The narrowing of his eyes told me exactly how he felt about that question, but he didn't get a chance to answer before a middle-aged man pushed his way into the room. He was followed by two others and a ton of medical equipment.
The first man approached my bed, and I knew this was the doctor—he just had that look about him. Despite being close to sixty, he was very fit and handsome with just a hint of gray in his dark hair. He smiled down at me.
"Brooklyn, it's so nice to meet you," he said, flashing a white-toothed smile. "I'm Dr. Joseph Matterhorn."
Dylan grunted like a fucking caveman from his spot holding up the wall. But the doc apparently understood because he straightened and pulled some papers from the bag he had slung over his arm. "Sorry it took me so long; I was waiting on medical records from the hospital. Apparently, they had a little drama with their online network, among other things, but we got through in the end."
Little drama. Like a few brutal murders and whatever Blake had done to ensure he wouldn't be interrupted. Yeah, definitely drama.
"First thing I want to check is your pregnancy," he continued, still flicking through the papers. "I know there were some concerns with the injuries and continued bleeding. Have you had any further discharge or spotting?"
I shook my head. "No, nothing."
He nodded, noting that in his chart. "That's excellent news. Okay, if you'd like to change into this gown, I'll get your bed ready in case we need to do an internal examination."
Dylan grunted again, and I could have sworn the doctor went a little pale.
Meanwhile, I'd had enough. "Dylan, if this is too much for you, feel free to step the fuck out of the room."
Dr Joseph was definitely pale now, and he left us to our bickering as he made his way to where the others were setting up what looked like half a hospital room.
Dylan crossed to me and sank to his knees beside the bed, and I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to my mouth going dry at the sight of him on his knees like that. "Brooke, I will never leave you alone in a room with strange men again. Not while you're vulnerable and saving the life of our child."
My throat immediately choked up as I fought down tears. Our child. He'd never admitted it was his, and his acceptance of reality explained some of his caveman attitude. This was what I’d wanted all along: to not have to do this alone. No matter what eventuated for Dylan and me, this was a gift I had to take.
"Thank you," I said huskily. "I'm scared."
He captured my lips in one sudden move that I hadn't expected at all. My breath caught until my brain got with the program, and then I kissed him back.
"You and I will face it together," he said seriously when he pulled away.
The tension between us eased. Dylan pulled up a chair and sat on the opposite side of the bed from where the doctors were working. I changed into the gown, leaving my underwear on for now, and then got back into the bed. Dylan immediately took my hand.
"Okay, Brooklyn. Let's start with an ultrasound," the doctor said, wheeling one of the machines closer. He lifted my gown, and I stared down at my perfectly flat stomach, trying to comprehend that there was a life growing in there. It was still so early—so many chances of miscarriage. But I had to have faith.
The squirt of liquid was cold, but I didn't even flinch. I'd been tortured by worse shit than that. My eyes were locked on the screen, and as he started to wave the wand over my stomach, I desperately searched for signs of life, even though I had not a fucking clue what I was looking for.
"Ah," he said, and there was a smile on his face. That had to be a good sign, right? "There you are, little one," he said. He froze the screen and started pointing shit out to me and Dylan, but the only important things I got from him were that the baby had a strong and steady heartbeat and was what looked like a perfect example of an almost eight-week gestation. It was literally a black dot, but he seemed pleased.
That machine went away after that, and Dylan was pulling my gown down before the doctor