Chapter 52
Fifty-Two
I JUST WANT TO SEE THE BABY.
WYATT
The waiting room at Women's Health Dallas Prenatal Care Center smells like vanilla air freshener trying to mask disinfectant. Kinsley sits beside me, her hand in mine, and I can't get over the fact that she's here.
She flew an hour and twenty-five minutes to face down a woman who might be carrying my kid with her corrupt senator daddy breathing down our necks.
That's my woman.
Brittney walks in wearing a dress that hugs her tiny baby bump. I guess the cat is out of the bag now and there’s no reason to try and hide it.
Kinsley hits record on her phone and slips it into the short outside pocket of her purse. She's videoing everything today.
I told Brittney I wouldn’t marry her. I’m assuming she told her father and he started a smear campaign. It’s impressive. They’re claiming that I seduced Brittney in an effort to sway her father to our side of the fire zoning issue.
I’m livid. If this kid is mine, there’s no chance of making that go away and I really, really want it to go away. I do not want this child growing up thinking that about his or her daddy.
The paper trail Kinsley has against the senator is impressive. We just need confirmation of his motives and the reporter Kinsley’s been working with will flood every news outlet with the senator’s corrupt political path. It will discredit him and the lies he’s spread about me.
As if there’s not enough junk tied up in this ultrasound.
The second Brittney spots Kinsley, her face twists into something ugly. "What is she doing here?" She moves in to kiss my cheek and I sidestep her.
"We're a package deal," I say, pulling Kinsley to my side. No negotiation in my voice, no room for argument. This is how it is now.
Brittney's eyes narrow. "This is private, Wyatt. Between us."
"Your father made sure that nothing about this situation is private anymore." Kinsley's voice is calm. "And if there's a chance this child belongs to Wyatt, then I have a stake in this too. After all, we’ll have joint custody."
Brittney scowls. “Whatever.”
I squeeze Kinsley’s hand. Don’t know what I did to deserve her.
A nurse calls Brittney's name before things get any uglier and we trail her through a maze of narrow hallways to a cramped room with an exam table and enough baby pictures plastered on the walls to make a man dizzy. I don't know if I'm ready for this yet. Am I really about to become a father?
The ultrasound tech looks maybe twenty-five. Her name tag reads "Melissa," and her assuring smile makes me feel a little better.
"Hi there," she starts and then stops as she takes us all in. Her gaze bounces between me, Kinsley—and our joined hands—and Brittney’s baby bump like she's trying to solve a puzzle. "So, we have... mom, and..."
"I'm the potential father," I say, keeping it simple.
"And I'm his girlfriend," Kinsley adds with a smile.
Brittney glares at us. "Can we have her removed?"
Melissa blinks. "Um, yes. Client confidentiality is a high priority for us. If you don't want them here, we can certainly take care of that." She looks at me like she expects me to walk out of the room.
I put my arm around Kinsley. "That's fine. We can go."
"No. You can stay. I just want her to go." Brittney pouts.
Kinsley gives me a little head shake telling me not to make a scene. I meet her gaze, and we have a private conversation without speaking. I know she wants the video, and we need due dates for her to plug into her timeline, but I'm not doing this without her.
Melissa clears her throat and shifts her feet. "Ma'am?" she asks Kinsley.
I hold up our joined hands. "If she goes, I go. Which we can do." I make a move to leave and Brittney groans.
"Fine.” She flicks her hand at us and huffs. “She can stay. I just want to see the baby."
Melissa's eyes go wide, but she recovers quickly. "Okay then. Well, let's see what we can find out today."
Kinsley and I settle into the chairs against the wall and wait. My stomach is twisted up, and I don't know what to expect. I’m not sure how I’m going to feel seeing this baby on the screen.
Kit said she’d bet the farm Brittney made the whole thing up. She’s been scouring social media for pregnancy pics of Brittney and didn’t see any until after Brittney announced the baby at the party. Now Brittney’s feed is full of them.
I have to take Kit’s word for it because I’m not going anywhere near Brittney’s socials.
Brittney scoots into the exam table. “Will we be able to tell if it’s a boy or girl?”
Melissa nods her head as she helps Brittney lift up her top and expose her belly. “Probably. Sometimes the baby is a little shy but that’s only happened a couple of times. Have you started buying clothing and things?”
Brittney grins. “Just a couple outfits. Mom said she always knew I was a girl, but I don’t have any premonitions.”
“That’s totally normal. Most first-time moms don’t. Some of my patients that have had multiple children say they can tell by how much morning sickness they have or what cravings they experience; but it takes several pregnancies to establish patterns like that.”
Brittney leans back and Melissa presses several buttons and turns a dial.
I have to give Brittney some credit for not letting the tension in the room affect her excitement about seeing the baby. There's something pure about the way she's staring at the ultrasound machine, like nothing else matters except what's about to appear on that screen.
Melissa squirts gel on Brittney's belly and then moves the wand thing all over to smear the gel. The screen fills with gray and black shapes that don't look like much of anything to me.
"There's the head, and here's the spine..." Melissa's voice gets softer.
The image shifts, and suddenly I'm looking at a tiny human being. Complete with fingers and toes and a face that looks almost ready to open its eyes and look back at me.
I hold my breath. If this is my kid—if somehow, despite not remembering that night, this little person exists because of me—then my whole world changes.
Brittney gasps. "My baby. My baby," she whispers over and over again as tears start to fall.
"Let's see if we can get some measurements," Melissa says, clicking buttons and drawing lines across the screen. "Based on the size... looks like you're about twenty-eight weeks along. Due date would be..." She punches some numbers into her computer. "January fifteenth."
I feel Kinsley stiffen beside me.
January 15th. I count backwards nine months in my head. Thanks to Doc, we have a medical record of the night I took the pain pills—including the date.
Kinsley pulls out my phone and her fingers fly. She’s got some kind of pregnancy calculation website open, plugging in dates. When she looks up, there's something fierce and satisfied in her expression.
"The conception date doesn't match," she says loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, showing me her phone. "Not even close. Conception happened months before your accident. Brittney was past her first trimester when you took those pills. You're not the father. You couldn’t be."
Relief floods through me so fast it makes me dizzy. Not my kid. Not my life tied forever to a woman I don't love.
Melissa glances between us and starts wiping the gel off Brittney. "I should, um, give you folks some privacy. You okay, hon?" she asks Brittney who nods as she wipes tears off her cheeks. "Okay then, take all the time you need. When I come back, we’ll determine the sex of the baby, okay?"
“I’d like that.” Brittney draws a shaky breath as she pulls her shirt over her stomach.
The door closes behind Melissa with a soft click, leaving the three of us alone.
Brittney stares at the ultrasound screen, fresh tears streaming down her face. They're the tears of someone who knows her world just changed. I get it. I was prepared to feel all of that and now I don’t.
I’m relieved. So relieved it’s not my kid, but I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment.
Kinsley shifts in her chair beside me, and when I glance at her, there's understanding in her face. She gets it too. She’d said she would love this baby, and I can’t help but wonder if she feels something of a loss right now.
"Brittney," she says. "This can't keep going."
Brittney doesn't look away from the screen. Her fingers grip the edge of the table like she's trying to hold onto something that's already slipping away.
"I know you're scared," Kinsley continues, and there's no judgment in her tone, no anger, just kindness and patience, "but this baby deserves the truth. You deserve the truth. And so does Wyatt."
I want to say something, but the words stick in my throat.
This isn't how I expected this to go. I thought there'd be shouting, accusations, denials.
Instead, Kinsley's treating Brittney like she's a hurting mother facing hard choices.
Maybe she sees her own mother on that table right now.
A single woman who has to face the world alone.
"You don't understand," Brittney whispers, still staring at that screen.
"Then help me understand." Kinsley leans forward slightly, not crowding her but close enough to show she's not going anywhere. "Talk to me. What's really happening here?"
"My father," Brittney finally says, so quiet I almost miss it.
"What about him?" Kinsley prompts.
Brittney's breathing gets shallow, quick. "First–he arranged for me to win the date with Wyatt. I tried to tell him we didn’t fall in love or anything and that Wyatt wasn’t interested, but he wouldn't listen. He thinks me marrying a rodeo cowboy will improve his chances of becoming governor."
"Brittney." Kinsley's voice is even gentler now. "Is this baby Wyatt's?"
I know the answer. I know the dates don’t line up. I also know that a recorded confession will clear my name in the media, and it’ll clear my conscience. We need Brittney to say the words for the record.
Brittney shakes her head. Small at first, then more definite, and the relief that hits me nearly knocks me out of my chair.
"We never..." she starts, then stops, swallowing hard. "I barely got him in the room," she continues, the words tumbling out now. "I helped him get settled, stayed to make sure he was all right. But we never... I just needed my father to believe that we had."
She's crying harder now, and despite everything she's put us through, I feel bad for the spot she’s in. It couldn’t have been easy realizing she was carrying a child.
"I thought if I could just make it real somehow, if I could make the story true, then it would all be okay." The word comes out broken.
"We're done here," I tell her, standing up.
I can't find it in me to be cruel. Brittney made terrible choices, but she's still carrying a child who doesn't deserve to pay for her mistakes.
"But that little one in there deserves the truth and a chance at a real family. I hope you can give them that."
We walk out into the hallway, leaving Brittney alone with the consequences of her choices. Melissa hurries back inside. “Are you ready to find out if it’s a boy or a girl?” she says before the door shuts. Bless her for trying to put a happy spin on the moment.
I collapse against the wall. The fluorescent lights are too bright after the dim ultrasound room, and I have to blink a few times before I can focus on Kinsley's face.
"You okay?" she asks, leaning into me and studying my expression.
"Yeah." I hook my fingers in her belt loops and pull her closer. "For a minute there, when I saw the baby on the screen, I thought... if it had been mine, I would have moved heaven and earth for that kid."
"I know you would have." Her hand rests against my chest, right over my heart. "That's who you are."
"Someday, I want that. The whole thing. Marriage, kids, all of it." I look down at her—this woman who stood by me when my world went to pieces. "I want to raise kids with you, Kinsley."
Her smile could light up the whole county. "You asking?"
"I'm asking if you want children. If that's part of what you see ahead."
"I do. And I can't picture doing it with anyone but you."
The kiss I give her right there in that sterile little hallway is so soft. When we pull back, there's something in her eyes that kicks my heart into overdrive.
We're outside the building before Kinsley pulls out her phone again. This time she's dialing a number, and from the way her posture straightens, I can tell she's shifting into full on cowgirl-boss mode.
"Mark? It's Kinsley Rose. I have confirmation."
I can't hear the other side of the conversation, but I can tell from Kinsley's expression that Mark’s excited about whatever she just told him.
"The DNA evidence won't be necessary. She admitted the child isn't his.
.. Yes, a recording and I have witnesses.
.. The ultrasound tech, the medical records showing conception dates.
.. He orchestrated a federal investigation to force a marriage based on false paternity claims in order to run for governor. "
My girl is going full attack mode.
"How fast can you run it? ...Thirty minutes? Perfect. He'll have no choice but to resign or face a committee investigation and probable expulsion."
When she hangs up, she's practically glowing with satisfaction. "Mark Macchiato, investigative journalist for the Post. He's been waiting for final confirmation."
"And now he has it."
"Now he has everything. Martinez's signature on paperwork initiating the fire hazard designation on your land. The false paternity claims. The attempted coercion. By tonight, your family's troubles are over, and Martinez's career is finished."
I take her hand as we walk out into the Texas sunshine. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."
She laughs, the sound bright and free. "I don’t think that’s possible. You're stuck with me now."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I open the truck door for her, and she pauses before getting in. "So, what now?"
"Now we go home." I lean down and kiss her again, slower this time, taking my time with it because I can. Because she's mine and I'm hers and nobody—not corrupt senators or lying women or federal bureaucrats—can change that. "We've got a future to build."
"And you have an NFR title to win." She kisses me quick, firm, and decisively. As if winning the national finals is in the bag.
I can't help but grin. With Kinsley, I feel like I can do anything—maybe even win a national championship.