Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Fuck Google.
An odd thought, but Google is how I ended up at the emergency room, convinced I was losing the baby. The quiet panic was overwhelming as I waited to be seen, and now I feel like I can finally breathe.
The sound of the baby’s rapid heartbeat is soothing, forcing me to acknowledge the weight of relief.
I always felt scarily indifferent to the idea of the baby, never fully letting myself embrace my pregnancy.
Now, all I want to do is cradle my belly and protect this life from danger. Even if I’m the danger.
“There’s the little guy,” the doctor announces, beaming. She sits back, the line of concentration between her brows now gone.
“It’s a boy?” I ask, my own brows drawn now. Not how I wanted to find out, but that’s the least of my worries.
“Oh, I wouldn’t— That’s not what I meant?—”
I wave my hands, less worried about potential gender slips than I am about the overall health of the baby. Everything comes second to this. For the first time, even my career comes second.
I hadn’t envisioned missing a meeting with Paula because during one of my many bathroom breaks, I saw a streak of blood in my panties, but here we are.
Instead of sitting with her and Quintin to discuss the final menu details for the event, I’m here, talking myself down from a panic attack. I made a quick call to Remi on my way here, and I haven’t looked at my phone since.
I’m flooded with guilt at the possibility that sex with Quintin may’ve caused this. While it seems the baby is okay, I have to ask just one more time.
“So, it’s okay?” I question, staring at the screen, where there’s a tiny flicker that reassures me before the doctor can answer.
“Yes. They are fine.”
She grins over her gender correction, and I offer a weak smile just as the privacy curtain is pushed open. I stare incredulously at the intruder.
Only it isn’t an intruder.
Quintin is standing there, eyes bouncing between the doctor and me before reaching for me.
There’s that warmth again that reveals itself when he’s around. I used to think it was pure lust, but now, it’s akin to comfort, one I’ve never had before. Someone feels like a safe place, a diary, a home of some sort.
Fuck, I’m in deep.
“Paula said you had an emergency,” is all he says as he places his hands on my face, inspecting me. His hands are gentle, a direct contradiction to his eyes that shine with a seriousness I typically don’t see aimed at me.
I’m wondering how the hell he’s even here. No one knows I’m here, and certainly not from my own mouth.
“Yes, well, it turns out I had nothing to worry about.” I want to pull away from his touch, to learn not to rely on it, but after the fear dissipates, I’m left with immense exhaustion. The sight of him comforts me as much as his touch.
Please stay , my mind says as I close my eyes for a moment, relishing in his presence.
“Your baby is fine,” the doctor reassures him, and I fight the need clawing at me to correct her.
It’s not his baby, it’s not his baby.
Am I reminding myself so I can find some sort of ledge to cling to for safety?
“Thank you,” he tells her, and she slips out after informing us she’d be getting my discharge paperwork ready.
Silence ensues, and I blink back tears as my emotions ebb and flow, pulling me in too many directions.
He’s here, and I can think of no one better suited to calm me in this moment. But…
“How did you know I was here?” I ask, rolling my shirt down and sitting up. He reaches for my elbow, helping me upright. When his hand cups my face again, before leaning in for a kiss, I close my eyes.
Our foreheads touch for the briefest moment, and then he answers me, stepping away to get me ready to go.
“It’s the closest hospital to our place. Where else would a pregnant woman be if she were having an emergency?” He isn’t looking at me as he grabs my bags from where they’re perched on the chair in the corner.
“I could’ve been at Do-Rite Donuts, for your information,” I supply, unnerved by his keen thinking.
“Are you craving donuts?” He glances at me, brow arched, a grin plastered on his face.
“I’m always craving donuts, Quintin,” I grumble as I slide down from the bed. When I try to put my shoes on, he takes them from me and gestures toward the now-empty chair. He sets my things down and kneels to put my shoes on. As he ties my shoelaces, I try not to fawn over him.
How is he here? How is he so steady? How does he calm me so easily?
“I’ll pick some up on our way home, Cinderella,” he says as he pats my foot before standing. Cheesy motherfucker.
Still, I smile—until I fully digest his word choice.
“Home?”
“You just got out of the hospital,” he reminds me, crossing his arms as if he’s preparing to fend off any argumentative word. Those serious eyes mixed with his thick brows have me half horny, half annoyed.
“And we’re okay,” I remind him, the gratefulness of it making my voice tremble. If he catches it, he doesn’t let on.
“And I’ll keep an eye on you until I’m sure.” He’s still staring at me, my purse and coat in his hands.
“You’re staying at my place?” For the second time this week?
“Or you can stay at mine?” His offer is kind, but I love my bed too much to desert it for the night. Plus, I haven’t seen anything other than his kitchen and living room. This man could be sleeping on a damn air mattress for all I know.
“Has anyone other than your friend’s cat stayed at your place?” I blurt the question out before realizing there’s a potential for his answer to hurt.
I’m nosey and would likely know the answer if it was yes. Unless someone stayed over before I was in the picture…
No, don’t worry about what happened before you. Follow his lead.
“You’d be the first.”
Relief courses through me even as I try to backpedal.
“I don’t know why I asked that. It’s none of my business,” I tell him, ducking my head as I try to suppress my awkward feelings.
He uncrosses his arms with a grin, placing his hands on my cheeks again and peering down at me as he speaks.
“It is your business. I’m your business, and you’re my business.”
Silence ensues as we stare at one another, and I break it with a question that could reference so many things.
“What are you doing here, Quintin?”
I watch as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his lips stretch into a smile so effortless, it catches my breath.
“I couldn’t think of another place I’d rather be than here with you.”
“In the thick of my shit?” I ask, smiling as he helps me put my coat on.
“Right in the thick of it, holding your hand,” he reassures me, pulling my hair from where it’s caught in my coat before pressing a kiss to the side of my face.
“It won’t fit.”
“Come on. You can take it,” he insists in that velvety voice of his, coaxing me.
“It’s too much,” I whine in rebuttal, physically uncomfortable.
“Open wide.”
I roll my eyes as Quintin brings a forkful of chicken to my mouth—chicken he brought over and made in my kitchen as I sat my ass on my couch, watching him. “I can’t take another bite.”
“Come on, baby,” he says, and in my shock at the endearment, he takes advantage of my open mouth. I make quick work of chewing the last bite of food as he sits back, satisfaction written all over his face. “I love watching you eat.”
“Big girls gotta eat, too.” I smirk as I stare at him, pulling back a little when he leans forward to brush his thumb over the corner of my mouth.
“You’re beautiful.”
I look away, unable to maintain eye contact at the sound of his tender compliment. I’ve always loved my shape, my height, my ass and hips, but he doesn’t give me the space to even make jokes about it.
“Did I tell you I finally told my parents about the baby?” I shove away, leaning back onto the couch until I’m lying down. My hand rests on my stomach, and I stare up at the ceiling.
This baby is safe. This baby is wanted. This baby is loved.
I blink away random tears as he speaks, not noticing my hormonal moment.
“How’d they take it?” He gets up, taking the now-empty plate with him. I listen to the sounds of him tidying my kitchen as I try to formulate a response. He has no idea what I’ve signed him up for.
“I…think they’re happy. But worried.”
“What are their main concerns?” The clink of dishes being placed in my dishwasher makes me sit up to peer over my couch.
I watch as he puts things away, knowing where things go, knowing where things are meant to be stored.
I’ve never experienced anything like this in my home before.
He’s in my kitchen, moving with ease like he belongs here.
If I’m not careful, I’ll start to think he does.
“The father,” I confess before twisting my lips. “Or lack of, if I’m being honest.”
I stare at the back of his head as he straightens, wondering what he’s thinking. What the fuck is this situation?
What are we doing here?
“A baby is a big responsibility. Concern seems normal.”
When he turns to walk back into the living room, I watch him, trying to detect any emotion, any uncertainty, anything at all. If he feels uncomfortable, I can’t tell.
An odd moment for that poker face of his to reemerge.
“They want to meet you,” I finally spit out, unable to maintain the silence.
His eyes widen a fraction, and I bring my hands together on my lap, squeezing them. He catches the movement, and when he sits at the edge of the couch, I remind myself to breathe evenly.
“You told them about me.”
It isn’t a question, but surely, he has many…right?
“In a way,” I mumble, rolling my eyes to the ceiling before throwing it all out there for him to decide if he’s truly up for this or not.
“I guess I’m trying to tell you I told my family they’d be meeting the father of my child soon.
” I rush the words out to avoid the sting of embarrassment over my deception.
Somehow, he got wrapped up in a woman too afraid to tell her parents she slept with a stranger and ended up pregnant and alone.
“When do you want me to meet them?”