45. Gabriel
Gabriel
The baby.
My entire body goes rigid, my breath catching in my throat.
For a second, I think I’ve misheard, that the doctor must be talking about someone else, some other patient, some other life.
But then my head jerks toward Alexis, searching for confirmation, and the way she refuses to meet my eyes tells me everything I need to know.
My throat tightens. She already knew. She must have found out while we were apart. While I was pushing her away, while she thought I didn’t want her anymore. That thought tears its way through me, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.
Dr. Bryant continues speaking, seemingly oblivious to the shockwave that just rippled through the room.
“As a precautionary measure, we’re going to admit you overnight,” she says, flipping through Alexis’s chart.
“Just to ensure everything remains stable. Your blood pressure is low, and we want to monitor for any additional dizziness or complications.”
I barely hear her. My attention is locked onto Alexis, who nods stiffly, her fingers gripping the edge of the examination table. She still won’t look at me.
A nurse arrives, pushing a wheelchair, and Dr. Bryant exits the room as the nurse helps Alexis into the chair. As they start to roll into the hallway, I get up to follow them, but the nurse holds up a hand to stop me.
“Please,” I say. “I—I’d like to go with her.”
“Are you family?” the nurse asks, giving me a once-over. “Her husband?”
My jaw clenches. Alexis finally looks my way for a moment. I can see the pain in her eyes as I grind the words out. “No. I’m not.”
The nurse shrugs. “It’s up to her, in that case.”
As Alexis locks eyes with me, I try to read her expression, but I can’t. There’s too much there: uncertainty, hesitation, hurt. My stomach twists every time we make eye contact, and that pain makes it impossible to think straight.
She has the power to shut me out. To tell them I have no right to be here. But right now, I can’t bear the thought of being apart from her. I’ve been apart from her for the last few weeks, and it’s been hell, every second of it. And now that I know about the baby…
Alexis swallows hard, then turns to the nurse. “He can stay.”
Relief floods me, making my limbs feel numb. The nurse nods and makes a note on her chart before adjusting the IV line. “Alright. Let’s get you settled into your room.”
I stay right by Alexis’s side as the nurse wheels her into an elevator, taking her up to a private room. The realization settles in my chest as we walk past the sign.
Alexis is pregnant. The baby. Our baby.
Alexis remains quiet, her face pale. I want to reach for her hand, to reassure her, but I don’t know if she’d let me. All I can do is remain close by, watching her, trying to piece together what’s going through her mind.
Once we’re in her room, the nurse helps her out of the wheelchair and into the bed.
She checks the monitors to ensure that Alexis’s vitals are properly displayed, then offers both of us a warm smile.
“We’ll be in periodically to check on you,” she says.
“Dr. Bryant left a note in your chart—if all goes well overnight, we’ll be able to release you tomorrow around noon. Try to get some rest.”
With that, she steps out, leaving us alone.
The only sound is the steady beep of the monitors and the occasional rustle of the sheets as Alexis shifts slightly.
She looks so small in the hospital bed. As she turns her head, still trying to avoid my gaze, I notice the stain of foundation on the white pillowcase.
I step closer to her, and realize that her face is caked with the stuff, covering her freckles.
Covering the dark, sunken circles beneath her eyes.
I wonder how intentional that choice was. If she’s intentionally trying to hide how exhausted she is.
I sink into the chair beside her bed, struggling to find the right words.
All I can manage is, “You’re pregnant.” The words are rough, hoarse.
Alexis doesn’t look at me. She stares at the ceiling, her brow furrowing. I can see tears in the corners of her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. Her voice is firm as she says, “I’m keeping it.”
I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts across me.
“You don’t have to be involved,” she says fiercely. “I can raise it alone.”
She can’t quite mask the way her voice wobbles on the last word, but I can tell that she’s trying. She wants to be strong, or at least seem strong. Trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince me.
That, more than anything else, hurts.
“What makes you think I wouldn’t want to be involved?” I ask quietly.
She glares at me, anger flashing across her face, overriding the hurt for an instant.
“I don’t know what you want,” she spits out.
“I’ve been alone for the past few weeks, thinking that the man I—” She stops herself, swallowing.
“Thinking that my husband didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. That I was on my own.”
I take her hand, holding on even as she stiffens. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it like that. I’m sorry that I hurt you, that I shut you out. I just didn’t know what else to do.”
She closes her eyes, and her tears begin to fall.
“I needed to protect you,” I say desperately. “I didn’t know how else to do it. If I’d stayed with you—if I hadn’t done what I did—he would’ve run straight to the SEC. You could be in jail.”
She sniffs. “When we were married, you were… you were teaching me. So that I would know what to do when I married again. I justified everything we were doing by saying that, anyway. But there was never going to be an ‘again’ for me.” She opens her eyes and meets my gaze.
Her lower lip trembles. “Because all I wanted was you. And you broke my heart.”
Her words settle in my chest, and it becomes difficult to breathe.
There’s a sharp chirp from the monitor by her bedside. Her heart rate has shot up, her breathing uneven and rapid. I release her hand and step back, like she’s wired to explode and my touch alone might trigger the detonation.
I want nothing more than to keep apologizing until she understands. To hold her. To feel her lean into me again.
But I need to keep her safe. That’s been my priority this whole time, and I’m not about to let my selfishness take control now. This conversation is stressing her out, and more than anything, she needs to rest.
“I’ll fix this,” I say hoarsely. “I swear.”
I sink back into the chair by her bedside. Her eyelids droop as she watches me.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Not leaving,” I tell her. “Not ever again.”
Her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something, but she’s too tired to form the words. Her lashes flutter, and after a few moments, her breathing evens out as she drifts off.
I watch her, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twitch slightly like she’s dreaming. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I can see the signs of stress on her face. Her cheeks are hollow, like she’s lost some weight. Her hair lacks its usual luster.
As she sleeps, I find a towel and carefully wipe the foundation off her cheeks and nose, clearing her skin. Her freckles reappear like stars in the darkening sky. With them, so does the ashen color of her face, the dark circles beneath her eyes.
I exhale, slowly lowering myself back into the chair.
I was keeping tabs on Alexis, of course.
I’d never leave her fully alone, not with Travis lurking around, a potential threat to her safety.
I kept a private security detail on retainer, so that someone was watching over her while I couldn’t.
It was how I knew she was going to Vérité’s offices this morning, and how I knew that Travis was there, waiting to ambush her with her parents.
During our separation, the knowledge that she wasn’t in imminent danger was the only thing that kept me from losing my mind.
But knowing she was physically safe wasn’t the same as actually being with her. Seeing her like this, exhausted and worn down, makes me realize just how much I missed.
How much I let myself miss.
I didn’t know that she wasn’t taking care of herself. That she wasn’t eating or drinking enough. That she was stressed, miserable. That she was pregnant.
I close my eyes, rubbing my hand over my jaw.
I should’ve been there when she found out about the baby, to comfort her, to celebrate with her.
Instead, I left her isolated, with no one to turn to.
Her parents certainly weren’t going to be a supportive presence through this.
In fact, I’m willing to bet that she didn’t tell them.
The evidence of the hurt I caused is written all over her face, and it guts me. Pain sits in my chest, sinks into my stomach.
There’s a knock at the door. I turn to see Reid, who leans into the room, a question in his eyes. I nod shortly, and he steps inside, one hand resting on Peyton’s shoulder. Dominic trails after them like a shadow.
Peyton’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight of Alexis, the IV snaking over her arm. She seems frightened, clinging to Reid’s leg. She has her favorite stuffed animal, a little gray cat, tucked under her arm.
I texted my brothers as Alexis was admitted into the emergency room to let them know what was happening. Mostly, I needed someone to pick Peyton up from school, but I’m also grateful to see Dominic and Reid here.
I reach out for Peyton, and she rushes into my arms. I pull her close. “Hey, Bug.”
“Daddy,” she says, her voice small. “Is Alexis okay?”
“She’s just fine,” I murmur. “The doctors checked her out, and they’re going to make sure she feels better.”
Peyton’s eyes are huge as she cranes her neck to stare at Alexis again. “Why is she asleep?” she lisps, her lip trembling.
“She’s tired, Bug. She had a really busy day.” I glance up at Reid, giving him a nod. “Thanks for coming by.”