His face comes up, strained and alarmed.
“I’m probably just starting,” I explain, feeling my face heat. “It’s light at the beginning.”
He turns away and goes to his desk. He wakes up his laptop and then quickly types in his password. I pull my underwear back up and then sit on the bed, looking over his shoulder. He’s pulled up a calendar. From the bed, I can see the title of the large calendar reads, Melanie’s Cycle.
My mouth drops open. Holy crap, he’s charting my… That’s just—
“Your period should have started three days ago.” He turns back to look at me. “You’ve always been very regular. Your records said so.”
Oh my God, there’s just so much to unpack there. He’s said from the start that he had access to my records, but I guess it was never confirmed before now that he actually somehow hacked or got access to my freaking medical records. How the hell did he—
And then there’s the part about how my period was supposed to have started several days ago. Because he’s right. I’m one of those rare women who’s like clockwork. Every 28 days. You can set your calendar by it.
If I’m late, then that means…
I blink, looking down at my abdomen.
Xavier’s light-years ahead of me, because he’s already on the phone, barking out orders. “Drop everything and get out here as soon as possible. No, I don’t want to hear excuses. I pay so I can be your first priority. I expect you here within 45 minutes. Take the goddamned chopper if you have to!” He slams the phone down.
Then he’s rushing back over to me. “I’m so sorry. Lie down. God, lie down.”
He urges me onto my back on the bed, then he lifts shaking hands toward my belly. He stops just before making contact, though.
“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath and runs his hand through his hair instead. For a brief second, tortured eyes come up to meet mine, full of regret and self-recrimination. Then he gets up and turns away. He stalks off toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t slam it at least. Moments later, I hear the spray of the shower.
I drop my head back to the bed, my mind swirling a hundred miles an hour.
Could I really be pregnant?
Even thinking the word freaks me the hell out. Maybe I’m late because of all the extra farm work I’ve been doing. Don’t like, athletes miss their period sometimes because of all the strain on their bodies?
Except that even when I did crew in college and worked out for four hours a day on the weekends, I was still regular as clockwork.
I glance down at my flat stomach before quickly looking away again. Still, I can’t help my hand from creeping to touch low on my abdomen.
What if I am?
What does the cramping mean?
Oh God, what if I lose the baby before I even realized I had it?
I lose my breath at the thought.
Baby.
My baby. Our baby.
Can’t breathe, can’t breathe—
I stagger to my feet.
Sudden images flash before me: Me, my stomach heavy and round. Xavier holding a tiny baby, the grin that so rarely appears cracking his face as he looks down in wonder at the bundle in his arms. Tiny fingers grasping mine.
Oh God, what if— what if— I stumble to the bathroom.
When I try the doorknob, I almost weep with relief to find it unlocked.
Xavier’s in the shower. I only kick off my boots before stepping inside and collapsing into him. He catches me in his arms and holds me as the tears start up again.
The spray hits my back as I cling to him. “What if something’s wrong with the baby?” I cry into his chest. “I can’t— The baby—” I claw at his back, desperate for something solid. “What if I— I’ve been doing all this hard work all week and what if—”
He pulls me against him tighter, pressing my cheek to his chest. “Shhhh. It’s going to be all right. Dr. Winthrop is the finest obstetrician in Cheyenne. She’ll be here soon and she’ll have answers. I won’t let anything happen to you, Precious. I swear.” He kisses the top of my head and then repeats in a rough, low voice, “I swear it.”
I nod against his chest, the terror that briefly cinched my lungs slowly releasing. Still, I can’t let go of him.
This is the Xavier I know and I need him right now more than ever. In command and control. When he says everything’s going to be okay in that tone of voice, it’s impossible not to believe him.
“Let’s get you out of these soaking clothes,” he murmurs.
I stand mutely while he peels off my shirt and tugs down my jeans. Soon the clothes are a soggy pile in the corner and we’re flesh to flesh. His cock is rock hard but he ignores it, twisting his hips to the side so that part of him doesn’t make contact as he briefly pulls me close again.