Page 61 of Shots Fired

“Now, Darcy,” Mum scolds me like I’m still ten years old. “And let me know what he says, please.”

I pick up the phone and say my goodbyes, immediately scrolling to the contact I need, already feeling like this entire process is a complete waste of everyone’s time.

“Miss Thompson, it’s so great to see you. How are you doing?”

Ever the nice guy, Dr. Hughes—our family doctor—welcomes me with a warm smile.

I slump down on the blue sofa next to his desk, arguably feeling worse than when I spoke with Mum earlier.

“This is probably nothing,” I say on a long sigh, “but I’m just not feeling myself.”

A crease forms between his brows. “The receptionist passed on a few details, but can you be more specific?”

My gaze drops to the tiled white floor. I’m not even wearing my heels today, opting for black pumps since I don’t have the energy to battle even the prettiest Pradas. “I just feel … off. I’m exhausted all the time, I hate my favorite foods, I’ve got an incessant headache that won’t go away. Plus, I’ve had some sharp shooting pains here …” I circle the lower part ofmy abdomen. “I’ve felt like this since I recovered from the infection.”

With a frown, Dr. Hughes spins toward his computer, checking a few details in my medical notes. “You aren’t taking any other medication, and you haven’t started taking any supplements I’m unaware of, correct?”

I shrug a single shoulder. “Nothing. Other than my oral contraceptive pill.”

He nods a couple of times. “Yes, that matches my records.” He pauses for a second, eyes flicking back to me cautiously. “I’d like to run a few tests, if that’s okay.”

I know I look like a petulant teenager. “You’re going to take blood, aren’t you?”

He smiles knowingly, already aware of my phobia. “I’m not going to draw blood, but I do want to take a urine sample to check for infections.” He spins on his chair, wheeling across to a cabinet.

Opening a drawer, he fetches out two sample pots, along with clear bags. “When you were unwell, did you vomit?”

I nod slowly, wondering where the hell he’s going with this. “Yes, multiple times. I couldn’t stop coughing, which made me retch. I think the antibiotics messed with my stomach, too, because let’s just say, some days were not pretty in the bathroom … if you know what I mean. It’s never been like that with antibiotics before, but I guess bodies can react differently.”

He wheels back across to his desk and marks up the containers with a pen. “Yes, you’re right. And if you haven’t had that particular antibiotic before, especially since you recently moved to the US, then that does track. To be clear though, Darcy, are we talking sickness and diarrhea?”

“Yes. Not pretty.” I snort out a nervous laugh.

He presses his lips together in a thin line. “Can I ask, have you been sexually active in the past few weeks?”

I swallow thickly at the sudden change in conversation. I guess I have doctor-patient confidentiality. “I mean, sort of.”

He pauses on writing. “Can you be more specific?”

I wince with no idea why. “I’ve recently started sleeping with someone. It’s exclusive, and he’s checked regularly since he’s a hockey …” I trail off. Dr. Hughes doesn’t need the finer details.

“Well, that’s good to know, but being totally honest with you, it’s not only STIs I’m concerned about. Although we are testing for those too.”

The headache I was nursing now pounds inside my skull. “Y-you think I might be pregnant, don’t you?”

Dr. Hughes swipes a palm across his mouth, eyeing me carefully. “Were you taking your pill at the same time each day?”

“No—yes—I mean, I don’t really know. I know they’re gone from the packet. I just can’t be sure I took them at the same time each day since I was in and out of sleep.”

He pulls off his glasses and sets them on his desk. “And you were also experiencing vomiting and diarrhea too.”

I don’t need the doctor to finish as I drop my face into my palms. “I’m such an idiot,” I mumble, cold realization hitting me like a tidal wave. “I barely had sex with my ex-boyfriend, and when we did, it was always with condoms. The pill was just a backup because I’m so scatterbrained.” I throw out my hands, the bright surgery lighting stinging my eyes. “I’ve been so far up my ass and so carried away with life—what with moving across the Atlantic, my new job, everything,” I ramble on, knowing none of this changes anything, only making me madder at myself for being so goddamn unreliable.

Not to mention the way I’ve been wrapped up in my fling with Archer.

Oh Jesus, Archer. He’s the father.

“You can be a real fucking ditz sometimes, Darcy,” I scold myself quietly, covering my face with my hands again.

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