Page 62 of Shots Fired

“I think the best thing to do is get the test done and everything set out, and then we can go from there.” Dr. Hughes confirms.

For saying I just found out I’m likely pregnant with Archer Moore’s baby, I’m surprisingly calm. Only three times in the past two minutes have I nearly emptied my stomach onto the pristine floor beneath me.

Dr. Hughes rises from his chair, offering me a comforting smile. It does nothing to quell the rising panic I feel though.

“Why don’t you complete both tests for me?”

Head spinning out, I stand from the sofa and take the sample tubes from him, hands shaking.

I turn on my heel and go to leave the room.

“Darcy?”

I stop at the soft way he says my name, emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

He smiles again, obviously worried that I’m going to lose my shit at any second. “Whatever the results, you always have options. And whatever you decide, you will have all the support you need. So, please try not to worry too much.”

Five minutes later and with two full pee pots in hand, I push back into Dr. Hughes’s office. With my heart beating out of my chest, I feel no calmer. And as I hand the samples over, I shake my head at myself and take a seat back on the dreaded sofa.

Walking both samples across to a side table, Dr. Hughes opens one container and begins the test, then the other and does the same. “Okay, let’s see what we have.”

I fidget with my hands, twisting them around in my lap, when my attention snags on the Saint Laurent tote by my feet. A small smile pulls at my lips, right as a tear hits my cheek.

This was all supposed to be for fun.

“Okay.” Dr. Hughes retakes his seat and swivels toward me, hands clasped in his lap, wearing a smile I don’t need a degree tointerpret to know what’s coming. “The first test confirms there aren’t any infections.”

He pauses, and for a second, I think he’s going to reach out and take my hand.

I wish he would.

“The second test,” he continues, “did come back as positive, and you are pregnant, Darcy.”

A second tear runs a track down the opposite cheek and to the edge of my chin before falling onto my white blouse. I don’t bother to wipe at my eyes. I’m too exhausted, too shocked to move. I can feel the throb of my pulse as it beats a fast rhythm in my ears, and I can see Dr. Hughes’s mouth moving, but I can’t hear any words.

“Are you okay?” This time, he does reach out and places a firm hand on my shoulder. “You look a little wobbly.”

“I-I didn’t hear anything you just said.” I half laugh, although none of this is funny.

He smiles his usually warm smile. “That’s okay. You have a lot to take in, and I know this has come as a shock to you.”

I half laugh again.

Dr. Hughes stands and walks across to the water cooler, pouring a cup before handing it to me.

I take a couple of sips, the freezing ice water helping to steady my senses.

“Just over a week ago, I had three cocktails. I’m pretty sure I was pregnant then too.”

“Try not to worry about that. Many women don’t realize they are pregnant and have alcohol. I was going to ask if you could give me a firm date of conception.”

I shake my head and put the cup down on the floor by my feet. “It could be one of multiple times. I mean, most likely, it was right after I got better.” I think back to the intimate way Archer spooned me. “But I can’t be a hundred percent sure.”

“Well, we can never be one hundred percent because the pill isn’t infallible, especially when not always taken at the same time each day.”

“Right,” I say, flushing. “Of course.”

“With that in mind, we would calculate your gestation period based on the first day of your last period.” He picks up a pen, hovering it over his notepad. “Can you tell me when that was?”

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