Page 39 of Uxpectedly Ever After

He nods like he's heard this a million times. “That’s very typical. I can prescribe something if it’s interfering with your work.” He makes a note on the tablet. “Any other symptoms? Fatigue? Breast tenderness?”

"Both," she says, and her cheeks turn this adorable shade of pink. "Lots of both."

I can vouch for the breast tenderness. I barely brushed against her nipple this morning and she nearly jumped out of her skin. But I'm keeping my mouth shut since Clover’s doing a great job of speaking for herself.

"All completely normal." Dr. Walker gives her one of those reassuring doctor smiles. “Now, how about we take a look at your baby?”

Yourbaby? It'sourbaby, Doc.

But I bite my tongue, because all I really care about is seeing that tiny heartbeat flicker on the screen. And maybe making sure Dr. Perfect Hair doesn’t get too handsy with the mother of my child.

Dr. Walker starts prepping for the ultrasound, and I’m bracing myself for the classic scene you see in movies—gel on her belly, that little wand moving around. But no, apparently at eight weeks, it’s some hardcore next-level shit, because he pulls out a wand that looks straight out of porn, complete with a condom on top.

“At this stage,” he explains like I’m not about to be booked for murder, “we’ll need a transvaginal ultrasound. The baby’s still too small to see clearly using the abdominal method.”

“Sorry, a what now?” I blurt out before I can rein in my jealous bullshit. My heart is pumping so hard I can hear it in my ears at the thought of what’s about to happen. My desire to see my baby and my instinct to get Dr. Walker the fuck away from Clover are at war inside of me and I don’t know which side is going to win. I’ve gotta admit—I didn’t see this coming. “You’re gonna put that thing where?”

Clover nearly crushes my fingers in her grip. “Banks,” she hisses. “Shut. Up. This is normal.”

Dr. Walker has the decency to pretend not to hear me. “It won’t hurt, just some mild discomfort. I’ll be quick and gentle.”

I chew the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood while he readies that fucking dildo wand. Why the fuck didn’t any of those books mention this? Or maybe they did, and I blocked it out. Either way, seeing some other dude slip anything inside Clover has me seeing red. But I force it down—this is about our baby, not my issues.

I picked Dr. Walker for a reason, and I need to deal.

Clover clutches my hand tighter as he dims the lights. I’ve seen horrible shit on the job—charred remains, telling parents their kid didn’t make it—but right now, watching another man get all up in my woman’s business might be where I finally snap.

And then I hear it: a furiouswhoosh-whoosh-whoosh, so loud it blows everything else out of my head, jealousy included.

“There’s your baby’s heartbeat,” Dr. Walker says, shifting the wand. “Nice and strong, exactly what we want.”

Time fucking stops. My brain can't process what's happening. That sound—that impossibly fast rhythm that's going a million miles an hour—is coming from inside Clover.That's my kid's heart. Our baby is real and alive and has a heartbeat.

I stare at the monitor, where a tiny blob—kind of kidney-bean-shaped—sits in the middle. It’s so small I can barely believe it’s a person. But there’s a flicker in the center, like a little firefly blinking on and off, and my own heart feels like it’s about to explode.

“Holy shit,” I choke, my voice cracking. I'm squeezing Clover's hand so hard she flinches, but I can’t bring myself to let go. “That’s—that’s really our baby? That little thing?”

Dr. Walker nods, his face softening and okay, he’s a decent dude when I don’t want to break every one of his fingers. "That's your baby. See this flickering?" He points to the screen. "That's the heart. Everything looks exactly as it should at eight weeks."

My vision goes blurry, and it takes me a second to realize I'm fucking crying. In front of Clover. In front of Dr. Walker. Tears running down my face as I stare at this tiny blob that's half me, half her. I’m crying over this tiny accidental peanut that’s suddenly the most important thing in my universe.

I glance at Clover and see she’s already looking up at me, tears in her own eyes. “Banks,” she breathes, and the sound of her saying my name right now—like a prayer—almost undoes me. She’s feeling the same insane wonder, the sameholy shit, this is happeningthat I am.

I press my forehead to hers, not giving a single fuck that we have an audience. “I know,” I whisper. And I do. I fucking feel it all.

Dr. Walker gives us a minute while he takes measurements, typing notes into his tablet. I finally manage to get my shit together and look back at the screen where he's frozen the image of our baby.

“Everything looks perfect,” he says, like it’s no big deal. But perfect is my new favorite word. “Perfect size, perfect heartbeat. You’ve got a healthy little one in there.”

Relief slams into me, nearly knocking me on my ass. “So there’s nothing wrong? No problems? Baby’s good?” I sound desperate because I am.

Dr. Walker's face shifts into serious-doctor mode. "All pregnancies have risks, especially first pregnancies. But given Clover's age and health, she's at lower risk. We’ll just keep monitoring.”

My brain latches onto that word—risk—and won't let go. Like a fucking pit bull with a steak. "What kind of risks exactly? Preeclampsia? Gestational diabetes? Placenta previa? Preterm labor? HELLP syndrome?"

Clover and Dr. Walker stare at me like I’ve sprouted another head.

"Have you been reading medical textbooks?" Dr. Walker asks, his eyebrows raised.

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