Page 72 of Baby Maker

“Can I go back to bed now?”

Simon tosses the blanket at me, sending me a scowl. “I’ll let you wallow for the next two days, but that’s it. Don’t make me send Bridget down here with the girls.”

“Deal,” I grumble, pulling Domino close to my side.

Simon leans over me, pressing a kiss to my forehead as I snuggle back under the covers. “I love you. You are my family. But I don’t want to see you miss out on your life. There’s a ton of beauty out there, just waiting for you.”

Soon after Simon departs, I find myself staring at the ceiling, my conversation from earlier playing repeatedly in my head.

It’s funny how you can only see an argument from one side when you’re mired in it. But my friend’s observations showed that Keegan was likely only protecting himself. Protecting his heart from being hurt by me. Again.

Within an hour, a new feeling crept into my body.

Hope. So, I’d mucked it up. But I’m not above apologizing. I’m also not above begging and pleading, should the case require it.

“What do you think, Domino? Shall we see if Dr. Russo might reconsider some of the details of this opportunity?”

Her tail wags, and I take it as a sign.

Tomorrow, I’m talking to Keegan. Right after I finish cleaning the house.

* * *

So much for best-laid plans.

My hands shake as I read the form letter from Dr. Russo’s office. It informs me, and the rest of his patient roster, that the esteemed specialist will be leaving the practice at the end of the month. His current caseload will be divvied up amongst the three remaining doctors. The letter assures me that my needs and desires will be carried out in accordance with my wishes.

What a boatload of shit.

A form letter. That’s how I learn when he’s leaving—a damned form letter.

I dial his office, tapping my nails against the counter. “I need to schedule an appointment with Dr. Russo. Immediately.”

“He’s not taking on any new clients.”

“I’m not a new client. My case is highly specialized, and I received word that he’s leaving soon. I need to speak to him before then.”

“Ma’am, we will transfer your case—”

I’m out of patience. “I need to see Dr. Russo. Don’t make me come down there and issue my demands in person.”

A huff sounds from the other end of the line. “What is your name?”

“Calliope Webster.”

“Hold, please.”

I pace small circles in my kitchen, listening to the elevator music blasting out of the phone. After what seems an eternity, the woman comes back on the line.

“Tomorrow at four.” I hear it in her voice. Take it or leave it.

“I’ll be there.”

The following afternoon, I’m back to my usual pacing, except this time, it’s back and forth across Dr. Russo’s waiting room. I pity the other patients, watching me rub holes into the rug.

I’m dressed for the occasion. Not that I’m entirely sure how one dresses in an effort to win back the man they love. I’m not even certain that’s a possibility at this point. But if he’s leaving for parts unknown, I need closure. I can’t leave it the way we left it at dinner.

“Mrs. Webster, the doctor will see you now.” A young brunette leads me to Keegan’s office, pointing at one of the chairs.

---