Page 93 of Dash

No longer in fight or flight mode, my body forces me to sleep.

I’m startled awake by a voice that sounds far too fucking happy. I prise one eye open as a young doctor grabs the chart from the end of the bed, flicking through my admission notes—the ones Dash filled in because I could barely keep my eyes open.

“How are you feeling, Dayna?” he asks, glancing up from the paperwork. He’s older than me, but Dash is eyeing him like he’s fresh out of medical school.

I smile faintly. “Like my insides are possessed.”

“That’s pretty standard in the first trimester. How many weeks are you?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” I’m about to relay the saga of the birth control shot, but Dash interrupts.

“She fell. We’re worried she might have hurt the baby.”

Sympathy dances across the doctor’s face. “Okay. Let’s get a full history, do some tests, and we can see what’s going on.”

Full history turns out to be an interrogation over my medical history and life choices—and my sex life.

He takes blood, has me pee in a cup, and then disappears to get the ultrasound machine.

While he’s gone, I turn to Dash, who hasn’t left my side for even a second, his hands still grasping mine, still holding me as if he knows I need to feel safe right now.

“Seriously, murderers are interrogated less,” I mutter.

His thumb strokes over the back of my hand. “It’s good that he’s being thorough. Means you’re both in good hands.”

If I wasn’t lying down, I may have swooned.Both of us.Me and the baby. Why does that sound so good?

I clamp my mouth shut when the doctor returns with the ultrasound machine.

“Based on the dates you gave me, I think you’re somewhere between six to eight weeks pregnant. So, if it’s okay with you, Dayna, I’d like to do a transvaginal ultrasound just in case we’re on the lower side of that.”

“Whatever you need to do.”

He tells me to take off my pants and underwear. Dash helps me then he guides me back onto the trolley bed, grabbing the sheet and covering me again.

I smile weakly. “You know in a minute he’s going to be all up in my womb without so much as buying me dinner?”

The doctor purposely keeps his attention on setting up the machine.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to lie there uncovered until then.”

I kiss him. He wants to give me dignity, respect—things that others have stripped from me over the years.

“Thank you.”

He strokes my head. “Always, baby.”

“I’m ready,” I say to the doctor.

“Put your knees together and then let your legs fall open.”

I stare at a spot on the ceiling above me as I spread open for him.

Dash’s hand slips into mine, squeezing.

I let my breaths slow, my mind clear.

There’s pressure at my entrance as the probe is pushed inside my body.

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