Page 28 of Ace's Legacy
One month since Sarah told me she was pregnant. One month of her living in my room at the clubhouse, both of us adjusting to this new reality. One week since we eliminated Charles and his entire operation, one goddamn week of peace after three weeks of intense planning, surveillance, and finally, execution.
And now, here I am, sitting in a doctor's waiting room, my t-shirt sticking to my skin with nervous sweat as I flip through a parenting magazine without absorbing a single word.
"Stop bouncing your leg," Sarah says, placing a hand on my knee. "You're shaking the whole row of chairs."
"Sorry," I mutter, forcing my leg to still. "Just... fuck, I don't know what I'm doing here."
She smiles, that patient smile she uses with her first graders. "You're supporting me at my twelve-week ultrasound. That's what you're doing."
Twelve weeks. Our baby is twelve weeks old today, though it's still too small to be more than a blob on a screen. At least, that's what Sarah told me when I asked what to expect. A blob with a heartbeat.
"You okay with me being here?" I ask for probably the tenth time since we left the clubhouse. "I can wait outside if you'd rather—"
"Ryan," she interrupts, using my real name as she always does outside the club. "I want you here. This is your baby too."
My baby. The reality of it still hits me like a punch to the gut every time I think about it. I'm going to be someone's father. Me—the guy whose own father was such a piece of shit that being like him has been my lifelong fear.
The door to the inner office opens, and a nurse appears. "Sarah Collins?"
Sarah stands, grabbing her purse. I rise too, my heart suddenly pounding against my ribs. This is it. I’m about to see our kid for the first time.
"Coming?" Sarah asks, extending her hand to me.
I take it, grateful for the anchor as we follow the nurse through the door. The hallway is lined with photos of babies. So many fucking babies, all looking vaguely alike to my untrained eye. The nurse leads us to an examination room, instructs Sarah to sit on the table, and tells us the doctor will be right in.
When the door closes behind her, I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"You're really nervous," Sarah observes, looking amused.
"That obvious?" I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace.
"You haven't said more than ten words since we left the clubhouse, and you're sweating through your shirt." She reaches out, taking my hand again. "It's going to be fine. This is just a routine checkup."
"Nothing about this feels routine to me," I admit.
Before she can respond, there's a knock at the door, and a middle-aged woman in a white coat enters. "Sarah! Good to see you again," she says warmly, then turns to me with a slightly more reserved smile. "And you must be the father."
"Yes, ma'am. Ryan Carter." I extend my hand, trying to appear more put-together than I feel.
"Dr. Monroe," she says, shaking my hand firmly. "Alright, let's see how this little one is doing, shall we?"
She has Sarah lie back on the examination table and lift her shirt to expose her still-flat stomach. As she squirts clear gel onto Sarah's skin, I move to the head of the table, wanting to be close enough to see everything but out of the doctor's way.
"This might be a little cold," Dr. Monroe warns, though Sarah doesn't flinch when the gel hits her skin.
The doctor presses a wand-like device against Sarah's abdomen, moving it around slowly. A grainy black-and-white image appears on the monitor beside the table. At first, it's just static to me, meaningless shapes in varying shades of gray.
"There we are," Dr. Monroe says, freezing the image and pointing. "See that? That's your baby."
I lean closer, squinting at the screen. And then I see it. A distinct shape in the center of all that gray, something that actually looks vaguely human-shaped. Small, alien-like, but undeniably there.
"Holy shit," I breathe, then immediately regret my language. "Sorry, I mean—"
Dr. Monroe laughs. "I've heard worse, believe me. First-time fathers tend to be colorful with their reactions."
Sarah reaches for my hand, and I grip hers tightly, unable to look away from the screen. "That's really our baby?" I ask, needing confirmation that what I'm seeing is real.
"That's really your baby," the doctor confirms. "About the size of a lime right now. Let me see if we can get a heartbeat for you."
