15. Aurora
FIFTEEN
AURORA
“Hello. How are you, Aurora?” Dr. Z introduces herself.
She’s known as the celebrity obstetrician in LA. We’ve been meeting virtually for the last five weeks, but today is our first in-person appointment.
“I’m pretty good. Still experiencing fatigue and morning sickness, but that’s to be expected.”
Once I got past the initial shock of my pregnancy and shared the news with my grandmother, my entire mindset shifted. Gram went from depressed to overjoyed at the thought of having a grandbaby to love, and that put everything into perspective. It’s as if the baby motivated her to live and overcome her stroke. I haven’t seen her with this much energy and life since before my grandfather’s diagnosis.
Holding my hand, tears streaming down her face, she said, “A child is always a blessing. You were an unexpected blessing, and I’ve never regretted raising you, not for a single moment.”
I bawled my eyes out, washing away all my shame and guilt.
We’re having a baby, and I couldn’t be more elated.
Unfortunately, Emily doesn’t agree. I don’t blame her. This is a tremendous responsibility that changes everything. I love her, and her support means the world to me, but the more I express my excitement, the more suffocating she becomes.
Not just suffocating—irritated and overbearing. We disagree on many aspects of this pregnancy, particularly on how to handle paternity. I’ve asked her not to tell anyone. I don’t want the news to get back to my ex—I’m not ready for that nightmare. That created even more tension between us. I sense she sees this baby as either a paycheck or a burden.
And I’ll never let either of those opinions become reality.
That’s not to say balancing a modeling career and pregnancy is a cakewalk. I’m nauseated all the time, tired, and already underweight. I’m navigating the best I can.
I’ve always had a rocky relationship with food, but one thing’s for certain: I don’t want to deprive my baby of any nutrients that might impact his or her development. The nutritionist has assured me babies require fewer calories than expected. If I eat healthy, take my prenatal vitamins, and get sufficient rest, my baby will develop as nature intends.
My anxiety, however, is still a work in progress.
“All our tests have officially confirmed your pregnancy. Congratulations! Now, all we need is an ultrasound to assess the baby’s development.”
This is why I’m at this appointment alone. I wanted nothing to spoil this incredible moment. I only wish my grandmother could be here.
Dr. Z flips through my medical chart. The technician fusses with what I assume is the ultrasound machine, and I settle onto the exam bed with a wave of nervous anticipation.
The tech applies the cool gel to my barely noticeable baby bump, and I take slow, measured breaths to calm my nerves.
Everything goes silent, the air seeming to stand still until the sonic lullaby of my baby’s heartbeat fills the room. Tears burn my eyes.
An image gradually appears on the screen, and I blink to clear my sight. Tiny facial features, delicate fingers, and the flicker of a heartbeat become visible. My heart swells with love and happiness.
I’ll do anything to protect and provide for this child, even if I have to do it alone. All my worries seem petty in comparison.
The sonographer points out different parts of my baby’s body and explains the significance of each detail and measurement. “Using 4D technology, we can determine the sex of your baby as early as fourteen weeks,” she says. “Would you wanna to know?”
I arch my neck to clear my throat, my voice thick with emotion. “Yes, that’d be amazing. Thank you.”
The technician chuckles and points. “No need to thank me. Your little boy is proudly showing off his goods.”
A little boy. My little boy.
An unexpected wave of longing comes over me. His father should be here.
My tears now hold both joy and sorrow. A part of me regrets not searching for Ethan Blackwood, the former hockey player on the East Coast. I haven’t even allowed myself to Google him, too fearful of what I might find.
A perfect life, a perfect wife, a perfect family.
He could have other children.
No guarantee he’d be standing beside me, elated and proud. Quite the contrary—he made it clear he was married and detested the idea of a pregnancy.
Once again, I’m alone in this.
The ultrasound continues, and I scrutinize my baby’s tiny facial features, searching for any similarities to Ethan. Will he have his unique, stormy eyes? His strong build?
In my heart, there’s a quiet yearning, a hidden wish for our son to resemble his handsome daddy.
I check in at the Laguna Beach Resort and Spa, glowing with happiness.
This is one of my favorite places. It’s a beautiful fall day, and the sun is shining through the wall of windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
I’m on top of the world.
The receptionist gives me a radiant smile. “Is this your first time visiting?”
I hand her my ID. “No, I’ve been here before.” With my ex.
Memories flash through my mind before I can stop them, visions of us entangled and happy before it all went to shit. A wave of something I’m reluctant to admit rises within me, and I push it down.
It’s loneliness. It has been an emotional day.
Feeling vulnerable, I glance away to avoid any further conversation.
Then, as if my thoughts conjured him, I spot a tall, athletic, sandy-blond figure striding through the lobby as if he owns the place.
A tight fist grips my heart.
No. No. Nope. Absolutely not.
I spin around with such suddenness, it leaves me lightheaded. I duck my head while the receptionist prepares the key fob, my pulse pounding violently.
Jackson can’t see me pregnant. I’m not prepared for that monster to be unleashed. I doubt I’ll ever be.
Maybe he won’t recognize me.
Yeah, right.
Each passing moment amplifies the tension like a ticking time bomb.
Please don’t notice me. Failing that, please somehow miss my pregnancy.
The receptionist hands me the fob, and I dart toward the safety of the elevator.
From the edge of my vision, I see Jackson sliding onto a bar stool next to a blonde, grabbing my attention.
Why am I gawking? Who cares if he’s with another woman?
Before I can avert my gaze, his eyes snap to mine, and his jaw drops. A bolt of fear lances through me, and I will myself to breathe through it. Now is not the time to have a panic attack.
I jab at the elevator button. “Come on. Come on. Come on,” I mutter, attracting curious glances.
The doors open, and I dash around a couple holding hands to get inside. I punch the number to my designated floor. More people flood the small space, and I hide behind the crowd, praying to all that’s holy for the doors to shut.
All my prayers are useless, and I watch in dismay as a frantic Jackson rushes in.
Just my freaking luck.
He locks sights on me and says, “Excuse me. My girlfriend’s in the back,” and everyone jumps aside because he’s Jackson O’Reilly, revered hockey god.
I scoff at the preposterous nonsense—particularly the part where he dares to call me his girlfriend.
He leans against the mirrored wall beside me, his lopsided, boyish grin warming my insides despite my anxiety and annoyance.
“Running from me, Aurora? Really?” His tone is light and teasing, with no trace of agitation.
He’s in his usual designer jeans, loosely laced motorcycle boots, and black Henley, his hair perfectly tousled as always…but he’s different.
The change in his demeanor is staggering. His features are brighter. The dark circles under his eyes and the angry scowl are gone, and his devilish gaze holds a spark of life again.
My foolish brain conjures memories of him from the early stages of our relationship, and I know I need to get away or risk being sucked back into his orbit.
Worse than bumping into an irate Jackson is being blinded by a charming Jackson.
But I can’t force myself from him. He’s so close, close enough for me to feel the hum resonating between us.
He flashes a smug smirk, and his face beams with amusement. “You look good, too.”
I roll my eyes, too tongue-tied to formulate words. Fortunately, my floor is announced overhead, and a strong sense of relief washes over me, making me almost giddy.
“Sorry, that’s me.” A teasing smile plays across my lips, and I break free from his trance, eager to put some physical distance between us.
A large man blocking the front of the elevator turns to let me sneak by. With nowhere to go, he knocks into me. My protective instincts surge, my arm extends to shield my stomach, and I stumble backward…right into Jackson.
Wide eyes meet mine, guilt sears my face, and as predicted, his stunned expression twists into seething anger.
All too familiar with his fits of rage, I scramble forward, bumping into the same person again.
Jackson’s arm encircles my shoulders from behind, and he shoves the poor man who barely touched me. “Get the fuck out of the way!”
The guy stammers an apology, and people raise their phones.
That fist around my heart constricts, and terror grips me, my head spinning with dizziness. “Jax, please stop.”
Gray walls and greedy faces blur, and my mind races with fearful thoughts.
Jackson assumes this baby is his, and he’s furious I’ve kept this from him. He’ll demand a paternity test and scream accusations at me. I can only imagine the horror he’ll unleash when I tell him the baby isn’t his.
It’ll go viral.
This is the worst possible outcome.
The air ceases in my lungs, and I drown in panic.
“Jax.” My voice is sluggish. I’m sluggish.
Dark green eyes stare into mine. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear the words.
My thoughts spiral, and my heart hammers. My clammy skin burns, and nausea curdles in my stomach. My legs grow weak, and I grip Jackson’s shirt in a desperate bid to stay upright.
The world lurches sideways, and my vision distorts. A murmur of voices swirls around me, undistinguishable through the fog.
I become weightless and close my heavy eyes.
“Breathe, baby.”
A ragged inhale.
The enticing scent of familiar cologne.
A rapid heartbeat against my ear.
Blissful darkness.