16. Banks
It all happens fast after that. Clover disappears behind a curtain to change into one of those paper gowns that leave your ass hanging out, and I try not to pace the five square feet of available space while I wait. A nurse bustles in to take her vitals and fires off a million questions that Clover answers with that calm way she has when she's in manager mode. I love watching her like this—so capable and in control.
It gets me hard as fuck. Or it would, if I wasn’t currently losing my shit.
Then we're alone again and I run my hand through my hair and start pacing again. No way can I sit still right now.
"It's going to be okay," she says, reaching for my hand from where she's sitting on the exam table in that crinkling paper dress thing. "We’ve got this.”
We . I swear that one word just kicked me in the fucking chest. Not her and me separately, but us. A team. After everything, after all the times she’s shoved me away, now she’s telling me we’re in this together. There’s no chance in hell I’m taking that for granted.
The door swings open, and in walks Dr. Reed Walker. Yeah, the same Dr. Walker I pretty much cyberstalked last week. The one I made a fucking PowerPoint presentation about to convince Clover he was the best OBGYN in Portland. The one with the perfect track record, zero malpractice suits, and a waiting list a mile long that I somehow got us on by calling in a favor from a battalion chief whose wife works in hospital administration.
But shit, no one bothered to mention in all those five-star reviews that he'd be this young and good-looking. He's tall with perfect hair and a jawline better than mine. And suddenly I'm regretting all those hours I spent convincing Clover this was the guy who should have his hands all over her.
"You must be Clover and Banks," he says with a professional smile, extending his hand first to her. "I'm Dr. Walker. Pleasure to meet you both."
I move to stand beside Clover, my fingers wrapping around the back of her neck as I shake his hand with my other one. Maybe I squeeze a little harder than necessary. Do I feel like an asshole? Yup. Do I care? Nope.
"Nice to meet you," I manage through clenched teeth.
Clover shoots me a look that clearly says what the actual fuck are you doing? but I catch the little twitch at the corner of her mouth and the tension in my shoulders loosens. I think she likes me being a possessive dick, at least a little.
“I’ve heard great things from Janet in administration,” Dr. Walker goes on, still smiling like I didn’t just attempt to crush his fingers. "She mentioned you're with Portland Fire. Battalion Chief Ramirez speaks very highly of you."
“Yeah, Ramirez is a good guy,” I say, not even pretending to be interested in chit-chat. I want to see my kid on that ultrasound. "I owe him one for pulling some strings to get us in here so fast."
Dr. Walker nods, parks himself on a rolling stool, and starts tapping away on a tablet that I assume holds Clover's chart. He gets right down to business, which I appreciate despite my irrational dislike of him.
"Based on your last period and everything you've told me, you're about eight weeks along," he says, looking up at Clover. “How have you been feeling so far?”
"Like absolute garbage," she admits, and I hate how pale she looks under these fluorescent lights. "The nausea is basically constant but gets way worse at night. Try making fancy cocktails when the smell of alcohol makes you want to puke your guts out."
He nods like he's heard this a million times. “That’s very typical. I can prescribe something if it’s interfering with your work.” He makes a note on the tablet. “Any other symptoms? Fatigue? Breast tenderness?”
"Both," she says, and her cheeks turn this adorable shade of pink. "Lots of both."
I can vouch for the breast tenderness. I barely brushed against her nipple this morning and she nearly jumped out of her skin. But I'm keeping my mouth shut since Clover’s doing a great job of speaking for herself.
"All completely normal." Dr. Walker gives her one of those reassuring doctor smiles. “Now, how about we take a look at your baby?”
Your baby? It's our baby, Doc.
But I bite my tongue, because all I really care about is seeing that tiny heartbeat flicker on the screen. And maybe making sure Dr. Perfect Hair doesn’t get too handsy with the mother of my child.
Dr. Walker starts prepping for the ultrasound, and I’m bracing myself for the classic scene you see in movies—gel on her belly, that little wand moving around. But no, apparently at eight weeks, it’s some hardcore next-level shit, because he pulls out a wand that looks straight out of porn, complete with a condom on top.
“At this stage,” he explains like I’m not about to be booked for murder, “we’ll need a transvaginal ultrasound. The baby’s still too small to see clearly using the abdominal method.”
“Sorry, a what now?” I blurt out before I can rein in my jealous bullshit. My heart is pumping so hard I can hear it in my ears at the thought of what’s about to happen. My desire to see my baby and my instinct to get Dr. Walker the fuck away from Clover are at war inside of me and I don’t know which side is going to win. I’ve gotta admit—I didn’t see this coming. “You’re gonna put that thing where?”
Clover nearly crushes my fingers in her grip. “Banks,” she hisses. “Shut. Up. This is normal.”
Dr. Walker has the decency to pretend not to hear me. “It won’t hurt, just some mild discomfort. I’ll be quick and gentle.”
I chew the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood while he readies that fucking dildo wand. Why the fuck didn’t any of those books mention this? Or maybe they did, and I blocked it out. Either way, seeing some other dude slip anything inside Clover has me seeing red. But I force it down—this is about our baby, not my issues.
I picked Dr. Walker for a reason, and I need to deal.
Clover clutches my hand tighter as he dims the lights. I’ve seen horrible shit on the job—charred remains, telling parents their kid didn’t make it—but right now, watching another man get all up in my woman’s business might be where I finally snap.
And then I hear it: a furious whoosh-whoosh-whoosh , so loud it blows everything else out of my head, jealousy included.
“There’s your baby’s heartbeat,” Dr. Walker says, shifting the wand. “Nice and strong, exactly what we want.”
Time fucking stops. My brain can't process what's happening. That sound—that impossibly fast rhythm that's going a million miles an hour—is coming from inside Clover. That's my kid's heart. Our baby is real and alive and has a heartbeat.
I stare at the monitor, where a tiny blob—kind of kidney-bean-shaped—sits in the middle. It’s so small I can barely believe it’s a person. But there’s a flicker in the center, like a little firefly blinking on and off, and my own heart feels like it’s about to explode.
“Holy shit,” I choke, my voice cracking. I'm squeezing Clover's hand so hard she flinches, but I can’t bring myself to let go. “That’s—that’s really our baby? That little thing?”
Dr. Walker nods, his face softening and okay, he’s a decent dude when I don’t want to break every one of his fingers. "That's your baby. See this flickering?" He points to the screen. "That's the heart. Everything looks exactly as it should at eight weeks."
My vision goes blurry, and it takes me a second to realize I'm fucking crying. In front of Clover. In front of Dr. Walker. Tears running down my face as I stare at this tiny blob that's half me, half her. I’m crying over this tiny accidental peanut that’s suddenly the most important thing in my universe.
I glance at Clover and see she’s already looking up at me, tears in her own eyes. “Banks,” she breathes, and the sound of her saying my name right now—like a prayer—almost undoes me. She’s feeling the same insane wonder, the same holy shit, this is happening that I am.
I press my forehead to hers, not giving a single fuck that we have an audience. “I know,” I whisper. And I do. I fucking feel it all.
Dr. Walker gives us a minute while he takes measurements, typing notes into his tablet. I finally manage to get my shit together and look back at the screen where he's frozen the image of our baby.
“Everything looks perfect,” he says, like it’s no big deal. But perfect is my new favorite word. “Perfect size, perfect heartbeat. You’ve got a healthy little one in there.”
Relief slams into me, nearly knocking me on my ass. “So there’s nothing wrong? No problems? Baby’s good?” I sound desperate because I am.
Dr. Walker's face shifts into serious-doctor mode. "All pregnancies have risks, especially first pregnancies. But given Clover's age and health, she's at lower risk. We’ll just keep monitoring.”
My brain latches onto that word— risk —and won't let go. Like a fucking pit bull with a steak. "What kind of risks exactly? Preeclampsia? Gestational diabetes? Placenta previa? Preterm labor? HELLP syndrome?"
Clover and Dr. Walker stare at me like I’ve sprouted another head.
"Have you been reading medical textbooks?" Dr. Walker asks, his eyebrows raised.
I shrug, feeling a bit dumb for exposing my late-night Wikipedia and Google binges. “I, uh, wanted to be prepared. I may have gotten a little carried away with the research.”
Clover eyes me. “A little ?”
“Okay, so I might have ordered every pregnancy book Amazon sells, joined some online dad forums, subscribed to a few medical journals…” I rake a hand through my hair, pulling the ends the way I always do when I’ve got anxious energy to burn. “I just wanted to know what we might be facing.”
Dr. Walker actually looks impressed. “That level of involvement is great. But there’s no sign Clover’s at increased risk for any complications. She’s healthy, everything is perfect so far.”
That word again. Perfect. My chest settles for the first time in weeks.
While Dr. Walker starts talking next steps, setting up appointments, I half-zone out. My hand’s on Clover’s belly, where our baby— our actual fucking baby —is growing at this exact moment.
Holy shit, we’re really having a baby.
At some point, I’ve gotta tell Kasen I knocked up his sister. My best friend’s going to kill me, and I honestly can’t blame him. If some dude knocked up my sister? I’d be plotting the most painful way to end them right about now.
But for once, none of that matters. Because we just heard our baby’s heartbeat. And it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
"—and I've sent the prescription for prenatal vitamins to your pharmacy," Dr. Walker is saying as I tune back in. "Do either of you have any questions?"
I bark out a laugh. “Uh, yeah—about a million. But I’ll try to narrow it down so I don’t waste your entire day.”
He chuckles, and for the first time, he seems more like a normal dude than just a doctor. “In that case, here’s my card.” He offers it to me with a friendly nod. “It has my cell number. Most dads have random questions between appointments, so shoot me a text if anything comes up.”
I glance down at the card, caught off guard. “That’s—wow. Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
He just smiles like it’s no big deal. “It’s what I’m here for.” Then he hands Clover a folder stuffed with papers. “Here are your ultrasound prints and some first-trimester info.”
As we leave the office, I can't stop staring at the grainy black-and-white picture of our little peanut. I've pulled people from the worst car accidents imaginable. I've restarted hearts with my bare hands. But nothing—absolutely fucking nothing—has ever felt like this. Like seeing my kid's heart beating for the first time.
And somewhere between all that wonder, it slams into me that I have to tell Kasen about this before he hears it from somebody else. My best friend is going to lose his mind.
Clover’s voice snaps me back as we walk to my truck. “You okay there? You haven’t said a single word since we left the office.”
I peel my gaze off the ultrasound to find her studying me with this mix of concern and amusement. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just…” I hold up the photo, shaking my head in disbelief. “It’s real, you know? There’s a tiny person in there. Our tiny person.”
"Trust me, puking my guts out all day already made it pretty real for me," she says, but she's smiling a little. When I wrap my arm around her waist, she actually leans into me instead of pulling away. That's new.
Definitely not complaining.
I press a quick kiss to her hair, breathing in the citrus scent of her shampoo. “I, uh, have something I want to show you when we get home.”
She cranes her neck to look up at me. “Should I be nervous?”
I smirk, unable to help it. “Absolutely.”
"What… is this?"
Clover's staring at the three-inch-thick binder I've just handed her like it might bite. The cover reads "Baby Priestly" in bold black letters.
"Research," I say, trying not to look as nervous as I feel while she flips it open and sees the color-coded tabs. "I wanted to be prepared."
"You made a binder." It's not a question. She looks from the organized pages to my face and back again like she can't decide if I'm joking. "A color-coded binder with...” She squints at the page, “is that a table of contents?"
"And an index," I add, which is definitely not helping based on how high her eyebrows just shot up. "Look, I know it seems like I went overboard—"
"You think?" She flips through more pages, eyes getting wider.
"—but I wanted to make sure we had all the information we'd need." I reach over and flip to the green section, our shoulders touching. "This part's all nutrition—what you should eat, what to avoid, supplements for brain development. Blue is exercise during pregnancy—what's safe, what'll hurt the baby. Yellow's broken down by trimester so we know what to expect. Red is all the warning signs, when to call Dr. Walker. Purple is different birthing options—"
"Birthing options," she echoes, running her finger along the edge of the page as I flip through. I can't tell if she's impressed or horrified. "You researched birthing options."
"Well, yeah." I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling like I've overstepped in a big way. "I know it's your body and ultimately your choice, but I thought we should at least know all the options."
A strange expression crosses her face. Not anger or annoyance like I expected, but something softer. Almost... touched? "I can't believe you did all this."
"Too much?" I ask, suddenly uncertain. Clover's the one who color-codes and organizes everything from her to-do lists to her damn underwear drawer. If anyone should appreciate this level of organization, it's her. But maybe I've crossed a line.
"No, it's..." She traces a chart showing fetal development by week. "It's actually amazing, Banks. I just—I didn't expect it."
Relief floods through me. I wanted to do this for her and do it in a way I knew she’d appreciate. That would meet her where she is. That would make her see that I get her. That her little quirks are the things I like best about her and if she needs me to color code and put things in order, I’ll do it to make her happy. "I want to do this right, Freckles. All of it."
Her eyes lift to mine, that wall she usually keeps up between us nowhere to be seen. "You're really in this, aren't you? One hundred percent."
"One thousand percent," I correct, taking the binder and setting it aside so I can tug her closer. "This isn't some obligation for me. I want this. I want our baby. I want—" you , I almost say, but manage to swallow it back at the last second. Too much, too soon. "I want us to do this together."
She nods, that new softness still shimmering in her eyes, and leans up to press a gentle kiss to my lips. “Thank you,” she whispers, her breath warm against my mouth. “For the binder. For being here. For… everything.”
It feels like the most important moment we've had since she told me she was pregnant. Like we're finally on the same page, building something together instead of dancing around each other.
Naturally, that’s when I go and screw it up.