Chapter 24 #2
When I wake, the bed is empty. My hands pat down the bed to find it cool, so I hop out, scrambling over to the bathroom and closet.
All her things are here and it’s then that I hear her downstairs.
My hand rests over my heart, which is beating like a fucking locomotive.
For some reason, I thought she left me again.
I have no idea why this hit so hard or why I reacted this way, but fuck, it made me realize I want Stevie in my bed, curled into me forever.
Back pressed to the wall, hand over my thumping heart, I wait until I calm down.
In the kitchen, she’s preparing a meal in a summer dress. Shit, if she ain’t the prettiest sight.
When she turns and sees me, she lets out a scream. “Dammit, King. Make some noise.”
I laugh at how her brows dip low when bothered. “You want me to fart before I come in?”
“Pig!” She tosses the kitchen towel at me and gestures to the chair, averting my eyes. “Since you usually make eggs, I made some with bacon.”
She places a bowl of fruit by my plate, too. We sit and eat with our phones in our hands. This scenario has been on repeat for a long time. At some point, we gotta change.
She finishes her food, placing her plate in the dishwasher, and asks, “Do you know when Gears will bring my car?”
I clean up and respond, “He’s fixing the window. It could take a week. They’ve been busy.” Again, a small alarm goes off in my head. If she has her car, she has freedom. “Why?”
She slips onto the stool. “Because I’d like to make a doctor’s appointment for the baby, and I’ll need my car.”
This has me relaxing against the counter. “I can drive you.” She lets out a frustrated sigh, assuming I want to control her, so I add, “Because I’d like to go with you. Tell me when so I can change appointments at the shop.”
With everything going on, Stevie reschedules lunch with Grayson for a later date.
Her car is back from Gears. Two weeks it takes for a doctor’s appointment, and we’re heading over there now.
She’s biting her nails, glancing out the window, then at me.
..and back out the window again. I don’t know what overcomes me, but I hold her hand.
This has her body lock up, eyes bolted to mine, and then a small smile drifts onto her face.
Damn, she’s even more fucking beautiful when she smiles.
I drop her off at the door, park, and join her in the waiting area where there is a couple and a woman with two children.
They all stop what they’re doing, staring at me like I have two fucking heads.
A big, scary, tattooed biker. This is why I usually stick to my people.
These dicks don’t know anything about me.
All they see are tats, a mohawk, and muscles, assuming I’m an asshole.
Then again, maybe they do know me, because I am an asshole.
Stevie’s filling out a form, and I read over her answers.
She raises her eyebrow at me, so I check out the others in the room.
I can’t ignore the smell of rubbing alcohol.
A childhood smell. My nose scrunches and bile creeps up my throat.
It’s a smell I’ll never forget, nor the sight of my mom heating rock, adding alcohol, and injecting it.
She was always high. At one time she was pretty, but the drugs devoured her looks.
The worst part though was how ugly she acted toward me. Hated me.
Stevie sits back down, jarring me to the present.
I gaze over at her, realizing she’s nothing like my crack whore mom.
She’s beautiful, smart, and even though I don’t know much more, I’m guessing caring.
Out of instinct, I tuck her hair behind her ear to see her better.
She smiles and there’s another shift inside me.
Like my body is loosening. My coiled nerves and muscles slacken when she smiles.
They call Stevie, so I stand too and she stops, and says, “You can stay here.”
“I didn’t come here to sit in the waiting area.”
“But they’re going to ask about my history, do a vaginal exam, and other things.”
I press my mouth to her ear. “Ain’t we supposed to be a couple? Besides, I’ve seen you’re pussy up close?”
She gasps and pulls away, not saying another word as I follow behind. We enter a room and the woman hands Stevie a gown, advising her to change and that the doctor will be in soon. Stevie goes behind a screen and I glimpse over the top of it.
“King! Sit on the stool.”
“I’ve seen you naked, Rebel.”
She stops, holding her shirt to her chest. “Please, King. I’m already nervous.”
I wave my hand and walk away, circling the chair, which has metal bars at the bottom coming out from both sides with a flat metal piece attached to each one.
Stevie comes out, holding the paper-thin gown closed in front, and takes a seat on the chair. I position myself between the metal bars, and she indicates for me to move by her head.
I bend the metal up and down, and she smacks my hand. “What are you, five?”
“What the hell are these?”
“For me to put my feet on.”
My face scrunches up in confusion, but I stand by her head when the doctor comes in.
A male doctor. I’m definitely not liking this.
There’s also a female assistant. They talk about Stevie’s history.
I half listen while checking out the diagrams of the female body, and the gestation chart.
All I know is the female body in the carnal sense.
The doctor puts on rubber gloves and stands to the side, holding the sheet up as he massages her breast, doing the same to the other.
I bite down on my cheek. Just watching him fondle her, and sit between her legs, drives me batshit crazy.
I’m clenching my fists. This kind of shit is new and disturbing.
I close my eyes to block out the image, breathing through my nose.
The gloves snap, and my eyes do the same, wary of him as he writes something in a chart.
“Aside from your mother’s cancer, your family history and your health appear to be good. Still, your age plays a factor when it comes to pregnancy. You’re what is called advanced maternal age or geriatric pregnancy.”
“Gee, thanks.”
The doctor and assistant laugh and he continues, “This is your first pregnancy at thirty-seven, so you’re considered high risk.”
I pop in. “What does that mean?”
“It means there are more risks involved. Miscarriage. Gestational diabetes and onward. There’s no need to worry about it now.
Things are looking fine.” Stevie’s face pales, so the doctor adds, “Stephanie, stress is one of the things to avoid during your pregnancy. Are there risks to this pregnancy? Yes. Will I be monitoring you closely? Yes.” Her body relaxes a bit.
“Okay, are you two ready for the ultrasound?”
We both nod. He pulls over a machine, turns it on, and inserts a wand inside Stevie.
I’m grinding my teeth, placing my hand on her arm before I punch him out.
It isn’t until the doctor points out the heartbeat that my eyes drift over to the screen.
I hear a fast ba-dum, ba-dum, so I lean over Stevie to see what he’s pointing at.
Then he pauses, adjusts the screen, and looks closer.
An echo of ba-dum, ba-dum.
Stevie asks, “Is there something wrong?”
“Nope. I’m just making sure I hear the two heartbeats.”