Page 49 of Uxpectedly Ever After

Thank all that’s holy for Banks because he’s the only thing keeping me upright.

As Dr. Walker prints out some information sheets for us, I notice the small flatscreen mounted on the wall silently playing highlights from last night's Trailblazers game. The stack of takeout menus peeking out from under his desk calendar doesn't escape my notice either.

The guy kind of seems like he lives here, especially since it’s almost midnight on a Friday night and he was here and ready to help us within half an hour.

"You a basketball fan?" Banks asks, following my gaze to the TV.

Dr. Walker glances up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face at the personal question. "Yeah, actually. Been following the Blazers since residency. Helps me decompress after long shifts." He hands me the prescription with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"They're playing Sunday," Banks says. "A bunch of us are getting together at Timber—her brother's brewery—to watch. You should stop by if you're not delivering babies or whatever."

I raise an eyebrow at Banks, but honestly, it's not the worst idea. Dr. Walker seems to be about Banks’s age and looking around his office, he seems lonely. Or at the very least married to his job. He’s also kind of awkward when he’s not talking about medical stuff.

Dr. Walker hesitates, but then a small smile lights up his face. "I might just do that. I’ve been watching too many games alone in this office lately."

"First round's on the house," I offer, surprising myself. "I know the owner.”

That small smile turns to a full-on grin. "I'll hold you to that. But only if you promise to follow my instructions." He taps the printed sheets. "Medicine. Rest. Hydration. Doctor's orders."

I agree and then Banks helps me out to the car. The ride home is quiet, with Banks shooting worried glances at me every few seconds while I stare out the window. After the IV I feel better, but I don’t know how to process the way my body’s failing me.

Once we're back in my apartment, the dam finally breaks.

"I can't do this," I whisper, sinking onto the couch as tears start falling. It’s a whole downpour and I can’t stop it. "I’m going to be a horrible mom,” I sob, barely able to get the words out. “Our baby’s going to struggle because I can’t take care of it.”

Banks is beside me in a blink, pulling me into his lap and cradling me against his chest like a baby. Can’t say I hate it. "Hey, no. That's not true."

"It is true!" The sob that tears out of me is ugly and raw. "I'm failing at the most basic thing I'm supposed to be able to do. Grow a healthy baby. And now I have to cut back at work, which means less money saved for my bar, and I'll probably fail my finals because I can't stay awake long enough to study—"

"Shh," Banks murmurs, his fingers running through my hair. "You're not failing at anything. Your body’s working overtime to grow our kid. That's not failure, Freckles. That's strength."

"But my plans—"

"We'll adjust them." He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. "I've already been working on some ideas."

Before I can ask what he means, he's setting me on the couch beside him and getting up, grabbing his laptop. He returns and pulls up a spreadsheet that looks suspiciously like something I’d make.

"So, I mapped out your class schedule and put together a study plan that works around when you typically feel best duringthe day," he explains, pointing to the screen. "I've also worked out my shifts so I can take you to class when you're too sick to drive, and pick up more of the household stuff so you can rest. Navy and Kasen agreed to help out, too. Navy’s going to pick up more of your hours and Kase’s going to be backup for anything I can’t be here for. Plus, he’s gonna water your plants."

I stare at him, at this incredible man who knows me so well and who’s done this amazing thing I never would’ve asked him to do. This spreadsheet he's created just for me, the way he’s rearranged his life around mine, and something in me just crumbles. Just gives way to the avalanche of feelings I’ve been trying to hold back.

"You did this for me?" My voice comes out embarrassingly small.

His eyes go all melty. "Of course I did. We're a team, remember? You're not doing any of this alone. You're the strongest person I know, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need help.”

Maybe he’s right, and he’s earned my trust.

So I give in.

Slowly, reluctantly, I start to lean on him. For the first time in my life, I let someone else take some of the weight. It terrifies me how easy it becomes over the next week—falling asleep on his chest while studying, waking to find he's highlighted passages in my textbook and left sticky notes with helpful summaries.

One night, I’m crying over a low grade on a quiz (stupid pregnancy hormones) and I can’t stop. But Banks shows up yet again. He holds me through the night, his lips pressed against my hair as he whispers promises I'm afraid to believe.

Despite myself, I’m starting to believe them. I’m starting to believe inhim.

"You don't have to do everything alone anymore," he murmurs into the darkness. "That's what I'm here for."

Now I'm lying awake, watching him sleep beside me. His face is softer in sleep, younger somehow without the weight of responsibility he carries during the day. One of his hands rests protectively over my small but growing bump, a habit he's developed that melts something inside me every time.

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