Читать книгу The Rescue Doc's Christmas Miracle - Amalie Berlin - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

NO SOONER WAS Penny off the roof than she was jogging for the stairwell. A woman couldn’t make an exit like that and then be easy to find...in the extremely unlikely chance that a real, flesh-and-blood man would behave like a movie hero and chase after her. Not that she wanted him to, she’d just bounced a pregnancy test off his face.

She hit the stairs two at a time to head for her supervisor’s office. Gabriel had demanded she go home, and she’d take that advice. Not because she was underperforming, she wasn’t, but she’d be lying if she pretended she wasn’t distracted. She was. And she’d be lying to herself if she tried to pretend she wasn’t tired. Emotionally tired or physically, she had no clue, but both should resolve with the same treatment: a nap.

However, there was one accusation she would cop to that had no bearing on the situation—she definitely was behaving differently than normal, and it was hard to be filled with supercharged optimism when you felt like you were in an uncontrollable spin without a fixed point on the horizon to guide you.

Once she’d begged off for the afternoon, she hurried out and summoned a cab. Earbuds and her streaming music service allowed her to shut down for the ride home. It wasn’t until she opened the door into her own private space that guilt began to ooze from her chest. She could feel it rising off her like toxic vapor.

She should’ve told Gabriel more gently and she really shouldn’t have thrown the test at his head. He hadn’t deserved that. But he’d just hit that sore spot, maybe unknowingly, and her knees had jerked. In those few words he’d made her feel she was on the cusp of being rendered helpless again, like a wheelchair waited around the corner, crouched and sinister. Like any second she’d revert to being an observer in her own life.

The flight suit she always changed out of before coming home still hung on her, so she dropped her bag on the way to the stairs to her bedroom loft above to go change into something lounge-worthy, then headed back down to fling herself onto the sofa.

If it was already two months in, she’d have seven, or something, to go. She should make an appointment with a doctor she didn’t share genetics with. But how long before she was shuffled off to the side just by virtue of being pregnant, regardless of how healthy she remained during her pregnancy? How long before they took her off the chopper and made her work every rotation on the floor in the emergency department?

How long before she was sidelined by her baby?

She stared into the open rafters above, sighing at herself. There was a worse emotion to attach to an innocent baby than disappointment. Resentment.

That word didn’t apply yet, but she could see it on the horizon, a black monolith on her own internal skyline. Would that be better or worse than the emotion she couldn’t even deny to herself: the fear that her child would be cripplingly sick just like she’d been, but not be one of the lucky twenty percent?

* * *

Darkness fell over the city before Gabriel’s day ended. Manhattan was never truly dark, but during the holiday season it was even brighter than normal. Everywhere he looked he saw festive reminders of the holidays, glittering lights, red bows, and jingle bells. In front of Penny’s Tribeca building, a leafless tree had been wrapped in tiny blue lights that transitioned to purple and pink. Even the tiniest branches glittered like crystal, but in a funky way that let the outside world know the eclectic apartments they’d find inside the converted factory.

He liked Christmas in a vague sort of way, mostly as a quiet Christmas Day with his parents, but the rest of the season left him flat.

The test felt like an anvil in his pocket, and had all day. From his flight suit to the street clothes he now wore, it had stayed with him. Even now, hours later, he didn’t know how to feel about it any more than he could figure out how to get it out of his mind.

He’d had his shot at marriage and a family a decade ago, and had proved insufficient to the task of husband, so he’d never gotten to the father stage of family life. It had been planned—big family, lots of children—but he’d missed important steps somewhere along the way, and hadn’t yet figured out where he’d gone wrong. Once marriage had been taken out of his future plans, so had the idea of being a father, one of the many reasons he’d always been meticulous about safe sex.

As he made his way across the lobby, the differences in their lives came into focus. Temperamentally mismatched. Historically mismatched. Socially mismatched. Financially mismatched. He did well, but by Davenport standards... If she decided to exclude him from his child’s life, the attorneys she could hire could see it done.

Her name on the directory pointed him to the top floor. Penthouse, of course. Old wealth.

Which put his next move in a light that people would probably misconstrue, but he’d make it anyway. Even if he’d failed spectacularly as a husband the first time out, even if they were entirely different kinds of people. Marriage before the child came would increase the strength of his rights. He’d like to think he knew Penny well enough to rule out the likelihood she’d bar him from his child’s life, but he wasn’t willing to bet on it. Look at how wrong he’d gotten things with Nila.

If he and Penny could work things out, it would actually be a good thing. She might be impulsive, but she was also kind, and the days they didn’t work together, he missed the optimism that rolled off her for most of the day. He could live with that being part of his daily life. They were extremely sexually compatible. If they could work out some kind of understanding about the rest of it, it could work, at least long enough to provide the kind of stable base their child deserved.

Once outside her door, he rang the bell, and she opened it so quickly she could’ve been just standing there, waiting for him. Except she was disheveled and had the soft look of sleep about her eyes, along with wearing some rumpled cotton pajamas.

As soon as the door stood fully open, she launched in.

“Gabriel, I am so sorry.” The words came in a rush and her arms hitched halfway up her chest and back, like she was about to hug him, but wasn’t sure he’d let her.

It was the opening he needed. He stepped through the door, closed it and flipped one of the locks before turning back to her.

The stricken look on her face had him reaching for her cheek. It had been in him just to comfort her, let her know he wasn’t angry, let her know that things had changed again, but the haunting light of vulnerability in her eyes pulled him in.

Instantly, when his hand cupped her cheek, her eyes fell closed and she tilted her head into the touch, like she’d been just as worried about their fight, like she needed comfort too. Mercy, he wanted to kiss her. And he shouldn’t, that would be a jump too far, too soon.

Instead, he gave a little tug to bring her to him. Her arms opened and slid around his ribs and he let himself hold her in an easy, relaxed embrace, his chin resting atop her head as she breathed out so slowly and deeply that he knew she’d needed it.

How do you feel about underwear hugging?

Her question from months before swam back to him, bringing a grin with it. There was something about her that felt great in his arms. Maybe it was her perfect height compared to his, and the way his chin rested on her forehead when she tucked in close, and how he could feel the fan of her eyelashes on the side of his neck. Maybe it was the combination of her slender, feminine frame and the strength he felt in it, or the mop of soft, wavy hair and how, when even slightly ruffled, her delicate scent drifted out, calling to something in his chest.

He just knew he liked it. He liked it enough to force his way through the rest of the questions and worries he’d had all day. Start the conversation. Get it going. Keep things calm. That had been his mistake earlier when she’d grown frustrated and pelted him with a pregnancy test.

“Are you all right?”

“Are you all right?” she answered, without moving an inch, but alarm bells sounded in his head. Health conversations always set her off, even if this was entirely a health concern.

“You felt bad earlier.” He squeezed her a little tighter as he spoke, a tool he’d never had the opportunity to use to calm down these conversations in the past, so who knew how well it’d work?

“I was shocked. Sort of. I didn’t feel sick, I just felt, I don’t know, unsettled? Kind of nervous?”

He simply nodded, still trying so hard to take it slowly. Not to rush ahead, not to demand answers, not to drag her off to the court house or frog march her to the altar.

So, today’s symptoms weren’t directly related to her pregnancy, not in a physical illness way. That was something. Her pale shakiness was shock. Okay.

Now for the question he’d been dreading. A sinking, hollow feeling in his stomach made him want to hold tighter, so he forced himself to relax his hold on her and lean back so she’d look up at him.

“Are you going to have it? I need to know what you’re intending.”

As soon as the words came out, she stepped back from him, fully back until no longer in arm’s reach, her own arms drawing up like even her appendages couldn’t be within his orbit.

He knew her well enough to know that she’d respond best to calm discussion, even if he could feel his hackles rising. He didn’t want a repeat of their earlier confrontation.

Her eyebrows came together, her eyes went wider, pupils dilating to the point the black overwhelmed the usual vibrant blue. Mouth open, breathing faster... Fear. Fear responses. What did that mean?

Tension stole across his shoulders as well, but the emotional landmine between them sat there, both of them frozen, as if even a wrong flick of the eyes could set it off.

Was she afraid of his reaction when she answered, any reaction, or was there a reason to be afraid if she responded?

“Penny?”

“What do you want me to say? I don’t know what answer you’re looking for.” She swallowed and her gaze skirted downward, but unfocused, as if searching her own mind for answers. Until the fuzziness lifted, and she focused on his hip.

He followed her gaze to his right front pocket, and the outline of the test there. Maybe it would get her moving again. Ducking his hand in, he withdrew the plastic wand and held it out to her. “I want you to tell me the truth. We made a life, I deserve to know whether or not it gets to come into this world.”

Penny felt her throat close as he produced the test, and offered it to her. But it was his words that brought tears. “You want it? You’re not trying to tell me you...?”

“I want it. God, of course I want it.”

The rasp in his voice echoed the truth she saw in his deep brown eyes. There was even a reverence in the way he held the test out to her she hadn’t noticed before. It didn’t simply lie on his palm, his fingers curled loosely around it, he cradled it—this nothing piece of plastic.

Whatever else happened, she could count on that. He already loved this child, or at least the idea of it.

She laid her hand over the test and curled her fingers over his hand, then kept right on going until she’d folded her arm back and dragged his around her waist. Her other arm up over his shoulders, she pulled back into the hug she’d escaped when his words had curdled her insides.

“I thought I’d bungled it all up. That you were going to shout about it, or just...not, you know, because...we weren’t...”

Words refused to come into any kind of order, but the feel of his other arm around her waist helped. Made it better. Even after all the torturous hours she’d spent this afternoon practicing the words to use for the Get Out of Jail Free speech she’d been planning to offer. And which she should still give him, even if she was in no way ready to jump into that conversation with both feet when just the merest whiff of discord had almost made her lose her lunch on him moments ago.

“You know, this is all your fault,” she half teased instead, but kept her voice light so he’d know she was mostly teasing. “If you hadn’t had that rule about not mentioning anything, I could’ve given you some warning. Like, ‘Hey, things are amiss in Uterus Land.’ That’s part of what I felt so guilty about. I had a little time to work up to taking the test, but you’ve only had, like...eight hours to get used to this.”

“I’m not used to it yet.”

“Me either.”

“But you want it.” He needed to hear it again, and that was okay. That was something easy she could give him.

“I want the baby.” She confirmed that part easily enough, but a little rueful chuckle followed. “I don’t want to be pregnant. At all. I’m trying not to freak out about that part, but I want this child. Really.”

The hug started to go past the point where it was probably getting weird for him so, no matter how good he felt, she still felt compelled to try and be sensible. A quick kiss to his cheek, and she stepped back again, snagging the test as she retreated to the sofa to sit.

“Because of work?” he asked, following the conversation, as well as her, to the sofa.

Because it seems too much like sickness.

“Because it seems very restrictive,” she said instead, and found herself again looking at the test she’d had so much difficulty looking at earlier. “And uncomfortable. I guess. Plus, there’s...you know, figuring things out. I don’t even know how to start that conversation, like—”

“We should get married.”

He said the words so quickly she had to mentally replay his words to even understand what he’d said. Then came a giggle, which promptly turned to real laughter at the absurdity of the idea. He was playing with her! Joking around! Everything was going to be all right.

“Right? Like that! Because, you know, people are going to ask. I don’t know why, but they will. Things at work, I guess that could be weird for you with all the Davenports underfoot. But we should try to be sensible, right? Like—”

“We should get married.”

The second time he said it, her laughter was more a confused burst of air. When she looked at him, it stopped cold.

No matter how serious he tended to be, his expression was usually relaxed. At least as long as people were listening to him, and obeying, that was the other one. He was great at his job because the man had a massive brain and cared about people, but also because he projected an aura of confidence and subtle dominance, so people usually did what he said. Except her when she disagreed with him. And sometimes just because she liked to mess with him. Briefly. Playfully.

Which she definitely didn’t want to do right now. His narrowed eyes and tilted head gave off a light warning, and killed the relaxed, joking conversation she’d thought they’d been having.

“You’re being serious? I thought you were just trying to make like...a tension breaker.”

“How many proposals have you ever heard of that were made as a joke?”

“I don’t know. I never—” Was she supposed to come up with instances where people fake-proposed as a joke? She didn’t have any, but she could identify other jokes that were outlandish and had never happened in real life. “Some days you barely even like me. Are you saying you love me now?”

“I’m not saying that. I don’t love you, but love isn’t a requirement for a successful marriage.”

“Yes, it is. Have you ever seen my parents together?”

He skipped her question, and doubled down on his argument. “It’s not a requirement. Marriage requires mutual goals, mutual respect, values, and when you add to it a not inconsequential sexual compatibility, it’s got all the ingredients. That’s before we even consider the child, who deserves the best start we can give it.”

“Gabe, the only part of that I agree with is the part about the child.” Okay, that was a lie, she agreed with the sex part, but if he was ignoring whatever he wanted to, she could as well. “This baby deserves the very best life we can give it. But the pressure of a home with two people who don’t want to be married to one another is not that. This isn’t 1960. You don’t have to marry me because I’m pregnant.”

“If this were 1960, that’s not the way this would go between you and me, and you know that.”

He’d gone and stiffened up again, and not only did she feel bad for having laughed, she felt bad about her own reaction. Her nerves, usually made of steel, weren’t up to another fight today. She tried again. “We don’t have to marry to be family to this baby. You’re already the father, and I’m already the mother. Rings and empty vows aren’t needed to validate biology.”

He stood and paced around her coffee table, arms folding in such a way as to draw attention to his shoulders, and the way his long, elegant fingers flexed over his forearms.

Not what she should be paying attention to. She was supposed to be convincing him that it wasn’t a good idea rather than just rejecting him, though how this conversation had circled around to marriage, she had no clue.

“I don’t want to be married. You don’t want it either. You don’t want a relationship—you made that very, very clear two months ago. People who don’t want to be married have the worst marriages. That’s a lot to put on kids.” Which brought up his point that she didn’t want to discuss, but which she now felt compelled to because her mouth had gotten ahead of her to plural it to more than one child. “You know that there would be more than one, because you’re right... We have...not inconsequential sexual compatibility. So, you know, this is a bad idea.”

For once in her life she didn’t want to stand up—she was still tired from her nap—but the way he prowled around made her stand. She put the test on the table, then followed around to his side and promptly wrapped her arms around his shoulders again, over the arms still crossed over his chest.

His already stiff posture turned into granite. She was hugging living rock. What had happened to the relaxed, affectionate man who’d arrived not even half an hour ago?

She squeezed tighter, pulling him down just enough that she could rest her chin on his shoulder and her cheek against the side of his neck.

His arms twitched, and then uncrossed. He placed his hands at her waist, but did not hug back.

“This is the worst hug in history. You did much better earlier. Remember those hugs? Before and after we got a little panicky? You’re supposed to use your arms, not just your big ole man hands.”

“Not feeling a lot like hugging.”

“You feel like playing some crazy game of hopscotch where you have to hop in every square to get to the next,” she said, stepping back again but taking his hands. It felt like tread-lightly territory. “But that square marked marriage is a fake-out. You didn’t need to marry me to make me pregnant, that’s already been established. Just like I can carry a child to term and push it out of my body without a wedding ring on my finger. You don’t have to marry me to be a dad. To share custody of our child with me. We are modern, civilized people. We can make our own family, have like...a parental partnership where we can be friends—which, by the way, it would be good for you to deny you barely like me like you didn’t do a minute ago when I gave you the opening to—because we’re adults. You don’t want an unhappy marriage hanging over this kid’s head before she even gets a functioning brain stem.”

“You want me to have shared custody?” He cut to that exact part of her speech, once again ignoring the rest.

“Of course I do. I want my baby to know his or her father, to have a real father in her life. You’ll be a great dad.”

“With paperwork to make it official.”

He really thought she was going to screw him over here. He may have skipped the opportunity to reassure her that he liked her, but he did like her. Genuinely, not just as his work partner. But he didn’t trust her.

She let go and stepped back, her attempts at comfort having served no purpose whatsoever. “With papers to make it official.”

They hadn’t become friends over sharing their life stories, and they hadn’t become friends over this child—it was far too soon for that kind of friendship to manifest. They’d become friends over work, over mutual respect and trust on the job.

They had to figure out how to transform that work partnership to something arguably more important. If he needed paperwork to do that, she could give it to him. And hope trust followed because this suspicion of his made her chest hurt.

* * *

The next morning, Gabriel found himself loitering in the staffroom rather than going up to the chopper ahead of receiving a call. He had no reason to stay downstairs, he just needed some space. He had no power over her, outside the ability to send her home from work when she tried to soldier through sickness. He couldn’t make her marry him, but couldn’t make himself give up on the idea either.

He had a living example of the outcome to a kid disadvantaged in the parent department. Plenty of kids came through it fine, but he didn’t want to take the risk. He wanted his child to have exactly what he’d had growing up: a mother and a father, both offering stability, love, an atmosphere to flourish in. It was in their power to provide that. Whatever she’d been on about with her parents, it couldn’t have been that bad. All their children, except Penny, were doctors. She was successful in her own right, and worked every day to help save lives. She made some other questionable decisions, but nothing malignant.

He should probably go check on her, wade in early, but he just wasn’t up to it yet. And she never hung out in the staffroom. Ever in motion, she was always doing something—checking inventory, restocking, performing routine checks on the equipment, or visiting with people in the department so she didn’t have far to go when a call came. Her oddest and most recent habit had become running up and down the top three flights of stairs, something he’d taken every opportunity not to ask her about. Especially after that night, when he’d decided distance was the only way to get them back to professional-only interactions. Knowing more than she had already just randomly shared would make that harder. But now it was one of a million of questions he should ask.

Not asking had never helped anyway. He still had a bevy of inappropriate thoughts. That was before yesterday had forced their night back to the front and center of his thoughts.

His radio crackled and Dispatch blazed through, announcing their first call of the shift. Time to face the music.

When he reached the chopper, she already had it fired up, ready for him. Only when he climbed in, Penny wasn’t at the pilot’s controls. It was a man.

Lawson.

They’d flown together a couple times, and he was a competent pilot and paramedic, but he wasn’t Penny.

“Where’s Penny?”

“Don’t know. They just called and asked me to come in and pick up her shift. I guess she’s sick.”

That sharp pinch at the back of his neck returned.

Sick and called off without a showdown? Was that some kind of carry-over from yesterday’s battle, or was she really sick?

Grilling Lawson wouldn’t get him answers, and they had a job to do: someone waited for their help. He buckled in and put on his headset. “Go.”

Making the decision to focus didn’t mean it was so easy to do so.

Penny was stubborn, perhaps the most stubborn person he’d ever met, so it was entirely possible she’d called off to make some kind of point. Last night had started out better than it had ended, but he’d thought the situation at least set to neutral when he’d gone home.

If she called off but didn’t call him, did that mean anything? Could she have just called off to go to the doctor?

If she had called off on her own because she was ill, she must be very badly off.

“What’s wrong, boss?” Lawson’s voice cut through his thoughts.

He turned to look at the pilot. “Nothing. Why?”

“You just sighed massively. I didn’t just come off shift or anything, I’m not going to be operating at some lower level today than any other shift. Chill.”

Chill.

“I know. We’re good,” he said simply, no desire to engage in further conversation about it. It would be even more futile than the thoughts ricocheting around his cranium.

Whatever was wrong, she should’ve damned well called to tell him. So much for all her talk last night of wanting him involved.