Page 27 of All or Notching
I head to the nurse’s station. This is not a floor I’m typically on, so I don’t know the staff. There’s an older gray-haired woman at the desk wearing a name tag that says, Betty. She looks a little crusty, but her smile when she peers up at me washes away the edginess.
“Hi, Betty. Can you tell me what happened with Laurel Downing? She was in room three twelve.”
Betty glances at my name tag, looks up at my face, and then drags a file on her desk closer. She flips it open and glances down at a piece of paper. “She was discharged.”
“So she’s not having the baby?” She probably told me that, but when I’d heard my name being paged, fear overtook all else, and I ran like the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels to find her. Then seeing my father standing there, I couldn’t even remember the conversation before I fled.
“No, Dr. Tessler. It was false labor.”
“Thank you.” I hurry to the elevator. Why didn’t she wait for me? Because I ran out of there like an asshole, probably.
Fuck. I get back to my floor and hunt down one of the other doctors on shift. After negotiating with him for ten solid minutes, I finally race to my locker, swap out my lab coat for my winter coat, and run to the parking lot. I don’t know why I’m running, but I have this inkling: if I don’t get to her quickly, I will lose her. And I don’t want to lose Laurel.
I love her enough to give up my job if it comes to that.
When I turn the key and the door opens, I sigh with relief. I don’t think she would have locked me out, but one never knows when facing a hormonal woman a few short weeks from delivery.
Sally is sitting on the corner of the couch, her feet tucked under her and a book in her lap. “She’s upstairs having a bath.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“You’re going to require knee pads.”
Damn.
She rises from the sofa and retrieves her coat, slipping into it. But she stops before me. Sally has always been on my side, but her chin is stern, and her eyes are ice. “Are you planning to stick around after this baby is born?”
I gape at her. “Of course I am.”
“You better be good to her, or so help me.”
“Sally, I would never hurt the mother of my child. I love her too much.”
Her eyes warm right up. “You love her?”
“I do.”
“Then get your ass up there and grovel like you’ve never grovelled before.”
I’m still smirking as she leaves, and I lock up behind her. I hang up my coat, grab a cold bottle of water from the kitchen to chug and turn out the lights. I head upstairs.
The scent of orange blossom is wafting through the open door. A candle is flickering on the counter in the bathroom. And Laurel is humming a sad tune.
I push the door wider and peek around the edge. She’s up to her chin in bubbles. This is usually her happy place, but her eyes are squeezed closed, and tears are sliding down her cheeks.
The woman guts me. She fucking guts me.
I enter the bathroom and walk over to the tub, where I kneel. I gently lift the earphones from her head.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she says.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She plays with a handful of bubbles.
“For leaving like I did.”