Page 28 of Never Distract a Biker

Dr. Henley, in his coat as white as the lilies, steps into the room with a chart in his hand. His eyes, a soft brown, meet mine. Concern wrinkles the space between his brows.

"You're looking a bit pale today," he says, setting the chart aside. His warmth doesn't quite reach his gaze.

"Am I?" I manage a weak laugh, gripping the bed rail for support. "Guess it's just one of those days."

"It could be, but since you are in the hospital anyway let's make sure it's nothing serious," Dr. Henley insists, reaching for my arm. A blood pressure cuff materializes from his pocket, and I know there's no point arguing. He's kind like that—always trying to make sure everyone he comes across is healthy.

"I don't want to waste your time," I murmur, but he's already shaking his head, his stethoscope cold against my back as he listens to my breathing.

"Deep breaths, Scarlett," he instructs. "And it's no waste. I'd rather check now than miss something we could catch early."

I comply, inhaling the sterile scent of antiseptics mingling with the faint aroma of flowers from the vase by Mom's bed. My chest tightens with each breath, not from the stethoscope's chill, but from the coiling uncertainty in my stomach.

"Everything okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as he puts the blood pressure cuff on me.

"We'll see," he answers, noncommittal. "I'm ordering some blood tests."

"Blood test?" My heart skips a beat, and I feel a tremor in my hands. He notices and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Standard procedure," He says, and I nod, trying to still my nerves.

"Fine," I concede, biting my lip as the cuff tightens around my bicep. "But I … umm I am afraid of needles."

He laughs softly. “It’s just a prick, I assure you it will be over before you know it.”

As he leaves the room. I sit by Mom's bed, tapping my foot against the linoleum, synchronizing with the clock's relentless ticking.

Minutes crawl. Each second stretching taut like a wire ready to snap. I glance at Mom, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that I envy for its steadiness.

After about half an hour, a nurse walks in, hands me some paper, and asks me to take it to the blood test department. I comply and allow my feet to drag me there, praying it is just fatigue.

Later that evening

, the door opens again, and Dr. Henley walks in, his face a calm mask. He's holding a clipboard, and my pulse hammers in my ears as I brace myself.

“Would you like us to talk here, or would you prefer my office.”

“Here is fine,” I respond, unable to wait another second.

"Got your results," he says, taking the seat beside me. His fingers tap against the clipboard—a quiet drumming that seems too loud in the silent room.

"Is it bad?" I force out the question, my throat dry.

"Scarlett," he starts, his tone even, "it's not necessarily bad news, but—"

His words hang in the air, unfinished. My mind races, dreading what comes next.

"You're pregnant."

The words crash into me like a rogue wave. Pregnant? My heart stutters, and for a moment, I can't breathe. This must be some sort of mistake. I search Dr. Henley's face, looking for a sign that he's joking, but there's only the solemn truth etched in his expression.

"No," I say, my voice breaking. "That's impossible."

But even as I deny it, memories flash in my mind. Memories of a night entangled in the backseat of a car with a damn stranger. It was only once, a single lapse in judgment, and I took precautions right after.

Dr. Henley sighs, offering a sympathetic nod. “I’ll send you over to the obstetrician. They are better suited in that department to take care of you.”

It’s been two days since I learned that I am pregnant, and I am currently in an appointment with the obstetrician.

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