “Feel free to scroll. There are at least fifty pictures and some videos.”
My eyes are glued to the doctor as she scrolls, her brows furrowed.
“What is it?” Mickey asks.
“Shouldn’t we all be able to see it?” Soren chimes in, earning an eye roll from yours truly.
“If I’d had time to prepare, I could have brought the cable and hooked my gallery up to her computer,” I quip while gesturing at the sleek, silver laptop on the table.
Without asking permission, Dr. Patel retrieves a USB cable from one of the desk drawers, using it to connect my phone to the laptop. Then she spins the device around so Mickey, Soren, and I can watch the fascinating show, which is basically like a weird ass collection of sticks I’ve peed on. Yeah, I’ve taken pictures of every single one, including the box.
“This is highly unusual,” Dr. Patel says, no longer sounding cold and indifferent. “Are these all different brands as well?”
I shrug. “Some of them.”
“Can you tell me more about the circumstances around taking these tests?” she asks.
I recount the details, trying to keep my voice steady. Mickey and Soren loom on either side of me, a united front of muscle and barely restrained impatience. I can feel the heat radiating off them, their combined energy nearly suffocating. But underneath that, there’s a current of something else—concern, maybe even fear.
Dr. Patel drops the test into the garbage before removing the gloves and washing her hands. When she returns to the desk, she picks up a pen, tapping it against the wood. “There could be a number of reasons for the discrepancy. Stress, hormonal imbalances, or even a faulty batch of home tests.”
“Faulty batch?” Soren repeats skeptically. “Even when it’s so many different ones?”
“Or maybe the problem is with your damn test,” Mickey adds, his face hardening. “Explain to me how one test can be negative and the rest positive?” His voice is a low growl laced with frustration and confusion.
The doctor pinches the bridge of her nose. “I honestly don’t know, Mr. Davis,” she says, addressing Mickey directly. “But after seeing these pictures… I need to do an ultrasound.”
I barely register moving as Dr. Patel nudges me toward the examination table, telling me to lie down and bare my stomach. The paper sheet crinkles under me, and as Mickey and Soren close in around me, I feel like a damn offering.
Dr. Patel’s brows are furrowed as she moves to wheel over the ultrasound machine. “Let’s take a look inside and see what we’re dealing with,” she says. I gasp when she applies cold gel to my exposed stomach. “Try to relax. We’ll know what’s going on soon enough.”
I want to tell her that I already know, because Fet is real.
The hum of the machine fills the room as Dr. Patel presses the transducer to my skin. My breath catches, my eyes fixed on the screen, searching for something—anything—that looks like my Fet.
And there it is. A tiny flicker, a heartbeat, a surge of life in the midst of all this madness. Tears well up, blurring my vision, a mix of relief and terror flooding through me.
“Fet,” I whisper, emotions clogging my throat. “There you are, Fet. And you’re so beautiful.” Until this very moment, I didn’t know a blob could be beautiful, but mine is—Fet is.
I’m so absorbed in what I’m seeing that I barely register both guys asking who the hell Fet is, but I don’t owe them any explanation or answers, so I say nothing.
Dr. Patel’s head tilts slightly, and her expression shifts to one of puzzlement. “You’re definitely pregnant. There’s a strong heartbeat, but…” Her fingers fly across the keyboard, taking measurements.
“Is everything okay?” My heart drops into my stomach, threatening to spill out my fear in sobs.
“It’s not twins, is it?” Soren asks, and there’s a hint of sadness in his tone.
Dr. Patel shakes her head. “No, not twins.” She licks her lips. “But your baby... it’s bigger than I expected,” she announces, causing a silence to crash down around us.
“Big?” I echo dumbly. “How big?”
“According to the measurements, you’re approximately ten weeks along.” She glances between us.
“Ten weeks,” Soren repeats, as if saying it out loud will unlock some hidden answer. His gaze is fixed on the screen, where Fet flickers with life. Then he pulls his phone out and taps at the screen. Just as I’m about to ask what he’s doing, he angles the small screen so both Mickey and I can see the calendar app.
“So it must have been sometime in the beginning of January,” Mickey says, defeat lilting his tone.
“Looks like it,” Soren replies.
I huff, annoyed I have to share this precious moment with the two bastards. “Is Fet healthy?” I ask, needing to know if I’ve somehow failed my precious Fet already.
In my teaching days, I had a lot of interaction with parents, obviously. I’ve heard countless stories of how their life changed with a pregnancy. For some, it was when the second line lit up. For others, it was during their first ultrasound scan. Others again said it happened when they started showing. Honestly, I’ve heard it all. Yet, nothing prepared me for how full my heart feels at this moment.
Love like I’ve never felt before unfurls inside me, making me feel like I could drift away to cloud nine at any moment. I’m… shit, I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m deliriously in love with Fet, that’s the best way I can explain it. As I lie there, the image of Fet burning into my memory, I know that I’ll protect this life inside of me with everything I have.
Once Dr. Patel is done and has confirmed I want a picture, she turns the machine off. “Do you guys want a minute?” she asks.
“No,” I say.
“Absolutely not,” Mickey confirms.
“Yes, please,” Soren adds.
Instead of listening to me, the mom-to-be, Dr. Patel leaves the room, letting us know she’ll be back in a few. I’m not happy about it, but I also refuse to show the guys how little I want to be alone with them right now.
Sitting up, I go to pull my sweatshirt back down, but before I can do it, Soren moves closer, showing me the tissues in his hand. As he leans closer, I reach for the paper, thinking he’s about to give them to me so I can wipe my stomach clean. But to my surprise, he cleans my skin himself. I’m so surprised I can only watch as his large hand wipes across my stomach.
When I realize how much I like it, I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss. “Don’t you fucking touch us. ”
“Gail—”
I push myself up and pull my sweatshirt back down so it covers my stomach again. “Save it, Soren,” I snarl, holding my hand up in front of me. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Although I try hard not to, my gaze flicks to Mickey. He’s keeping his distance, but he no longer looks at me with loathing in his silver eyes. Maybe that should put me at ease, make me feel better about everything. But it doesn’t. If anything, it fans the flames of anger inside me.
“You made it perfectly clear we mean nothing to you, so don’t you dare change your tune now.” I get up from the table and shuffle back to the desk, sitting down in the same chair as I wait for Dr. Patel to come back.