“I guess it was being overseas and having to work in the conditions I did,” I say. “We didn't have the most modern equipment and often just had to go with our gut and roll the dice. Sometimes it worked out, other times it didn't.”
He nods, obviously impressed. “Well, that young woman owes you her life,” he says. “And so does her child.”
“Speaking of which, where is the baby?”
“Neonatal ICU,” he answers. “They want to monitor her for a few days, make sure everything checks out and there was no lasting damage because of the situation.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I nod.
“Take care of that young woman,” Gary says and gives me a wink before he leaves the operating theater.
I stand with my back to the wall and let out a long breath, feeling the relief washing over me. While I'm beyond relieved they'll be okay, my mood is tempered by the knowledge that Alexis is not my girl and that is not my child. She's with Brad and that is their child together. It's a sobering reality, but one I have to deal with.
It's a reality that feels like a kick in the nuts, to be honest. But, it's reality all the same.
Eighteen
Alexis
“Welcome back, Lexi,” he says. “You had us all scared to death.”
My eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice, but something doesn't seem right. As my vision comes into focus, I find myself staring into Brad's face. He's got a wide smile upon his lips and eyes full of concern. I'd been expecting to see Duncan's face looking back at me – his was the last thing I saw before blacking out.
“How long have I been out?” I ask, my voice weak and raspy.
“About three days.”
Three days. Jesus. I lost three days of my life? How? I rack my brain, trying to figure out where I am and what's going on. I can't remember much beyond the fight with Brad, waking up in Duncan's arms – and blinding, excruciating pain. Everything else is shrouded in a mystery thicker than the fog in San Francisco.
“How are you feeling?” Brad asks.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the fog to dissipate, doing everything in my power to remember what happened. Brad grabbing me. The crazed look on his face. The bikers who stepped in. All those things flash through my head – and help explain the cuts and bruises on Brad's face. And then it hits me.
My baby. Some snippet of memory tells me that I had my baby – or more precisely, Duncan delivered my baby. Was it really in the back room of a coffee house though? My mind is in such a state of chaos at the moment, I can't guarantee that what's passing through it is the truth or just some kind of fever dream.
The more I remember, the more confused my memories seem to get. Everything is coming back to me in bits and flashes, but none of them seem to be in any sort of order and none of them make any damn sense. I shake my head, trying to clear it and feel a sharp pain shoot through my body with the sudden movement.
“You shouldn't move too suddenly,” he tells me. “The doctors say you've been through a lot and need to give your body a chance to heal. They say you're probably going to be pretty sore for a little while.”
“You think?”
I open my eyes again and Brad is still standing there beside my bed, staring down at me. I slowly turn my head and see men and women in scrubs walking by the window in my room. I sit quietly for a moment and listen to the buzz of activity as well as the voice on the overhead speakers paging this doctor or that doctor.
Okay, so I'm in a hospital. At some point, I was moved to a hospital. That's good. Judging by the amount of pain I seem to recall, being in a hospital is a good thing. I slide my hands down to my stomach and feel that it's – different. I look down and see that my stomach isn't as big – I've obviously had my baby. But, if I had my baby, where is it?
“Your baby is in the neonatal ICU,” Brad says as if reading my mind. “I stopped by on my way up here and although they want to monitor her for a little while longer, they think she's going to be perfectly fine.”
Tears well in my eyes, making them sting. “Girl?” I ask.
Brad nods, the smile on his face stretching even wider. “You had a girl, Lexi,” he says. “A beautiful, baby girl.”
I'm so caught up in the moment and the tidal wave of emotion crashing down over me as I think about my beautiful baby girl, I almost forget that I'm pissed at Brad. Almost. Grimacing with the effort, sharp needles of pain sticking me as I move, I manage to get myself into an upright position. Once I am, I grab the remote and adjust my bed, so I have some support behind me.
“You really shouldn't –”
“You need to go,” I tell him coldly.
“What? Why?”
My mouth falls open as I look at him. He actually has the audacity to look shocked that I'd tell him to leave. I'm stunned by his arrogance in trying to act like nothing ever happened, everything is all good, and we can just move forward like before.
No. Bullshit. My trust is hard to earn, but once you have it, I'm ride or die with you. Until you prove to me that I made a mistake in giving you my trust. Once you break the trust I give you, it's next to impossible to get it back again. Like the old saying goes – screw me once, shame on you, screw me twice, shame on me.
Brad had broken the trust I put into him. Flat out shattered it. The way he spoke to me that night on the street, the things he said – like I owe him my love or something – enrages me.
“You were supposed to be my friend, Brad,” I snap.
“I am your friend.”
“You obviously think I owe you more than that,” I reply evenly. “That's not going to work. This friendship isn't going to work.”
“Lexi, don't say that,” he whines. “I went a little crazy, I admit. I said some things I regret and –”
“No, you told me exactly how you feel,” I interrupt. “You showed me exactly who you are, Brad.”
“Look, you're in pain right now,” he says. “You're not thinking right –”
“Not thinking right?” I hiss. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking serious right now, Brad?”
I feel anger flooding my body and as my blood pressure and heart rate rises, the beeping from the machines all around me grows louder and more insistent.
“Get out of here, Brad,” I say, my voice dripping with disdain. “Get out of here right now.”
A sad smile touches his lips, though the expression of condescending arrogance remains in place. He looks at me and nods.
“That's okay,” he says. “I'll give you a little time to recover and get to thinking clearly again.”
“Fuck you, Brad.”
“It's all going to be okay, Lexi,” he says. “You'll see.”
If I didn't know the pain of moving quickly would explode in me with the force of an atomic bomb, I would pick something up and throw it at him. But after one more tense moment, he turns and leaves the room. Thank God. I settle back against the pillow and take several deep breaths, letting them out slowly as I try to get myself back under control.
As I sit there with my eyes closed, focused on gathering myself, there's a knock at the door. I open my eyes and see Duncan standing in the doorway. He's got a white coat on and is looking down at the clipboard in his hand.
“Duncan,” I breathe.
He looks up and gives me a tight smile. “How are you feeling today, Alexis?”
“I hurt,” I say, a soft laugh escaping me.
“I expect that you'll experience some discomfort and pain for a few days yet,” he says.
I cock my head and look at him. Something seems off with Duncan and I'm not sure what it is. His words are short. Clipped. And his tone is distant – maybe even a little cold. He's not looking at me and in fact, seems to be actively refusing to meet my eyes. Instead, he's checking the machines that surround my bed and consulting the clipboard in his hand almost obsessively, as if something on those pages is going to suddenly change somehow.
“Are you okay, Duncan?”
He nods but still doesn't look at me. “I'm fine,” he clips out.
I look at him curiously, not sure what's going through his mind or why he's suddenly being so frosty with me. I tell myself that it's because he's at work and has to maintain a professional distance from his patients. But I don't know that I entirely buy it. I see something in his face, hear it in his voice – he's intentionally putting up a wall between us.
“What happened?” I ask. “I mean, I remember some things, but other details are a little hazy.”
He moves to the foot of my bed and consults his clipboard again. I want to rip it out of his hands and throw it across the room, just to force him to look at me.
“When you went into labor – I'm assuming it was from the stress that night – your baby was in the breech position,” he explains. “I performed an external cephalic version or ECV. What that means is that by applying pressure to your body, I was able to manipulate your baby into the proper birthing position.”
He finally looks at me, but I see nothing in his eyes. No spark, no sense of that connection, nothing. When he looks at me, all I see is emptiness. His face is a mask of cool neutrality and it's suddenly all business with him. There is definitely more going on than just keeping a professional distance. A lot more.
“When you first went into labor, you suffered what's called a perineal tear, which caused a tremendous amount of blood loss. Once we got the baby turned, you were able to give birth normally,” he said. “By that time, the paramedics showed up and we were able to get you to the hospital where you underwent emergency surgery to repair the perineal tear. It was touch and go for a while and you were in and out of consciousness for a few days, but you are going to be fine. You should be back on your feet and at full strength again very soon.”