30. Claire
30
CLAIRE
I’m pushing the button for the elevator when Mabel steps up beside me.
“Hey. You heading to the gym too?”
I smile at her. She’s holding a bright pink water bottle and wearing leggings, a tank top, and a pair of pink sneakers. I nod. “You going to join me today?”
“Looks like it. Don’t you and Jonah usually go early?”
We step into the elevator together, and she pushes the button for the gym.
“Yeah, but it’s our rest day. He went to brunch with the guys.”
“You don’t look like you’re resting.”
I laugh. “I had a very stressful phone call and need to burn off some frustration.”
“Ah.” She nods and flares her eyes. “Same, actually.”
We step into the gym together and both head to the treadmills.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask as I throw my towel over the bar and put my water bottle in the cup holder. “I’m a good listener.”
Mabel flashes me a sardonic grin. “It’s just relationship stuff. My girlfriend...” She shakes her head and shrugs. “She’s not exactly out, and it’s hard for me keeping things on the DL.”
I train my eyes on my treadmill screen and nod slowly.
“I can understand that,” I tell her. “I’ve been there. Not with someone who wasn’t out, but just in a relationship that had to be kind of secretive. Kind of fun at first, I guess. But it loses the appeal pretty quickly.”
“Yeah, and this is definitely losing its appeal. But what can I do? I love her. I’d rather be with her in secret than not at all.”
I bite my cheek on the urge to cry. I can hear the sadness in Mabel’s tone despite her attempt to sound upbeat. I hear it, and I recognize it. I hate that I was ever that person. I hate even more that I still am. Out of one dirty little secret situation and right into another one.
Fuck, what am I doing?
What can I do? I love her.
What can I do?
Do I love Jonah? Do I even know what love is? I thought I felt it in high school, and I was wrong. I thought I felt it in college, and I was wrong. I tried to force it with Conrad, and that was the worst decision I’ve ever made.
Who can I trust if I can’t even trust myself?
“Well. Just remember your worth,” I say, the words tasting like bile.
Jonah was right. I’m a hypocrite.
Mabel says something else, but I don’t hear her. I put my headphones in and start my warm-up. Once I’m through that, I go full out. I break into a run, but instead of quieting my thoughts, they just get louder. They spiral faster with each rotation of the tread under my feet.
Conrad offered me three times my salary to come back. When I turned him down, he once again threatened to blackball me.
I punch the button on the screen, increasing the speed.
I’ll have to change careers. Moving out of New York won’t even work. Conrad Henderson has connections all over the world. I could attempt to freelance, but I would have to move back to Virginia. I’d probably have to take on a second job, anyway. I’d have to go back to a place where I don’t belong, and I’m not wanted. A place that has never, truly, felt like home.
And Jonah...
God, how could this even work? I guess if Conrad does ruin my career, he’d have no other moves to play. There would be no reason to hide my relationship with Jonah. My insides churn.
I turn the speed higher. My head starts to swim .
What do I want? What is even possible? And does what I want even matter?
What do I deserve?
I grit my teeth on that question. I blink the sweat out of my eyes, reaching up quickly to wipe it away. My stomach roils.
I glance at the treadmill screen again. Five miles. I can make it to six. I ignore the familiar lightheadedness. I’ve pushed through it before. It happens when I work out on an empty stomach, and despite myself, I visualize my stomach shrinking. My body using every fat cell. Every calorie. Every flaw.
Burning them all up until they’re gone.
One more week until the band takes their three-week break. I just have to make it through Amsterdam. Then I can take a breath and clear my head. I’ll call my therapist. I’ll get myself back under control. Then I’ll figure out what to do.
I max out the speed until I’m full-on sprinting. I blink away the spots in my vision.
Just another half mile, I tell myself. Push, push, push.
Then it all goes dark.
“Yeah, just tell them I might be late to soundcheck when they get back. We’re pulling into the hospital now.”
I blink my eyes open. The underside of Mabel’s face is the first thing to come into focus. I’m in her lap. There’s a pounding in my head. I move my hand to my forehead, and she looks at me.
“Oh, thank God,” she says to me, then she goes back to her phone. “She’s awake. I’ll keep you informed.”
Mabel drops her phone on the car seat, but when I try to sit up, she puts her arm across my chest gently.
“Girl, just stay down, okay? You’ve got a nasty gash on your head.”
“Shit.”
I lie back and close my eyes. That’s when I realize there’s a towel being held to my forehead, just along my hairline. It’s Mabel. She must be holding something over my, as she called it, gash .
“So, that’s why my skull feels like it’s been cracked open.”
Mabel snorts out a laugh. “Yep. Kinda has been. ”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. One minute you were running like you were being chased, and the next minute you were unconscious and bleeding on the ground. Scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry.”
I groan, and she pats my shoulder. “We’re pulling into the hospital now. I think you’re going to need stitches. You just hang tight.”
I do as she says. Sav’s security guard opens the car door, and I take over holding the towel to my head. The guard helps me into a wheelchair, then pushes me toward some sort of private entrance where two medical professionals are already waiting.
I close my eyes again. The movement of the chair nauseates me as we rush through some double doors, then down a hall and into an empty private room.
The nurses introduce themselves as they help me onto a hospital bed. They ask me some triage questions. They take my vitals. They take my blood. They hook me up to an IV.
And then they disappear.
I lie back on the pillow and close my eyes once more. “That was fast.”
“Yeah. Ham called ahead. He tried to make me stay at the hotel so he could take you—he said it would be less likely to draw attention—but I told him to fuck off.”
I laugh, and then groan, because it makes my head throb. “Thank you. I’d rather you be here than him.”
“Right?” I can hear the playfulness in Mabel’s tone. “Obviously I’m much better company.” I hear her phone ding, and then I listen as she types something out before she speaks again. “Sorry. It’s just Sav wanting updates. Red texted her.”
“Oh, did you not tell her?”
“Wasn’t really time, honestly. I just flagged down the nearest security guard and called Ham as Red was hauling you to the car.”
The image of me cradled in Red’s giant arms makes me want to laugh before her words sink in. “So, who all knows I’m here?”
“Well, Ham and Red, obviously. Now that Sav knows, I’m sure Callie knows. The guys will probably know soon.”
I nod slowly, careful not exacerbate the ache. I don’t want Jonah to see me like this. I don’t want his searching gaze on me. He sees more than I want him to, and this would be much more than I want to share.
“Can you send Sav a message and ask her not to tell the guys? Just not until I’m out.”
“Oh...Sure.” A pause. More typing. “She said no problem. Callie doesn’t even know.”
I let out a slow sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Mabel and I sit in comfortable silence until the door to the room opens and a doctor steps in. She’s an older woman with brown skin and short, curly hair. She smiles softly and greets Mabel and me.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Shirazi.”
I smile back. “Hi, Doctor Shirazi. I’m Claire.”
“And I’m Mabel. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You as well. Mabel, are you family?”
“Oh, no,” I cut in. “She’s not family, but she’s fine to be in here.”
“Okay, sounds good.” The doctor turns her attention on me. She consults a chart, then zeroes in on my forehead. “So, I hear you’ve had a bit of a fall.”
I laugh. “Yeah. You can say that.”
She examines the cut on my head, then shines a flashlight in my eyes.
“Well, you don’t have a concussion. I know you said the head wound bled quite a bit, but that’s not uncommon for head wounds. Your cut is actually quite minor. Two staples and some extra strength ibuprofen should take care of that.”
“Oh, that’s great news.” I look over at Mabel and she flashes me a thumbs up. “So, no real down time, then?”
“Not for this.” Doctor Shirazi looks down at a chart on a clipboard. “But you’re extremely dehydrated, and your blood sugar was very low. You said you passed out while exercising?”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am. I was on the treadmill.”
“Have you eaten today?”
“No, but I usually don’t before I work out. It gives me cramps.”
I force a smile and try to hide how my defenses rise. Look innocent , I tell myself. Look healthy.
Act like you’re in control.
I know I shouldn’t, but I make excuses anyway .
“I adhere to a pretty routine diet and exercise program, actually. This is the first time this has happened.”
I don’t elaborate by saying I know exactly how many calories I consume and exactly how many I have to burn off every day. And while I’m sure the return of certain habits has put a strain on my body, I don’t admit to them. I just smile and shrug. The sooner I get out of this hospital room, the better.
“Maybe it’s from all the traveling? I’m not used to so much time on a plane.”
Doctor Shirazi runs her eyes over my face, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck rise. She turns to Mabel.
“Ma’am, can you step out for a moment, please? I’m going to close the head wound.”
“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll just be out here.”
I can hear the concern in Mabel’s voice. I can feel her eyes on me as she leaves, but I don’t take mine off Doctor Shirazi. A prickle of awareness skirts down my spine, triggering my fight or flight response.
She knows.
I try not to panic. I work to keep my breathing regular. She’s going to prod me with questions. She’ll want to know about my eating habits. My medical history. My mental health. I’m already formulating the lies. The excuses. But when she speaks, they all disappear from my mind, leaving me speechless.
“Ms. Davis, when was your last period?”
I’m stunned. I shake my head. I blink and try to recall it. I close my eyes and think. My periods have always been irregular, and that’s only been exacerbated recently. I can’t think of my last period. I have no idea when it was.
“I’m on birth control.”
“What method?”
“The pill.”
“And do you take it regularly? Same time every day?”
I start to nod, but then I stop. I do. Or I did. But I haven’t. Not with the traveling and the time zones and the stress. And not only have I not been consistent, with the vomiting...
I clamp my eyes shut.
“Shit. ”
“Ms. Davis, is it possible you could be pregnant?”
I shake my head. No. No. No. It’s not possible. It cannot be possible. Then, slowly, I nod.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I take it this wasn’t planned.”
“No.”
“I’m going to close your head wound, and then I’ll send a nurse in to take a urine sample. We’ll also run your blood. Just to be sure.”
I nod. “Okay.”
She numbs my head with some sort of gel, but it’s unnecessary. I feel nothing except dread. She closes me up with two staples and explains how I need to care for it. She tells me that I’ll have to see a doctor in two weeks to get them removed. I nod through all of it, but barely hear any of it.
My thoughts are elsewhere, cycling over and over on the same things: I should have made him wear a condom. I should have made him pull out. I should never have slept with him in the first place. I cannot have a baby with Jonah Hendrix.
How can they tell so soon? How can this be possible?
I drop my head into my hands.
I’m so stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.
“Should I send your friend back in, or do you need a minute?”
I breathe in and out. I open my eyes and count the tiles on the floor. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave her out there. She’s going to know something is wrong. Do I tell her the truth? Do I lie?
I don’t know what to do.
“You can send her in.”
“A nurse will be back to collect the urine sample, and I’ll call with the blood test results. I’ll put a rush on it, so it should only be a few hours.”
“Thank you.”
Doctor Shirazi’s shoes clack across the floor. The door opens. She mumbles something to Mabel. Then Mabel walks in, shutting the door behind her.
“Oh my God, Claire. Are you okay? Did it hurt that bad?” Her hand comes down softly on my shoulder, then she rubs my arm. “You need me to get you anything? Some water? Did they give you anything for?—”
“I’m pregnant.” When she doesn’t respond, I sit up and look at her. Her eyes are wide. Her mouth is open. “Mabel. I’m pregnant.”
“Okay.” Slowly, she nods. “Okay. Yes. How do we feel about this?”
“Shitty.”
“Right. Do you know...Not that it matters, of course. But...do you...”
“It’s Jonah.”
“Shit.”
I snort out a sad, pathetic laugh that sounds more like a sob. “Yeah.” I drop my head back into my hands, careful not to catch my staples. “God, what the hell am I going to do?”
Mabel squeezes my shoulder. “Anything you need, let me know. I’ll get you anything you need.”
“Thanks.”
It gets quiet again, but the air is charged. It’s not a comfortable silence. I know she has questions. I sit back up and give her a tight smile.
“You can ask, if you want. It’s fine.”
She winces, then shrugs. “Was this, like, a one-time thing, or...”
“It’s... or .”
“How long?”
“Not long.”
“What kind of relationship is this? Like...Do you think he’ll be happy about it?”
I groan. “It’s the kind of relationship where my first thought was how to keep this from him.”
“Shit.”
I laugh again. I can’t help it. One syllable, yet it encompasses everything perfectly.
“It’s just...” I sigh and shake my head. “Mabel, we’re such a mess. Him and me. Together and individually. We’re a mess, and this was not the plan, and I can’t even?—”
A knock sounds, cutting me off, and I tell the nurse to come in. They give me a little plastic cup and tell me how to use it. Then they gesture to the bathroom door. Even with having to wheel my IV bag into the bathroom with me, the whole ordeal still takes less than five minutes. Less than five minutes to decide the rest of my life.
When the nurse comes back with the results of the urine test, I’m not shocked. I knew it would be positive.
When the doctor calls with the results of the blood test, though, my heart drops into my stomach. According to the test, I’m around five weeks pregnant.
I do the mental math. Five weeks pregnant means the date of conception would have to be...
Madrid.
I almost want to laugh. Of course. Of course, the most humiliating and heartbreaking sexual experience of my life would result in a pregnancy.
It certainly doesn’t bode well for whatever is yet to come.
Shit.