My fears start to spiral out of control. Our baby can’t be . . . No! I can’t think that way. All of this couldn’t have been for nothing—following Ryder across the country, being outed by the press, moving, the bed rest. It all can’t be over because I wanted to make out with my baby’s father.
Ryder leans over, cupping my face. His blue eyes look strong and determined. His hands are warm and steady. “Shh! He’s very tiny still, hard to find out where he is. He’s stubborn and strong, like his mommy.”
Swoosh, Swoosh.
“There it is,” Dr. Myers says. “Sounds real good.”
He leaves it there for a few moments, letting our baby’s heartbeat fill not only the room, but our hearts. I see Ryder release a deep breath beside me, one he’s clearly been holding in.
“Let’s take a look now,” Dr. Myers says, exchanging the doppler for the ultrasound. He turns the monitor to us. “Look here. There’s the heartbeat.”
“Everything’s good then?” Ryder asks.
“The baby looks just fine,” the doctor says, and Ryder leans over, kissing me hard on the lips.
He pulls back but keeps his head close, his hand holding mine, as the doctor points out the arms, legs, and other parts of our baby. It’s still too early to tell gender, not that we are finding out. This feels so different than my first ultrasound. I felt so alone then, even though Ryder was there. Now there’s not one part of me that feels alone. He’s right here with me, taking care of me and our child.
“Looks like the placenta has shifted a little bit. But not much.”
“What does that mean?” Ryder asks.
“Nothing really. If you were in your third trimester, I’d be saying C-section, but you still have lots of time. But we can’t have these bleeding episodes continue. What were you doing when it happened?”
I start to form some bullshit answer when Ryder answers honestly, “Kissing.”
Ugh, I wish he would have lied.
Dr. Myers gives him a knowing look. Then Ryder amends his previous statement, “Well, we were touching and kissing.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Myers chuckles. “Bed rest means no intercourse, no exerting yourself, no orgasms.”
“So this is my fault,” I say—leaving out the details that I was weak and horny, and I put my baby at risk.
“No,” Ryder says quickly. “We didn’t have sex, no orgasm, and you weren’t do anything strenuous. This is not your fault.”
“He’s right,” Dr. Myers tells me. “These things just happen sometimes, no matter how careful we are. But for the record, the extent of your sexual activity until this resolves is kissing on the lips only. Understood?”
We both nod in full agreement.
Then Dr. Myers adds with a wink and fist bump to Ryder, “And, of course, talking dirty to help a fella out. That’s always permitted.”
Rolling my eyes, I ask, “How much did Ryder pay you to say that?”
They both laugh, and Dr. Myers gives me a huge grin. “You must be feeling better?”
Nodding I say, “Thank you for coming.”
He just smiles like the kind, old doctor he is. “The bleeding has stopped. Let’s let all the fluids from the IV run out, then I think you’ll be fine to go home.”
“I’d like her to stay. The night, at least,” Ryder says.
“I can arrange that,” Dr. Myers says.
“Ryder, I want to go home. Take a shower, be in my own bed.”
He looks at the doctor. “You’re sure she’s okay?”
“She is.”
“Because she was bleeding and threw up, then passed out and . . .”
“And she’s still okay,” Dr. Myers says.
“Let the man go home,” I groan. “You already dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night.”
“Any time,” Dr. Myers says, patting my hand. I’m sure Ryder pays him enough for such service, but he seems genuine.
“Thank you,” Ryder says, letting him go and confirming we will see him in a few weeks.
I move to sit up, but Ryder leans over me, running his hands through my hair, his eyes roaming my body like he’s doing his own little exam. I hope I pass, or I may never get out of here.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I whisper.
His eyes lock on mine, not admitting he was scared, but I know. I can see it in his eyes, the tenseness of his muscles, the way his jaw is set. If we weren’t so young, we’d both have gray hair and wrinkles after this.
“I can’t lose you, Kailey,” he chokes out. “This baby. I can’t.”
“You won’t,” I say, and I mean it.
“I wish I believed you,” he whispers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We sat on that old porch swing
Swinging, swinging
Ryder
Holding her head to my chest, her hands gripping my shirt, Kailey sobs quietly in bed. The reality of what could have happened hit her hard as soon as her head hit the pillow. I wish she’d stop crying. I hate seeing her like this, but I’m not going to try to quiet her down. If anyone deserves a good cry, it’s her. She went through hell tonight.
Hell is your home. Are you making it hers?
I clench my fists together, willing the dark shit away with all my might. Kailey needs me. There’s simply no time for my ghosts. Leaning over, I kiss the top of her head and begin to hum softly. The melody comes out of nowhere. It’s nothing I’ve been working on. It just flows like Kailey’s tears flow. The lyrics aren’t quite there, but the rhythm is enough to calm her cries.
There’s nothing I can say to make this better, but music has a way of touching a place in the soul that words can’t reach. She releases my shirt a little, her hands relaxing and falling open. Her chest now moves slowly in and out. I’d hold her all night if I could, but everyone from her sister to my brother are waiting for an update.
Still humming, I slip out of bed and take a seat on the chaise lounge. I want to give her some space to rest, but also need to be close to her, to keep watch.
Pulling out my phone, I send a couple texts to our families, who I know aren’t sleeping, either. They want to come and see us. I’ve told them all no. Her mother cursed a little when I told her that—and I thought she might just show up, anyway—but so far, she’s staying put. When Kailey’s feeling better, I’ll let her take over. If she wants them to visit, then I’ll support her, but right now, the best thing for her is rest. I think everyone understands that, and if they don’t, I don’t give a fuck. Kailey and our baby trump everyone else.
*
Kailey breathes softly in bed. The curtains are drawn, not letting in the daylight. I have no idea what time it is. We got home sometime early morning, and it took several hours for her to settle down and fall asleep, so I’m not about to wake her. I’m not about to move from my spot on the chaise where I’ve kept watch all night, either. The notebook I use to write songs is next to me, the melody from earlier now safe inside.
Suddenly, Kailey’s arm flies out from under the covers. She’s restless, has been all night, moving around, moaning, tossing and turning. Even in the darkness, I see the outline of the bandage around her arm, the one from the IV.