Page 70 of Crashing the Altar
“Yes, that’s right.”
Tucker’s eyes lifted to meet mine. “It’s mid-July, Penny.”
He wasn’t suggesting . . .
No. I couldn’t be pregnant. Pregnant women got sick, and I hadn’t thrown up in years. There had to be something else causing my extreme exhaustion.
“Well, um.” I swallowed around the lump formed in my throat. “Felicity said when I went off the pill, it could delay my cycle.”
The man’s gaze softened when he realized I was firmly in denial. A place I was very happy to continue residing.
“A couple of weeks, maybe. But not two whole months.” He paused before asking, “Have you been using an alternate form of birth control since going off the pill?”
Why, no, doc. I’ve been a total cum slut for my new husband because the night we got married, he didn’t have a condom on him, and I decided to fuck around and find out.
Oh, I was about to find out, all right. It was all fun and games, asking to be knocked up until it actually took, and you had to face the reality of the situation.
Deep breaths. This could be a false alarm.
With how much unprotected sex you’ve been having? Yeah, keep dreaming, girl.
“Penny?” Tucker’s voice snapped me out of my mental freakout, but it did nothing to stop my heart from racing.
“Uh, no,” I croaked out a weak reply.
A sympathetic smile touched his lips. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There are other reasons your period could be delayed. Stress being one of them. I know you’ve been through a lot in the past couple of months.”
His words might say one thing, but the look on his face betrayed the truth.
“How about this: I’ll run some bloodwork that might determine the cause of your fatigue, but in the meantime, let’s get a urine sample to test for pregnancy. Does that work for you?”
No, but I didn’t have much of a choice.
God, had I really been so caught up in Tripp that I hadn’t realized I’d gone months without a period?
“Fine.”
Tucker stood from his stool to open the door to the exam room. “Sample cups are on a shelf in the bathroom.”
I shuffled past him and down the hall. Popping the green cap on the clear cup, I sat on the toilet and held it between my open thighs.
This was one of the times I envied men. They were equipped with the equivalent of a hose and had a clear view to aim their stream. Women were flying blind and, more often than not, got pee all over their hands in an attempt to capture a few drops inside the cup.
Placing my sample on the countertop, I washed my hands and exited the small bathroom.
The nurse, Maggie, caught me walking back to the exam room and chirped. “All done?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I gave her a nod. She pulled on a pair of gloves and stepped past me to retrieve my urine for testing.
Alone, I began to pace the confines of the exam room, a million questions swirling in my mind.
Could I really be pregnant?
Was I ready to be a mom?
What in the world was I going to tell Tripp, and how would he react?
The quiet unlatching of the door had me whipping around.
