One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3) - Amy Daws Page 0,28
really that precious?”
“I’m not trying to pay you back right now,” I growl, stepping closer, my jaw dropping when her face shifts from pissy to absolutely terrified.
Does she really not know?
She shifts uncomfortably in the bed, her nervous eyes darting all over the room. “Look, I get the whole Dr. Dick thing is your schtick, and it probably does help you get laid because…well, it worked for me. But seriously, can you at least try to be professional right now?”
“I’m serious, Lynsey. You’re pregnant.” I note the test value, my heart rate increasing when I add, “You’re pretty far along based on your quantitative HCG number.”
“What the fuck is a quantitative HCG number?” she bellows, sitting up to look at me with horror on her face. “Tell me plainly, Josh…am I pregnant?”
“Yes.” And a chill causes my body to shake.
“How?” she cries, shaking her head.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to stop the trembling sensation running through my fingertips. “Typically, from having sex, unless you’ve been seeing a reproductive endocrinologist and did IVF or IUI, and in that case, actual intercourse isn’t performed.”
“Stop with the words!” She falls flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. “I can’t believe…”
“Do you know who the father is?” I ask, hoping for an answer that would make sense and allow me to slip back into my professional doctor mode and detach from this entire fucked-up scene.
Lynsey’s watery brown eyes find mine. “Very funny.”
My heart sinks all the way to my gut.
Oh, Lord. I’m going to be sick.
I pull it together as best I can. “I’m not trying to be funny.”
She stares at me, slowly blinking as she continues to process the news. “I haven’t slept with anyone since you.”
My head begins whipping back and forth as denial shoots through my brain. “Who did you sleep with before me?”
“You think I was already pregnant that night we had sex?” she cries, and the serious look on her face causes panic to sweep through my body. “I hadn’t had sex in months before you. Like, almost a year. Like, I would have a baby in my arms if Barry the Pharmacy Tech had gotten me pregnant.”
“I’m going to order an ultrasound.” I stand and pace the room. “There’s no need to discuss anything until we see what the ultrasound shows.”
I swallow the knot in my throat and turn on my heel to march out of the room without another word. Closing the door behind me, I damn near sprint to the computer and type in the ultrasound order, adding STAT in big bold letters. I turn and exhale heavily, my mind and body reeling.
It can’t be my child. It can’t. The fetus would be over twelve weeks along by now, and surely, she’d know if she was twelve fucking weeks pregnant.
With a frown, I pull up her chart again to read through the nurse’s notes. I find the box checked that the patient’s last menstrual cycle is unknown. Unknown? Un-fucking-known? How could she not know when her last period was?
I dart back into her room without thinking and practically growl like a beast, “How do you not know when your last period was?” I point at the chart for proof. “The nurse’s notes say you don’t know.”
Lynsey’s eyes are full of tears. “My periods have always been irregular…and…I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I thought it was normal to miss a period when you’re under a lot of stress!”
“Fuck,” I grumble under my breath and turn to leave the room again without a backward glance.
I drop onto a nearby bench and force myself to breathe. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. This won’t be happening.
I sit up straight and crack my neck. I can’t freak out right now. I have to be a fucking doctor. I have patients to treat. People are depending on me. I can deal with this later. Plus, there’s just no way Lynsey is pregnant with my child. We used a condom. There’s absolutely no way.
Well, there is a way, my inner voice snidely replies. And it’s right because I know the stats. Condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective. And what kind of condom was that that night? I was so desperate to fuck her that I didn’t even hesitate to use whatever weird fucking rubber she pulled out of that stupid sparkly bag. What was the name on that stupid thing? Love Letter something? Dammit, I’m an idiot.