Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
H arper
“You don’t have to come with me,” I remind them as we pull up outside the hospital.
“We know we don’t have to,” Wyatt says, opening the car door for me. “But we want to.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Owen says with the same big grin he’s been wearing for weeks now.
“But it will most definitely out you,” I whisper, eyeing our surroundings through my sunglasses.
“We’re already out. There probably isn’t a single person left in the city that doesn’t know you have joined our pack, Harper,” Owen says. “Five weeks is enough time for the omegas in this city to have hunted down every person to tell them the news.”
He isn’t exaggerating. I’ve been avoiding social media like the plague but Molly has been scanning the situation for me and the reports I’ve had back suggest our piece of news has spread like wildfire. I have a feeling Cindy will be behind most of it. But we’ve also been helping to fan those flames as best we can, choosing to be out and about, flaunting our loved-up status and my new bite marks, rather than hiding away. We decided it was for the best. If we look like we’re ashamed people will treat us like we have something to be ashamed of.
Of course, there’s one bit of additional news/scandal we haven’t been flaunting, one I’ve been hiding away under baggy cardigans and oversized hoodies (it helps that the cooler fall weather has arrived). Because if anyone does the math and works out I got pregnant while Pack Stanton was meant to be home suffering from Harold virus, well, that could be game over!
“But this appointment is going to ensure our other piece of news is let loose,” I say for about the tenth time.
I’m no longer worried about what people think. And I believe my pack when they say I am more important to them than their work. I still want to avoid them getting fired if I can.
“No,” Wyatt says, “the hospital takes patient confidentiality very seriously. You don’t need to worry about the doctor or nurses blabbing to anyone.”
“Wyatt,” I say, “as soon as anyone spots me sitting in the obstetrics department with my three alphas they’re going to put two and two together and come up with a baby.”
“Ahhh,” he says, adjusting his glasses.
Owen shrugs. “Do we care? They know about us now and the sky is yet to fall in.” He lowers his voice. “And we’re yet to lose our jobs.”
I take a deep breath in, then whisper, despite nobody being anywhere near us, “But someone might work out about the heat business.”
“Harper,” Daxton says, resting his hands on my shoulders, “we’ve been over this. We don’t care. What will be will be.”
I nod, although I’m still biting on my cheek. I’m still hoping with all my heart things won’t come to that and I can’t help if that makes me nervous.
“Come on then,” I say, steeling my shoulders, something I’ve been doing a lot of lately. (Although, I have to confess, it’s getting easier every time. People are already losing interest in us. Unfortunately, this fresh piece of gossip may renew their interests big time.)
As always, the hospital foyer is bustling with people – some carrying bouquets of flowers or bunches of grapes, some being wheeled through, some hobbling inside on crutches.
There’s an elderly lady wearing a bright yellow sash which reads “Here to help” standing right by the entrance. She waves at my alphas like they are royalty as we pass inside and then positively gapes when she sees me with them. It’s not a good start. I haven’t even taken my jacket off yet to reveal my pretty neat little bump.
“This way,” Wyatt says, hand on my elbow as he guides me inside an elevator and we make our way up to the third floor. As soon as the doors open, we’re greeted by some giant posters of women’s genitals. How the hell is that meant to be reassuring? Although at least they’ve made an effort with the decorating. The walls are no longer a stark white but more neutral calming colors. There is even some mellow music drifting down the corridors. Is that to drown out the screaming from the delivery suites?
Suddenly, it all feels very real, and I’d probably be struggling to leave the safety of the elevator if I wasn’t already being pulled along by my three alphas. They march me right up to the reception desk where the blue-lined eyes of the lady sitting behind the desk widen as she registers Pack Stanton with their new omega.
“We have an appointment at 10:35am,” Daxton tells her. “For a scan,” he adds just to ensure the woman knows exactly why we are here at the obstetrics department for an appointment.
The woman, with short white hair and bubblegum-pink lipstick, stares at me for several seconds.
Owen coughs and she shakes herself out of her trance.
“Have you … have you been drinking water?” she asks me, gaze straying down to my belly, still hidden under my jacket.
“All morning,” I confirm, crossing my legs because I’m actually pretty desperate to pee.
“At least two pints?”
I nod and she hands me over a pile of forms to fill out and tells us to take a seat in the waiting room.
The reaction in the waiting room isn’t much better. I knew we’d be recognizable among all the alphas and omegas of the city, but among all the betas I hoped we’d be more inconspicuous. No such luck. As we walk into the waiting room, everyone stops talking and starts staring at us, just like the receptionist did. It doesn’t help that I recognize two of the women in here – both omegas a few years older than me, both very pregnant. They are sitting together with their packs and the whispering starts before we’re even seated. In fact, as I unzip my jacket and slide it off my shoulders, I’m pretty sure I spy one of the omegas typing away on her phone too.
Talk about rumors spreading like wildfire. This one is going to spread like lightning in a thunderstorm.
“That’s a neat little bump you have there,” another woman on my right says, leaning over Owen to talk to me. She looks as if she’s in her late thirties, her braids pinned back from her face and her hands resting on one ginormous bump.
“Thanks,” I say smiling. It may be silly, but I am immensely proud of this bump and so are my alphas.
“Is it your first?”
“Yes,” I say.
She points to her belly. “This is my fourth.”
“Wow, when are you due?”
She sighs. “About an eternity ago.” She must spot the dismay on my face because she laughs. “Yesterday. I’m here for a sweep.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Something you don’t need to know about just yet.” She pats my hand. “Are you here for your scan?”
“Yep,” I say, just as a woman in a white coat steps through into the waiting room and calls my name. My three alphas stand immediately.
“Good luck,” the woman says, as I stand too and waddle towards the doctor’s room because by now I am seriously close to peeing my pants.
The female doctor doesn’t stare like everyone else as my three alphas follow me inside her room – she’s too professional for that – but I can see the curiosity bubbling in her eyes.
“I’m Dr. Robinson. I’ll be taking care of you during your pregnancy and the birth. Could you climb up onto the bed for me?”
“I’m Harper,” I say as three pairs of alpha hands practically lift me up onto the hospital bed.
“And these three I know,” she says, smiling at my alphas, “although I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“They’re my alphas,” I say.
“I had no idea–”
“We’re a pack,” I add with maybe a teeny tiny bit of aggression.
“Congratulations,” she says, still smiling. I try to read if it’s real, if she’ll be calling her boss as soon as we leave her clinic. Unfortunately I can’t tell.
“Victoria is the best obstetrics clinician in this hospital,” Owen says, massaging my shoulder. “You’re in good hands, Harp.”
The doctor keeps on smiling as she reads through all my forms and asks me questions about my age and health. Then we get down to the nitty gritty.
“And how many weeks do you think you are, Harper?” she asks me.
“Twelve,” I say.
She peeks over at my belly. “You’re a little on the large side for twelve weeks. When was your last period?” I tell her the date and she nods, inputting the data into her computer. “And the suspected date of conception? A rough date is fine.”
I swallow and peer over at my alphas. All three nod.
“August 5th–” she goes to type this in, “to August 10th. It was at some point during my heat.”
“Ahhh,” she says, without blinking an eyelid, “that’s most likely then. And I’m assuming you shared your heat with your alphas. That one of these lucky gentlemen is the father.”
My heart pounds in my chest.
“Yes, one of my alphas is the father.”
“Well, congratulations again to you all.” She presses a few more buttons and I gaze anxiously at my alphas. She’s not shouting at us, accusing Daxton, Owen and Wyatt of gross misconduct. At least that’s something. Wyatt squeezes my hand and Daxton my shoulder. “Now,” the doctor says, “let’s take a look at this baby, shall we?”
She has me lift up my shirt and then squeezes warm gel onto my belly. She dims the lights and switches on a machine. It whirrs, a grainy picture flickering into life.
“This screen will show us the picture of the baby. It can take me a few minutes to find him or her – so don’t panic if we don’t find them straight away. And at this stage it’s a little early to determine the sex. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She presses a paddle onto my belly, then moves it across, low down in my pelvis. A load of nonsense sweeps past on the screen. My three alphas are huddled around me, eyes transfixed on the picture. Can they read this nonsense?
And then I hear it. A soft thudding sound, like the beat of a drum, emitting from the machine. It takes me a moment to understand what it is.
“That,” says the doctor, “is your baby’s heartbeat.”
“Seriously?” I say, my eyes already welling up. “And does it sound okay?” I ask, turning my head to the heart expert, Wyatt.
“Sounds pretty perfect,” Wyatt says, sniffing.
“And if I zoom out …” The doctor presses some buttons and soon there’s a little alien spread out across the screen, with one large head, a tiny body and four stubby limbs. It’s freaking beautiful.
“That’s … that’s our baby,” I mumble.
The baby wiggles about and all four of us can’t help but coo.
The doctor says something about taking measurements but we’re too busy watching as our baby waves its arms and legs about.
“They look just like you,” Owen tells me.
“You don’t know that.” I giggle.
“I can. The baby’s got your adorable nose. See?” He points towards the screen.
“It is a perfect nose,” I say.
“And everything else is looking good too,” the doctor says. “Just one more thing I want to check …” She presses some more buttons and the baby disappears, the heartbeat stopping too. She moves the paddle along my belly and more squiggles zoom past the screen. Then she halts, zooms in and the baby’s back on the screen. This time he or she has swiveled around and is now upside down.
“They’re a wriggler,” I say, giggling. Nobody says anything. They are all staring at the screen. Something is wrong. I can feel it. My heart stops beating. “What?!”
The doctor doesn’t say anything, just taps some more buttons, and the screen zooms out and then … then there are two wriggling little aliens on the screen. One lying on its back, one hanging upside down.
“Wh-wh-why are there two babies?” I say.
“Twins!” the doctor announces. “Congratulations, you’re going to have twins.”