Chapter 7 Isabel
ISABEL
The thing was, I knew Kick well enough to accept his threat wasn’t idle. I had two choices. I could ask Bas to have him escorted off the property like he’d offered, or I could take him to my cottage and try harder to convince him to leave.
“Come with me,” I snapped at him, easing around him, then stalking in the direction of the cottage.
It was uphill the whole way, and when I walked it alone, I took my time.
Halfway there, with Kick on my heels, I was winded.
Hopefully, he’d think it was because I was an out-of-shape princess who was suddenly working every day instead of shopping and getting her nails done.
All of which was true, but that wasn’t the only reason, and before it became more evident, I needed Kick to leave.
“Look,” I said, trying to catch my breath once we were inside. “I need this job. You heard Baron. If I don’t come home in two weeks, I’ll be totally cut off.”
He cocked his head. “Why did you tell me you already were?”
I sat down on the sofa. “Because it was inevitable.”
“What happened between the two of you?”
One of the things I liked best about the friendship I’d once had with Kick was how easy it was to talk to him about my father.
Most people only saw his public persona, not the controlling sonuvabitch he actually was.
Kick, though, got it. He’d never once argued that “Baron is such a good guy,” like everyone else I’d tried to talk to.
Except Bas. Even before our fathers turned from good friends to mortal enemies, he’d picked up on my dad’s bad side. It wasn’t like he brought it up, but he always seemed to know the right thing to say.
“Isabel?”
I raised my head and realized Kick was waiting for an answer. How could I tell him that there was no way I could do what Baron demanded and not cause our family more embarrassment? I would. That die was already cast.
“What I did…the wine…I embarrassed him.”
“You did the right thing in the end. Doesn’t that count for something?” He shook his head. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“I can’t continue living my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m twenty-seven years old, not seventeen. It’s time I stood on my own two feet, and that means not giving in to his threats.”
“Has he always been this way?”
I shrugged. “Yes, and no.” I wiped away the tear I wished hadn’t fallen. “After you hear what I’m about to say, please don’t think I’m feeling sorry for myself.”
He’d been standing, but sat beside me on the sofa. “Go ahead.”
When he put his arm around my shoulders, I leaned into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I don’t know which is worse. Him acting like I didn’t exist, or him dangling his purse strings in front of me like I’m a puppet.
” I sat up straight. “Which is why I need this job and can’t let you being here jeopardize it. ”
It was as though I could see the wheels in his head turning, and as much as I didn’t want him to leave, I needed him to. Not only because of my job, but if I was going to take control of my life from now on, I couldn’t transfer my reliance from my father to Kick.
“It’s what he does, you know?” I said, sounding harsh, but what choice did I have?
His eyes opened wide. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not giving me a choice. I told you I want you to leave, but you refuse to. Why? So you can control me the way my father does?”
“Are you really suggesting I’m like Baron? Jesus, Isabel, that isn’t who I am at all.”
“Isn’t it—” My train of thought was interrupted by the worst cramping I’d ever felt in my life. I grabbed a sofa pillow and held it to my stomach, trying to breathe through the pain.
“Isabel?” Kick gasped. “What’s wrong?”
“I must’ve…eaten something—” Then I felt a rush of warmth between my legs. “No!” I cried, holding the pillow tighter.
Kick sank to his knees in front of me. “What’s going on? What can I do?”
“Ambulance,” I spit out between clenched teeth.
He got out his phone and dialed. “This is an emergency. We need an ambulance at the Whitmore Winery.” He paused. “That’s right. Um, one of the cottages.” Another pause. “Symptoms?” he asked me.
“Bleeding,” I groaned, knowing without looking.
“Severe abdominal pain and bleeding.” He waited a couple of seconds. “Um, I’m not sure.” He took a deep breath. “Isabel, she’s asking if you could be pregnant.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, tears ran down my cheeks, and I slowly nodded. Then, everything went black.
Sounds came in fragments. Sirens. People talking. The jolt of wheels over uneven ground.
“Ma’am, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?”
I tried to answer, but my tongue felt thick, as though it was disconnected from my brain.
“Isabel.” Kick speaking cut through the fog. “Her name is Isabel Van Orr.”
“Sir, are you family?”
“I’m the father.”
The father. He didn’t even know. Not for certain. But he’d claimed it anyway.
Someone was doing something between my legs. Positioning something. I tried to move away.
“It’s okay. We’re just placing an absorbent pad to monitor the bleeding. Try to stay still,” said a woman.
Someone pressed something cold against my arm. A blood pressure cuff. Then a sharp pinch on the back of my hand. I flinched.
“We’re starting an IV line. You might be dehydrated.”
“Ma’am, how far along are you?” someone else asked.
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even remember what day it was. My eyes met Kick’s, silently pleading for his help.
“Twelve weeks,” he said without batting an eye.
“Any previous pregnancies?”
“No,” I managed to say.
“When did the bleeding start?”
“Just now. At the cottage. There was cramping and then—” I couldn’t finish.
“Okay, we’re almost there. Try to stay calm.”
Stay calm. As if that were possible when everything I’d been protecting for the past two weeks might be slipping away.
The ambulance stopped. Doors opened. Bright lights blinded me as they wheeled me through automatic doors that whooshed open. The smell of antiseptic and industrial cleaner hit me, and my stomach turned.
“We’ve got a twelve-week pregnancy with vaginal bleeding and syncope,” one of the EMTs announced as they wheeled me in. “Vitals stable, IV started, moderate bleeding on the pad.”
Moderate. Was that good or bad? I couldn’t tell from his tone.
People in scrubs appeared and transferred me to a different gurney. Kick stayed at my side, his hand gripping mine.
A nurse looked at him. “You’re the father?”
“Yes.”
“You can stay with her. Just try to keep out of the way when we need to work.”
He nodded and moved to the head of the bed, positioning himself where he could hold my hand without blocking anyone.
The exam room felt cold and sterile. A curtain separated me from whatever chaos existed on the other side.
A nurse helped me out of my blood-stained clothes and into a gown while another checked the pad from the ambulance. Kick turned his head, giving me what privacy he could without leaving.
“Bleeding has slowed a bit. That’s encouraging.”
I felt another pinch in my arm. “Drawing blood. We need to check your HCG levels, hemoglobin, and blood type.”
“Why blood type?”
“Rh factor. If you’re Rh-negative and the baby’s father is Rh-positive, we may need to give you a shot to prevent complications.” She labeled the vials, then looked at Kick. “Do you know your blood type?”
“O-positive.”
“Good. That helps.”
A woman in a white coat appeared and snapped gloves on. “Isabel, I’m Dr. Cross. I’m going to do a pelvic exam to check your cervix. This will help us understand what’s happening.” She glanced at Kick. “Some women prefer privacy for this part. Would you like him to step out?”
I looked at Kick. He was already pale, already terrified. Sending him to pace in a hallway wouldn’t help either of us. “You can if you want.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.’’
“He can stay.”
“Okay. Try to relax. Deep breaths.”
Kick brushed my hair from my face and brought his mouth close to my ear. “You’re doing great,” he whispered.
I stared at the ceiling and gripped his fingers while she worked.
The pressure was uncomfortable but brief.
“Cervix is closed.” She stripped the gloves off. “That’s a very good sign. The pregnancy is still intact.”
A breath I didn’t know I was holding rushed out of me. Kick’s hand tightened on mine.
“We’re going to do an ultrasound to check on the baby, and then we’ll monitor you for a few hours until the bleeding stabilizes. Your blood work should be back soon.”
She asked if we had questions, and when neither of us spoke up, she left. The nurse adjusted my gown and draped a warm blanket over my legs.
Kick hadn’t moved. He was so close that his forehead almost touched mine. “Cervix closed is good?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea, to be honest.”
“Well, the doctor said it’s good. I guess she’d know.” He exhaled. “That’s, um—” He stopped and swallowed hard. “I’m right here.”
I didn’t tell him to leave.
The doctor returned a few minutes later and said they might keep me overnight as a precaution. “We’ll get you in a more comfortable room, then someone will be in to do an ultrasound. After that, we’ll determine if you can go home,” she said on her way out.
She wasn’t gone five minutes when another woman came in. Unlike the others, she was wearing regular clothes. “I’m with admissions,” she began. “I have some questions.”
My eyes met Kick’s.
“I can help,” he offered.
“First, I need identification and an insurance card if you have it.”
“I didn’t bring—”
“I did,” he said, reaching for a bag that sat on the chair behind him. He took out my purse, and I raised my hand to take it, then shook my head. I didn’t even have the strength to grab it.
“Can you get it?”
“Of course.”
Once I saw he had found my wallet, I let my eyes drift closed.
I hadn’t set foot in a church since my mother’s funeral, but lying here, I’d pray to anyone who might be listening.