They both turn and leave the room, leaving me with ‘all we can do is wait.’
“Ridge, is there a chance . . . ?” Reagan stops.
I know what she was going to ask me. “I don’t really know her, I explained that, but this letter, and just the few hours I spent with her . . . She’s not the deceiving type. At least, I don’t think she is.”
“I’m sure the hospital will do a test once the baby is here, just to make sure,” Mom assures me.
“Yeah, but I still can’t leave them. If the baby is mine—and I feel like it is—I can’t just leave them here. She has no family. What if something goes wrong?”
“You do what you need to do. I have the office covered,” Dad says, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Retirement is getting boring anyway.” He winks at me, trying to lessen the somber mood.
“You tell us what you need, and we’ll do it. We’re here for you,” Mom adds.
“Thank you. Reagan, can you call the guys and let them know what’s going on? That saves Dad the hassle of going out to the job sites tomorrow.”
“Consider it done, big brother. Do you need me to bring you anything?”
“It would be nice to have some dry clothes and maybe my cell charger.”
“Hey, why don’t you run home, take a hot shower, change, and grab what you need? I’ll stay here in case she wakes up. If anything happens, I’ll call you, promise,” Reagan suggests.
“Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. I just . . . want to be here.” I can’t explain it, but I feel like this is where I need to be.
“Okay, well, the offer stands for whatever you need. I’ll run to your place and pick up some clothes and your charger and be back in no time.”
I stand and pull my little sister into my arms, hugging her tight. “Thank you. Please be careful. Take your time,” I stress.
“Always,” she says with shimmering eyes. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
“We’ll sit with you for a bit,” Mom says.
“No, you guys go on home. I’m going to go sit with her. They’re moving her out of the ER and into the ICU. I’ll call you tomorrow. Dad, thanks for taking care of things at the shop.”
“You don’t worry about a thing. I got it. If there’s something I need, I’ll call you. You remember to do the same.” He pierces me with his ‘listen to me, I’m your father’ look that I used to get more often than not as a teenager.
I nod, hug them both, and head back to Melissa.
It’s after midnight by the time they get her moved to the ICU. The nurses pitched a fit when I said I was staying in her room—apparently guests aren’t allowed to stay overnight. I don’t know what she said to them, but Alice spoke to the nurses and then the doctors. I have strict rules to stay out of the way, but I’m allowed to stay.
I settle into the chair that flattens into a not-so-comfortable bed. The pillow that Alice gave me is so flat I can hardly call it one. Sleep evades me. My mind is racing and as soon as I do start to drift off, someone is in the room, checking on Melissa. I drift off again and they’re checking on the baby. I’m not going to complain, though; it’s reassuring to know they’re getting such good care.
I finally give up at around six in the morning, when Dr. Ellis brings in the ultrasound machine.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
“No, but I want to make sure I get a good look at this little guy at least once a day.”
I sit up to watch him set the machine up and place the gel across Melissa’s abdomen. He’s quiet as he takes his measurements.
“She’s measuring at thirty-seven weeks.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I confess.
“Full term is forty weeks. If we had to deliver from this day moving forward, I feel confident on the outcome. She’s been getting IV steroids, which will help strengthen the little guy’s lungs.”
“Will that hurt her?”
“No, it’s safe for both of them.”
“Good.”
The morning nurse stops in for dressing changes and I step out, hitting up the vending machine for a stale coffee and a pack of donuts. I haven’t eaten since yesterday at lunch. I take a walk out to the garden in the center of the hospital. It’s a safe place for patients who are not in the ICU to walk outside and get some fresh air. The morning air is crisp and I relish it, sucking in a slow, deep breath, thinking maybe I can catch a quick cat nap.
My phone vibrates. No such luck.
Stephanie: Where are you?
Me: Hospital.
Stephanie: Call me.
Here we go. I tap on her contact and wait for her to pick up.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
“Oookay. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Care to fill me in?”
“I don’t really want to do this over the phone,” I tell her.
“I have a busy day today, Ridge. Just tell me what’s going on.”
So, I do, giving her the condensed version. Only I leave out the fact that Melissa was just a one-night stand because, at this point, it’s no longer relevant. After I explain the flat-tire girl and the accident, I pause. I know she’s not going to take this well. “And . . . uh, Melissa . . . She’s pregnant.”
“Good for her. What does that have to do with you?”
How have I put up with her for this long? “It’s mine. We were together before I met you. About eight months ago was the last time.” I don’t know why I don’t want her to know, I just don’t.