Chapter One Hundred Six
Ruby
Hospitals are terrible places when you’re trying to ignore reality. There’s nothing to do except lie there and let your brain wander into places you’d rather avoid. And there’s been plenty of time to do that. I’ve been here for hours.
Emily and Bella stepped out to talk to one of the nurses a few minutes ago, leaving me alone in the exam room with the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the pounding ache behind my temple. And every time I yawn, the stitches near my hairline pull with the movement.
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the pillow. The room feels tilted every time I move too fast. How am I supposed to go back home?
A soft knock sounds against the partially open door. The doctor steps back inside carrying a chart. “Good news,” he says. “Your CT scan looks clear.”
Relief loosens a tight knot in my chest.
“No bleeding or swelling in the brain,” he continues. “But you have a concussion.” He smiles faintly and flips through another page. “You’re going to feel rough for a while. Headaches, nausea, dizziness, fatigue.”
“Already doing great on all of those.”
His mouth twitches. “I’m sure.” He reviews the discharge instructions again and makes a few notes in the chart.
“No driving for the next few days if possible. Rest as much as you can. Limit screen time. And if you experience worsening headaches, vomiting, confusion, blurred vision, come back immediately.”
I try to focus through the lingering fog in my head. “Okay.”
“And I’d strongly recommend someone stay with you for at least the next twenty-four hours.”
Emily will turn that into a hostage situation. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good.”
He glances back down at the chart again. Then pauses. His brows pull together as he flips back one page.
My stomach tightens. Something’s wrong. “What?”
He looks up. “Nothing alarming.”
Easy for him to say.
He studies the paperwork another second before his expression softens. “It looks like one of the labs we ran came back positive.”
I blink at him. “Positive for what?”
His eyes meet mine. “Pregnancy.”
The word doesn’t fully register at first. I stare at him. Then my brain catches up all at once. Pregnancy.
My heartbeat stutters hard against my ribs. “That’s… not possible.”
But even as the words leave my mouth, nausea twists sharply through my stomach. The dizziness. The exhaustion. Getting sick over smells lately.
My fingers grip around the hospital blanket.
The doctor’s voice stays calm and steady. “The blood test is very accurate.”
No. No. No. This can’t be happening. We used condoms. It was casual. Not serious. It didn’t mean anything to him. The room feels too small. Too warm.
“How far along?” I hear myself ask faintly.
“We’d need follow-up testing to know for sure,” he says. “But based on the hormone levels, you appear to be between six and eight weeks pregnant.”
My chest squeezes until it feels like it’s going to implode. Images slam into my head all at once. My mom dying when I was born. Whispered conversations when people thought I wasn’t listening. The quiet way everyone talked about her death, like saying too much might make it happen again.
My breathing turns shallow instantly. “I can’t….”
The words break apart in my throat. My hands move to my stomach. A baby? How is that possible?
The doctor watches me. “I know this may feel overwhelming.”
Overwhelming doesn’t even begin to cover it. Pregnant. The word keeps echoing through my head louder and louder. Pregnant. With Xavier’s baby.
Six and eight weeks. That means it happened when we first were together. Maybe even the first time. The frantic way I put the condom on him. Maybe it tore. Or was faulty.
And beneath the shock, beneath the confusion, something colder starts to creep into my chest. Fear. Pure, overwhelming fear.