Searching For His Omega - Harper B. Cole Page 0,42

But I checked off things in my head. Baby kicked. Yes. Heartbeat. Okay. Me terrified but pretending not to be. Definitely.

Maybe I should have asked Dave to come in. But I wanted Chet. My shaky knee was doing its thing, and I took deep breaths, certain my blood pressure must be soaring.

As the door opened, I blurted out, “Please tell me everything’s okay? I really want to go home and rest.”

The doctor pulled a chair up beside me. Not a good sign. “The baby’s okay, right? You told me the heartbeat was normal.” My voice was more of a shriek, and I grabbed her hands willing her to say the words. The right ones. Not scary long sentences.

And she did. Words tumbled from her mouth, but other than ‘preeclampsia’ and ‘hospital,’ I couldn’t make out the rest.

“I can’t go home? I need to go home. My partner will be calling later. He’ll expect me to be home.” Why was I repeating the word ‘home’? Because it wasn’t ‘hospital’ where bad things happened. Where I’d been taken after the accident. My apartment was safe and warm, and Chet’s scent was everywhere.

“Your baby is fine—for the moment. But I need you in the hospital tonight where the nurses will monitor you, and I’ll check in on you later this evening. In the morning, we’ll make a decision.”

“About what?” I was trying to piece together the meaning of all those words.

“We may have to deliver your baby tomorrow.”

My bottom lip trembled, and I gripped my belly. “No. This baby can’t come out now. It needs to stay in here. I’m the dad and I know these things. The little is safe here. It’s not time.” Tears spilled over my cheeks as the future I’d imagined faded, and there was only black and gray. And I was alone.

“We don’t understand everything about this condition. The preeclampsia. But the baby will have to be delivered soon.”

Dave drove me to the hospital where my mind clicked into top gear. I gave him money to buy toiletries and other essentials. And handed over my apartment key so he could bring the carrier and baby clothes tomorrow. We didn’t have a crib or enough diapers. Or a monitor. We had to have one, and I hadn’t downloaded the app. I was a terrible father.

Once the paperwork was done and Dave left, I was put into bed and hooked up to some damned beeping machine. Thought I was supposed to rest. How could I sleep with that thing beeping all night?

But I was avoiding talking to the person whose voice I needed to hear. He always soothed me when I was cranky or upset. But no matter what he said, sweet words couldn’t wish this away. The phone sat in my lap along with the pamphlets the doctor had given me. Both were taunting me.

I chickened out and sent a message. Phone me when you’re free.

The phone rang straight away. Damn! I thought he’d be filming. “Hi.” I kept my voice low ‘cause I didn’t want the hospital knowing my business. When I arrived one of the nurses had recognized me from the TV and asked if Chet was single. So rude. I replied he was in a relationship, and his face fell.

“Everything okay, babe? I was thinking about you and wishing I could cook you lunch and afterward give you a foot rub.”

A sob escaped my lips.

“Hey.” The way he spoke reminded me of syrup. Warm and inviting. “I miss you too, Stan, but I’ll be there soon.”

“The baby,” I spluttered.

“Is there something wrong?” The urgency in his voice had me choking on fear and loneliness. I couldn’t get the words out. “Stan.”

“Pre something. Claiming. No. Clamping. Fuck, no. That’s not it. Pre pre pre bad thing. No, it’s bad, but before the really horrible thing.” The leaflets were right in front of me, but I couldn’t read them for the tears blinding me.

“What? Where are you?”

“H-Hospital. Baby. Maybe. Tomorrow.” A soft tapping told me he was typing.

“Preeclampsia?”

I gulped. “Y-Y-Yes.”

“I’m coming,” he said.

“But you can’t. Your job.” His dumping work emphasized how serious it was.

More typing. “There’s a flight in an hour and a half. With one short layover, I can make it by this evening.”

Chet showing how much he cared had my resistance crumbling and admitting things were bad, and I needed him. “Hurry,” I begged.

Twenty-Eight

Chet

I booked the flight, not giving a fuck about the consequences. If they needed to fire me, so be it. If they