Page 85 of I Wanna Be Your Lager

“Okay. Let’s go.” I rise to my feet and help Eve to hers.

At the hospital, I pace the waiting room while I wait for them to finish a few tests. Nervous energy flows through my veins like a raging river. There’s no way I’d be able to sit and relax. It’s noteven a word in my vocabulary right now. I need to know she’s okay. That the baby is okay.

A woman in a white lab coat pushes through a set of double doors. My gaze bores into her, waiting for her to say something. Call my name. Call Eve’s name. Anything.

“Lachlan Murray?” She glances up from the clipboard in her hands.

“Yes.” I race to where she’s standing. “I’m Lachlan. Is Eve okay?”

“Eve is okay. I’m Sofia, Eve’s doctor. Follow me, and we’ll go see her.”

I nod. She turns on her heel, and I follow close behind. We stroll down a hallway, passing door after door until we turn down another hallway. She stops outside a room and waves her hand for me to enter. Instantly, my eyes connect with Eve’s as she lays in a bed. I’m gutted. If someone were to rip my heart out and stomp on it, that would feel better than seeing her like this. I rush to her side. She gives me a warm smile. She’s in the hospital bed, and she’s trying to providemecomfort. My girl is strong. She’s fierce. She’s a fucking warrior. I grab her hand and intertwine our fingers. It’s probably frowned upon if I crawl into the bed with her, so holding her hand in mine will have to do. Eve squeezes her fingers around mine.

“Hi, Eve and Lachlan.” Sofia enters the room. “We’ve done a few tests, and Eve has developed preeclampsia. It’s a blood pressure condition that can occur during pregnancy.”

“Okay.” Everything around me fades away. “What can we do? How do we fix this?”

“The only cure is delivery, but with Eve at thirty-three weeks, we would like her to remain pregnant as close to full term as possible. I recommend Eve monitor her blood pressure at home, avoid high-stress situations, and do her best to manageher stress. Here are some pamphlets for more information.” She passes me a small stack of papers.

It’s easy for her to say to stay stress-free when she’s not the one who’s diagnosed with preeclampsia. “Okay.” I nod before twisting to face Eve. “We got this.”

Sofia discharges Eve and exits the room, giving us a few minutes alone.

Eve sits up in the bed, swinging her legs off the side. “I don’t know what to do. Working at Porter’s won’t be viable for much longer. But I have bills to pay.”

Lifting her hand, I press my lips to her knuckles. “I’ll take care of you. I want to take care of you. And the baby. I have some money saved up from all my freelance gigs.”

“Lach.” Her eyes soften. “I can’t. That’s yours.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. If you and the baby weren’t in my life, I’d be nothing. Just let me do this. Please,” I plead. I feel helpless. There’s nothing I can do to help her besides this.

Her thumb brushes over my finger. She lifts her hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “You’re holding my hand.”

Fuck. I am. It never even crossed my mind when I did it. It just happened. But I don’t hate it. In fact, it’s another one of those things that feels perfect. “I don’t want to hold anyone else’s hand but yours.”

I often think, what if? What if my parents didn’t abandon me and put me into foster care? What if George and Sue were still here? What if I never took the bartending job at Porter’s? Where would my life be? But there’s no more what-ifs. I’m right here with Eve by my side because of all those things, and I wouldn’t change it for the fucking world.

FORTY-THREE

SPARK OF HOPE

Eve

The doctor told me to be as stress-free as possible. You know what doesn’t help to be stress-free? Thinking about how to be stress-free. It’s stressing me out. Not only do I have my health to worry about but also the health of my baby boy.

I place the pint glass under the spout and pull the tap. The beer flows into the glass until it kisses the rim. I grab a cardboard coaster and slide it to the customer across from me. At the register, I ring in the total and glance up at a sign that reads Number of Days Without an Eve Accident: Ninety-three. A smile tugs at my mouth. I’ve come a long way. Not only with not breaking bottles but with my life. In elementary school, I remember we would draw pictures of what we wanted to be when we grew up. My drawings comprised of a ballerina, a singer, and a teacher. None of them were of me working at my brother’s bar and pregnant with my married ex-boyfriend’s child while dating my brother’s best friend. I doubt any six-year-olds have drawings like that. Life has a way of throwing wrenches at your plan, but what defines you is how you come out on the otherend. I’ve come out being the happiest I’ve ever been, and I think that’s pretty damn good.

I close the register and return to the customer with their change. With a lull in customers, Rylee stops next to me. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing good. Luckily, I haven’t had too much discomfort like I’ve heard others have. But I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Rylee turns to me, giving me her full attention. “About what?”

I rest a hand on my growing belly. “Being pregnant and working in a bar isn’t the most ideal situation. Then, with my preeclampsia and working random shifts, it gets even harder.”

Rylee nods along. “Oh yeah, I’ve been there.”

“What did you do?”

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