Page 9 of Hot Hearts
This was not how this was supposed to go, but that is becoming a running theme with Brooks—my baby daddy.
Chapter Six
BROOKS
Ikeep the appointment with the doctor and call Graham next. “Tell me about the marriage thing,” I bark into the phone. Slater is in the bedroom, tucked under my covers with the blackout shades down and an empty bowl on the nightstand in case she upchucks again. I wanted to stay with her, but her sad, sickly moans that she needed to be alone convinced me to leave. I didn’t go far, though, just outside the door, where I pace as I wait for Graham’s answer.
“I’m not married yet, but I assume it’s great.”
“No, not the state of your marriage but how you get it done. Do I need a judge? Is there other paperwork involved?”
“You have to request a marriage license and then have an officiant sign off on it. There’s also a two-day waiting period.”
“Waiting period? What do I need that for?”
“In case someone changes their mind? I don’t know. Why all these questions?”
“Slater is pregnant.”
“Is the baby yours?”
“Of course it’s mine!” I shout into the phone and then, with a guilty look toward the bedroom door, I lower my voice. “Yes, I know it’s mine. No question.”
He gets it. “Congratulations. As you know, I usually give cars out as baby presents, so please let me know which kind of car you think your kid will want.”
“We’ll take a Mercedes,” I reply immediately.
“You’re actually supposed to answer ‘No, Graham, that’s just too generous.’” He says the last bit in a high falsetto that makes me frown.
“First, I don’t sound like a castrated calf, and second, why would I give that answer? You’re the one who offered.”
“It’s manners, Brooks. Someone makes an offer to make themselves look good but it’s not genuine. Your response is to glaze them by saying, ‘You’re the greatest ever, but I’m too morally upright to accept such a big gift.’”
I don’t respond because it’s such a dumb statement. Graham eventually sighs. “Text me what color.”
“Where do I find all the information regarding the marriage stuff? Like the license and shit?”
“Hell if I know. My assistant did it.”
“I’ll trade the Mercedes for your assistant.”
Graham’s reply is to hang up on me. I mouthassholeinto the receiver and then open my search program. A few minutes later, I have a plan.
“You’ll need to leave,” Dr. Kincaid says.
“But I’m the father,” I protest.
He gives me a closed-mouth smile. “HIPAA rules. Unless the lady gives permission, the visit must be private.”
Slater sighs. “Let him stay. He is the father, after all.”
She sounds defeated instead of excited. The doc nudges me aside and straps a cuff onto Slater’s wrist. He pulls out his stethoscope and asks a few questions about when she last hadher period, whether she has any pain or cramping, and a few other things. He draws her blood for a test.
“Here’s my card. I’ll confirm the pregnancy with the lab, but based on your answers as well as your symptoms, it’s likely you are with child. There are options.”
“I want to keep it,” Slater says immediately, her hand going to her stomach.
He nods, and I breathe an internal sigh of relief.
