Chapter Twenty-Two
Zadie
A low rumbling moan woke me. Like distant thunder, the sound rolled up my spine and erupted softly in my ear.
Caleb’s arm banded tight around my waist, his hardened length pressed against my ass. When he shifted, growling out another stormy sound, a bolt of heat coursed through me, flaring between my thighs.
All his taut, lean muscle rubbed against me. His talented, steady, soothing hand drifted up my stomach and landed firmly on my breast. One light squeeze of his palm and I nearly shattered.
The craving was unbearable. I wanted more. Of his hands. His mouth. His cock. At this point, it wouldn’t take much. Just the flick of his thumb, or the pinch of his fingers.
God, I was beyond desperate.
Very bad things were begging to happen. Very good, very bad things.
But as much as I wanted him—and yes, I could admit I wanted him desperately—I wasn’t ready. My body was miles ahead of the rest of me, and that was the problem.
Caleb deserved more than a willing body. He deserved a woman who was mentally and emotionally present. Not a hormonal wreck who couldn’t stop making rash decisions.
With stealth I barely possessed and rarely used, I eased myself out of his hold. Rolling off the mattress, I was careful not to make a sound as my feet hit the floor and I crept toward his door.
For the second, and hopefully the last time, I squashed my guilty conscience and left Caleb asleep in his bed.
His door closed with a soft click. Mine opened right across the hall.
Less than two hours later, I was showered, dressed, and staring at my phone. The text I’d tried to send Sean last night had reappeared when I’d unlocked the screen.
We need to talk. PLEASE call me.
But once again, my thumb hesitated to hit send.
Why was I begging him? Where the hell was my spine?
I’d been so bent out of shape over my mistakes. So worried about his reaction and what role he’d want to play. I’d forgotten he was just as responsible for this as me. If not more so.
I didn’t need to beg. I should fucking demand.
I hit delete and rewrote it.
We need to talk. Call me ASAP.
No more second-guessing. I hit send faster than he’d walked out my door.
The regret drained out of me, replaced by something steadier. Something that felt a hell of a lot like conviction. I was moving forward with my life regardless of Sean’s decisions. Regardless of my mistakes.
I finished my enormous bottle of water and stepped out of my room.
The house was silent around me.
I climbed the stairs to Chantel’s loft, calling out softly before I reached the top. Her bed was rumpled, dirty scrubs on the floor, but the space was empty. She wasn’t there.
Where the hell was she? Did she stay out all night with that man? Had she forgotten about today?
I paced the hallway downstairs, checking my phone for a missed call or text. But there was nothing. My thoughts spiraled with worry for Chantel and tangled with the anxiety clawing at my throat.
“Hey.” Caleb appeared in his doorway, running a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”
Even straight out of bed he was annoyingly attractive. Especially with his bare feet.
Why did I find them so damn sexy?
Moisture collected at my hairline and under my arms. Nerves, hormones, and the memory of waking up in his arms combined to turn me into a flushed, sweating disaster.
“Chantel isn’t here. I’ve got to go. Ultrasound technicians don’t wait around for sweaty pregnant women. I’ll have to take the bus. I’ll have to go alone. On my own.” The words tumbled out in a panicked stream that I couldn’t stop.
“Slow down.” He caught my arm, putting a halt to my frantic pacing. “When do you have to be there?”
“Twenty minutes. Oh God. I’m going to be late, and I really need to pee. They make you drink so much water. It really can’t be healthy.”
“I’ll take you.”
My mouth snapped shut, everything in me going quiet at once. Except my bladder—it was not shutting up any time soon.
“Are you sure? You just woke up.”
“Zadie.” His brilliant blue gaze captured mine. “You’re not taking a bus to your ultrasound. If you’re going to leak urine anywhere, it’ll be in my truck.”
God, this man.
He leaned in and brushed a kiss over my cheek. “Three minutes and I’ll be ready to leave.”
“You better hurry,” I called as he walked back into his room. “If you keep me waiting, you won’t need to worry about your truck’s upholstery. I’ll lose it right here on the hallway floor.”
We made it to the clinic with less than a minute to spare.
The waiting room was quiet, a television playing on mute in the corner while the receptionist spoke in a near whisper. Bellies of various sizes surrounded us, happy, glowing pregnant women with partners who all looked equally delighted.
My lack of a protruding middle made me feel like an impostor. Other than my skinny jeans, which I could no longer zip, I was the only one who’d noticed the change in my body. With clothes on, it was nearly impossible to tell.
But at least I wasn’t alone. Even if Caleb wasn’t the one who’d made this appointment necessary, he’d gotten me here on time. And he was just as attentive as every other man in the room.
Only significantly hotter.
They still made us wait, of course. It was an unspoken rule of health care—no appointment shall ever start on schedule.
Each passing minute ratcheted my anxiety higher, my jitters antagonizing my screaming bladder.
If it weren’t for the calm man beside me, lending me his steady energy, I’d have been a complete mess.
“Zadie Fisher?” A friendly woman in scrubs called my name.
I stood on shaking legs, my nervous stomach rolling with the movement.
Caleb stood too.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“What?” He whispered back, eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t think I’d let you do this alone? You should know me better by now.”
He was right. I should have known. He’d been nothing but reliable and giving since the night we met. Far too reliable. Impossibly giving.
“Come on.” He took my hand. “Let’s do this.”
The technician smiled as we entered the room. “I’m Suzanne. I’ll be performing your scan today. Is your bladder full?”
“Uncomfortably so.”
Ignoring my hinted plea, she instructed me to hop up on the exam table and roll down my waistband. “I’ll need access to your lower pelvis.” Turning to Caleb, she added, “Dad, there’s another stool you can wheel over if you’d like to sit.”
“Oh, Caleb’s not the baby’s father.” The words came out sharper than I intended, stress turning me into someone I didn’t like.
“I’m the moral support.” His voice was easy. Completely unbothered.
“My apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed.” Suzanne recovered with the grace of a professional. “You can sit or stand, whatever’s comfortable. We’ll get started.”
Caleb moved to the head of the table and leaned into my space, resting his arm beside my exposed stomach.
Modesty had no place in a medical setting, but I felt vulnerable with my pants slung low and shirt pushed up under my chest. It reminded me too much of being naked in a bathtub with nothing but bubbles between us.
Except now there was a medical professional watching, and I was lying on a table with detachable stirrups.
I forced my focus onto Suzanne as she positioned the ultrasound machine.
“This will be a little chilly,” she warned.
The ice-cold gel hit my bloated abdomen, and I flinched. But I barely registered the slide of the wand through it, because my mind was too busy racing.
Was I terrible for not contacting Sean sooner? Could I yell at Chantel for abandoning me? Was Caleb’s hand moving closer to mine, or was I imagining it?
Then Suzanne flicked a switch and pressed the wand firmly against my pelvis.
Everything else disappeared.
The screen transformed from a black void to a black void with a fuzzy blob in the center. She turned a few dials, and the room filled with something that sounded like radio static.
She twisted the wand, pressed a little harder. And suddenly, the static became a fast, rhythmic whooshing. Like sonar. Or a tiny heartbeat racing toward the surface.
“And that,” Suzanne said, holding the wand steady, “is your baby.”
My hand flew to the edge of the table. Caleb’s arm was there, and I grabbed on like my life depended on it. His other hand covered mine, gentled my death grip, and laced our fingers together.
“Is that the heartbeat?” His voice was hushed and reverent.
“Yes.” Suzanne beamed. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
“It’s incredible,” he said, and the brightness of his smile could have powered the entire clinic.
No words were enough. Nothing could capture the importance of this moment or that sound. I was riding an emotional wave I hoped would never break.
“See here.” Suzanne directed our attention to the screen. “This is the head. That’s an arm, and there’s a leg.”
The tiny image was hard to decipher. It looked like either a strange sea creature or an alien. The head was clear, but the rest was anyone’s guess.
“Is that a tail?” I asked, not sure whether to laugh or cry.
“No, sweetie, that’s likely the edge of the umbilical cord. Don’t worry, everything looks normal.”
Caleb squeezed my hand tighter, his other hand moving up and down my arm in a gentle caress.
I stared at the image frozen on the screen as Suzanne wiped the gel from my stomach and continued reassuring me that my fetus was, in fact, human.
It was surreal. That funny-looking blob would be a little person. My little person.
I didn’t realize I was crying until Caleb brushed a tear from my cheek. The screen went dark, and I turned to look at him.
Cal.
His eyes held mine. His smile was still brilliant, still full of something that looked a lot like joy.
“I’m so happy,” I croaked. “You have no idea.”
“I think I have a bit of an idea.” His fingers traced down the side of my wet face.
Suzanne handed me a tissue. “Based on the estimated date of your last period and these measurements, I’d say we can safely confirm your due date. May nineteenth, correct?”
“Yes. May nineteenth.”
“That puts you at fourteen weeks,” Caleb said, counting it like a damn expert.
Which made it eleven weeks since I’d met this amazing man. Eleven weeks since I’d been drinking myself stupid at a house party, mourning the loss of the asshole who’d knocked me up. An asshole who still didn’t know he was about to be a father.
“Something wrong?” Suzanne asked, reading my face.
“What effect does binge-drinking have on an unborn baby?”
“That’s a conversation for your obstetrician, but I definitely wouldn’t condone drinking during pregnancy.” She kept her expression neutral, but there was an unmistakable edge to her tone.
“I think what Zadie’s asking,” Caleb said, his voice steady and warm, “is whether a single night of drinking, before she knew she was pregnant, could have caused harm.”
“Oh.” Suzanne’s expression softened as she looked at me. “You should still discuss it with your doctor. But from personal experience, a lot of women have been in similar situations. Your baby has made it this far, which is a very good sign.”
“That makes sense,” Cal reassured, stroking my arm.
I was glad it made sense to him. Maybe he could explain it all to me later. My mind was too busy compiling a list of every inadvertently stupid thing I’d done to put this baby at risk.
Poor, itty-bitty, ugly sea-alien.
The emotional overload reduced me to a pile of jittery limbs and shaky breath, my overfull bladder screaming for relief.
Without bothering to fix my waistband, I sat up and tried to scramble off the table. Caleb was there immediately, his hands steadying me as I hopped down. I made sure my legs would hold me before I let go.
I wished I could lean on him forever. And from the way his hands clasped my sides, the way he watched me with quiet intensity, I had a feeling he’d be happy with that too.
“You okay?”
“Not really,” I answered honestly.
“Bathroom’s that way.” Suzanne pointed. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll leave the pictures with Caleb in reception.”
“I’ll be there,” he confirmed. “Waiting.”
Of course he would.
He’d stuck around through my drunken disaster, my uncontrollable sweating, and all my accidental flirting. He’d just sat through an ultrasound, staring at another man’s baby on a screen like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
And I was running out of reasons to keep pushing him away.