Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
A knock on the door pulls my attention there, and I hear Doc calling through the wood. “One minute,” I say, scooting to the edge of the bed and reaching for one of Danny’s T-shirts on the chair. I slip it on and rummage through the sheets for my panties. “Damn it, where are they?” I mutter. I give up and rush to the closet to find a fresh pair. “Come in.” I climb back into bed and pull the sheets up to my waist.
Doc pokes his head around the door and smiles. “Morning, Rose,” he chirps, pushing the door open to make way for the scanning machine to be pushed in by Fury.
“Morning, Doc,” I reply, catching Fury’s eye. Just the fact he’s helping Doc speaks volumes. He’s without anything to do because Beau is hiding in her darkness. My heart squeezes.
“How is Beau, Doc?” I ask, making Fury look at the old man too, obviously wanting an answer to that question as well.
He starts fiddling with the machine. “I’ll never get used to the fact that patient confidentiality doesn’t feature in my life anymore.” His words prompt me for the first time to wonder about Doc. I know he was retired. I know he ran his own practice for a long time. I know between Danny and James he now earns more than he probably ever has. But something tells me the money isn’t what keeps him here. And, oddly, neither is the possibility of death should he refuse to be on standby for our big, fucked-up family. “She’s in a state of heightened grief,” Doc says quietly, smiling at me as he gets the machine ready. “She’s going to need you, Rose.”
I nod and settle, and Fury leaves us, letting Doc do his thing or, more to the point, Danny’s thing, while I wonder what I could possibly do to help Beau. I come up with nothing, and that just makes me feel like a shitty friend. I know how desperately I want her to find and keep her peace; the blows just keep coming and coming for her, so I can only imagine the level of desperation James must feel. And hopelessness.
“Everything looks just fine,” Doc says, bringing my eyes down to my stomach where he’s dragging the probe across my abdomen.
“You may as well leave that machine in here,” I say, propping myself up on my elbows to look at the screen. “He’ll be ordering another scan tomorrow.” I smile at the gray, distorted blob, my mind going to bad, bad places. “Doc?” I ask quietly, making his gray bushy eyebrows rise in question. “Can you see the sex?” I spit out the words quickly and press my lips together.
“Oh.” He laughs, and then his face is quickly serious. “No, I cannot.”
“You’re lying,” I counter playfully. “You know, don’t you? Come on, Doc, I promise I won’t tell.” I’m suddenly ravenous to know. Desperate. And yet there’s still that side of me that doesn’t want to spoil the surprise.
“No.” He wipes the probe and slips it back in the holder. “I have paused the screen so that your husband may have a peek at his . . .” He fades off, looking out the corner of his eye at me. “. . . baby, if he should like.”
“Spoilsport,” I mutter.
“You and Mr. Black come to me together and make such a request, I will more than happily oblige.”
“It’s my body.”
Doc laughs, pushing the machine to the side of the room. “I don’t think Mr. Black will agree. Now, remember what I’ve told you?”
“Yes, I must take it easy and not stress out.” Landing a tried look on him, I sigh. “Did you miss who I’m married to, Doc?”
“I did not, which is why I am passionate about you taking care of yourself and the baby.” He presents me with a little bottle. “Lavender oil. Put it in your bath, on your pillow, in your purse if you must. It’s soothing, physically and mentally.” He sets it on the nightstand.
“Thank you.” I fall to my back. “Can I ask you something?”
“No,” he says flatly, and I pout.
“You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”
“Exactly. I have always lived by the rule that if someone asks you if they may ask you something, you either won’t like the question or they won’t like the answer.”
“Oh.” I consider his logic for a moment, and I soon think better of asking my question. I can’t, however, decide whether Doc would not like me asking him why he’s here, or whether I would not like the answer.
“How is your palm?” He cranes his head as he packs his bag, and I turn it over to show him the mild red blemish from my frying pan incident.
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“And your arm?”
I look at yet another injury on my body. It’s nothing compared to Danny’s chest. “It’s fine.”