Chapter Two #2
“That might seem weird since we didn’t correct her about you being the father,” I say, laughing awkwardly. “I mean, we’re both adults. It’s not like you’re looking at my vagina. Maybe just turn around while I take my pants and underwear off?”
“You got it,” he says, smiling, then turns his back to me.
Just as I sit back on the table and cover my lap with the sheet, there’s a knock on the door.
Dr. Marsh pops her head around the door. “Hi, Ellis,” she says, walking over to me and shaking my hand, then she looks at Brody with a warm smile. “Hello there.”
The nurse we saw before comes in behind her and closes the door.
“Hi, Doc. Brody Vaughn,” he replies politely and offers her his hand to shake.
She looks at him for a moment, probably trying to register where she knows him from, then turns back to me.
“Okay, Ellis, go ahead and lie back,” she instructs, pulling out the extension on the table. “The urine test confirmed the pregnancy, so the blood test should support those results and give us some additional information that we’ll share with you as soon as we get it.”
She pulls a wand off the cart and rolls a condom onto it. “Since you’re in the early stages of your pregnancy, we’ll do an internal transvaginal sonogram to locate the gestational sac and measure the heart rate.”
I lie back against the cold paper covering the bed.
Brody squeezes my hand to get my attention, and when I look up at him, curiosity and confusion cross his face. He glances at the wand, watching Dr. Marsh prep it with clear gel, then back at me.
“Wait,” he says, his brow furrowing as his unfiltered thoughts slip out. “Wow. So, that’s how they do that?”
The innocent bewilderment in his voice echoes in the quiet room.
Dr. Marsh and the nurse laugh, and even I can’t help the bubble of laughter that spills out of me. The tension, or anxiousness, I was feeling instantly popped like a balloon.
“Yes, Mr. Vaughn, this is how we do it in the early weeks,” Dr. Marsh says, her eyes amused. “It gives us the highest resolution. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt her or the baby.”
“Got it,” he mutters, and I notice a flush rising on his neck as he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand.
I look up at him, my heart doing an unfamiliar roll in my chest. He’d done that on purpose, whether consciously or by instinct; his curiosity shattered my anxiety.
“Okay, Ellis,” Dr. Marsh says, her tone gentle as she positions the wand. “You’ll feel a little pressure.”
I tighten my grip on Brody’s hand again. He leans down, his body blocking out the cold clinical environment, his hazel eyes locked on mine. “Look at me, Ellis,” he whispers, soothingly. “Just look right here. You’re gonna do great.”
I hold his gaze, anchoring myself to the steady strength in his eyes.
The monitor screen flickers, showing us a grainy image. Dr. Marsh adjusts the probe, zooming in on a small black circle inside a bigger white circle.
“There it is,” Dr. Marsh says softly. “The gestational sac is right where it needs to be. Perfect placement.”
My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the screen. All logical thought shutting down.
“Let’s see if we can get the heartbeat,” the doctor murmurs, pressing a button on the control panel.
Within seconds, static fills the room. Then suddenly, a noise erupts from the speakers.
It’s a fast, loud, and impossibly strong whooshing sound—like a tiny drum beating inside my body.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The world feels like it’s stopped moving. All the high-profile deals, family legacies, Dylan’s abandonment…every single thought in my head dissolves into this moment. My baby’s heartbeat.
A wave of pure awe washes over me, so intensely that I can actually feel the oxygen rushing into my lungs. That fast, rhythmic sound is no longer a complex variable or an abstract image on a digital test.
It’s a life. My baby’s life.
A gasp escapes me, and tears flood my eyes, blurring the monitor, but I can’t stop it. My stoic demeanor completely collapses with one little sound.
“Heart rate is moving at one hundred and forty-two beats per minute,” Dr. Marsh says with a smile. “I think you’ll have a healthy pregnancy, Ellis. Everything looks good so far.”
I bring my free hand to my mouth, as the tears continue to stream down my face.
Beside me, Brody hasn’t said a word, but I feel his hand tighten around mine, his thumb softly stroking the back of my wrist.
When I look at him through my tears, I see him staring at the monitor, his jaw set, and his eyes shining with emotion that nearly takes my breath away. He’s not looking at the screen like he’s fascinated, and definitely not like a casual acquaintance.
In this small room, with the sound of my baby’s heartbeat, I realize that Dylan walked away from this miracle because he’s a small, shallow man.
And Brody—who is just a friend—is standing right beside me, holding my hand and keeping me calm when I need it most. I’d known Dylan for six months, yet in less than two hours, Brody had offered genuine support, trust, and safety that Dylan was simply incapable of providing.
Dr. Marsh pulls out the wand and hands it to the nurse, who wipes away the gel and turns off the speakers; then the doctor pushes the extension back into the table. “I’ll give you a few minutes alone to collect yourselves before we print out your photos.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Brody answers her.
The door clicks shut, leaving us alone in the room.
I sit up slowly, wiping the wetness from my cheeks with the back of my hand. My heart still feels like it’s hammering in my chest, but the anxiety I’d been feeling has been replaced by a fierce but quiet strength in knowing I can absolutely do this.
Brody steps between my legs, never letting go of my hand, and reaches up with his free hand to tuck a stray curl behind my ear.
“You doing okay?” he asks, his voice rough but tender.
I look at him and take a deep breath.
“I’m going to be a mom,” I whisper, the reality settling into my bones, bringing a smile to my lips.
Brody looks at me with a gorgeous smile spreading across his face. It’s a real smile, not a camera-ready smile, that reaches all the way to his eyes.
“Yeah, you are,” Brody says, squeezing my hand. “And you’re gonna be incredible at it, Ellis.”
I look at our joined hands, curiosity swirling in my chest. I know now why he offered to drive me after he explained his mother’s struggles and his sense of honor.
But as I sit here with him, watching the way he looks at me, I can’t help but wonder what else lies beneath the surface of Brody Vaughn.
Why didn’t he hesitate to follow my lead when the nurse called him dad? Why is he holding my hand like he never intends to let go? Why do I trust him more than I trusted the man who actually fathered this child?
I don’t ask these questions out loud, though, because today has been a lot. I’m sure these thoughts are spinning because of my hormones, and maybe just simply because we just shared something incredible.
So instead, I let the moment happen, tighten my grip on his hand, and lean my head forward for a second until my forehead rests against the cotton of his hoodie.
“Thank you, Brody,” I murmur. “For being here with me today.”
Brody brushes his free hand over the top of my head, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm under me.
“Anything you need,” he whispers. “I’m here.”
It had started to rain again by the time we stepped out of the elevator into the parking area. The cool, damp air hit my face, pulling me out of the emotional whiplash of the past few hours.
Brody opened the passenger door for me, holding his hand above the frame so I wouldn’t hit my head. Once he climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key, he didn’t pull out onto the street immediately. Instead, he set his hand over the top of the steering wheel and turned to look at me.
“You hungry?” Brody asks, his eyes assessing me. “There’s a quiet, low-key Italian place in the Village. It has private booths in the back to avoid prying eyes. Why don’t you let me take you to dinner, Ellis?”
A week ago, I would have immediately declined. I would have used my calendar, professional boundaries, or the simple risk of being seen with another athlete as an excuse. But looking at him and thinking about how he held my hand steady today and was there for me…my defenses dissolve.
“Okay,” I say, resting my head against the headrest. “Dinner sounds good, and I actually have an appetite right now, so I better take advantage.”
“Excellent. I’m starving,” he says, dramatically rubbing his belly.
Within twenty minutes, we get to the restaurant.
It’s tucked away down a cobblestone side street in Greenwich Village.
Brody drops me off at the front and then parks his car in a corner lot.
I wait for him outside, texting my office that I won’t be returning.
When he comes jogging up the block, he pauses under the awning, shakes the rain from his hair, and leads me through a mahogany door to a booth in the back corner, enclosed by red curtains.
After the waiter sets down a basket of warm bread, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar, and takes our orders, Brody leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“So,” he begins, his tone dropping to a near growl. “Do you want to tell me what happened with Dylan?”
I take a deep breath, rip off a piece of bread, and dip it into the oil and vinegar mixture as I gather my thoughts, unsure how much I actually want to tell him, but I’m not really sure there’s much to hide at this point, so I figure what the hell.