Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“I like her,” Layla says, folding her hands on her lap.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“She’d fuck me in a second if I told her to.”
She makes a face. “How do you know?”
“Trust me.”
She picks at the white paper covering her bottom half. “This is so awkward.”
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask. “I can go out to the waiting room, if you’d like.”
Her head rolls to the side as she lies on the table and looks at me. She seems to be caught up in whatever she’s warring with in her pretty little head.
She’s done that a lot since last night. I guess I have too. We had sex three times before we finally had our fill of each other. It’s so easy being with her, so natural. Unlike with most women, being with her is not a show of what I can do or watching a woman perform for me. I want to make her feel good, hope she knows how beautiful she is, and relish the fact that this woman wants to be with me.
Glancing around the room, I’m shocked at how calm I am. This place should freak me the fuck out, but it doesn’t. It’s almost exciting being here with her.
“I want you to stay,” she says finally. “It’s your baby too.”
We wait in the quiet for the doctor to arrive. I pick up a magazine and leaf through it, not paying much attention to the words, only to Layla out of the corner of my eye. A few minutes later, the door presses open slowly and a man comes in. He’s older, in his sixties, with white hair and a kind smile. He shakes my hand. “You must be Mr. Miller?”
“No,” I say, standing. “I’m Branch Best.”
He quirks a brow. “The Branch Best?”
“The one and only. This,” I say, clearing my throat, “is Layla Miller.”
The doctor introduces himself to her and takes a seat on a little wheeled stool. They go through basic medical information, family history, and a list of health questions that Layla answers without hesitation. I listen, realizing how much I don’t know about this woman.
“You are the father, is that correct?” Dr. Howard looks at me.
“Yes.”
He scribbles again and then stands. Pulling up Layla’s shirt, he places a stethoscope to her abdomen. Her eyes pull away from his hands and over to me, holding my gaze.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
She nods, turning back to the doctor as he speaks.
“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” he asks.
Layla nods, her eyes wide, as he puts a little machine up to her belly. I reach for her hand, holding it in mine. A little tear dots the corner of her eye.
Holding my breath, I listen to the crackle of the machine as the doctor moves it around. And, finally, there it is. The steady beat of a heart.
It’s unmistakable—woosh-woosh-woosh—that sounds through the room is a heartbeat. Our baby’s heartbeat.
Tears stream down Layla’s face as she clutches my hand. I lock them together, entwining our fingers and squeezing hers back. We watch each other as the sound gently strums through the room like a lullaby.
With each beat, something rustles deep inside me. An overwhelming sense of responsibility, a fierce need to protect the little boy nestled inside her.
She blinks, the tears falling faster, and I realize it’s not just the baby I want to protect. It’s her too.
I watch her grin, then laugh, then look at me in amazement.
“Do you hear that?” she asks, sniffling. “It’s so loud.”
“He’s going to be a wide receiver,” I manage to say. “Listen to that. He’s a beast already.”
The doctor laughs, wiping the gel off the machine and from Layla’s stomach. “It sounds good and healthy. You can sit up now.”
I jump to my feet, helping her get situated. My efforts are rewarded with a smile.
“Everything looks and sounds good,” he says, picking up her chart. “Congratulations. You two are very lucky.”
I slide my gaze to the woman still holding my hand.
Maybe I am. Maybe I really am.
Layla
The keys clang against the table. My purse hits the floor, my shoes slide off my feet, and I hit the couch with a thud.
“You okay?” Branch laughs, sitting at the end of the sofa. He pulls my feet into his hands and rubs them. “Doctor’s office and drive-thru is all you can handle in one day, huh?”
“I’m so sleepy,” I say, my eyelids drooping closed. “I feel like a toddler that’s missed my nap.”
His hands swamp my feet, easily bending them at his will. It feels so good as he presses his thumb into the arch and releases all the stress that’s held there.
“Thank you for going with me today,” I say. “I appreciate it.”
“Thanks for letting me.” He works my feet back and forth, his leg starting to tap beneath me. “Can I talk to you about something, Sunshine?”