“Enjoy yourself?” I ask.
“Very much.” She doesn’t look up from her book. “Did you close the deal?”
“I did.”
“Good. Then everyone wins. But Ledger? Next time you ignore me for three weeks, I’m not going to be this nice about getting your attention.”
“Noted.”
23
SAVANNAH
I’ve beennauseous all morning, and it has nothing to do with the baby.
Today is my fourteen-week checkup with Dr. Williams, and I haven’t been able to stop imagining Ledger’s men putting a gun to his head, about the fear in Williams’s eyes when he gave them the information from my first visit.
Although Ledger wants me to go to a bigger, better hospital with doctors from overseas, I find myself wanting to return to the clinic on 5th Avenue. I felt safe there—even though Williams was mistreated after I left.
I tried to apologize over the phone when I called to schedule this appointment. Stammered through an explanation about my husband’s overprotective nature, about how it would never happen again. Williams had been professional, but I could hear the hesitation in his voice.
“Savannah.” Ledger appears in the bathroom doorway while I’m brushing my teeth. “We need to leave in twenty minutes.”
“I know.”
“You’re nervous.”
“Wouldn’t you be? Your men held him at gunpoint.”
“Which is why I’m coming with you.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “To apologize properly.”
I spit toothpaste into the sink. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. You’ve been anxious about this for days. If my apology makes it easier, then I’m apologizing.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the back of the car. Pedro is driving, the city passing by outside the tinted windows. Ledger’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
“It’s going to be fine,” he says.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know that doctor took an oath to help patients. He’s not going to refuse to see you because of what happened.”
“He might be too scared to give me proper care.”
“Then I’ll fix it. I’ll make sure he understands that won’t happen again.”
The clinic is in the same building I remember. Same nondescript entrance between a deli and a dry cleaner. Same elevator with flickering lights that makes me slightly claustrophobic.
When the doors open on the third floor, I take a deep breath.
The waiting room looks exactly the same as it did two months ago. Same uncomfortable chairs. Same outdated magazines. Same pale yellow walls that probably seemed cheerful to someone once, but now just look tired.
Ledger sits beside me, his hand on my thigh, and I can feel the tension radiating off him.
“You don’t have to be here,” I say quietly. “I know you have work.”
“I want to be here.” He squeezes my leg. “It’s our baby. I should be at every appointment.”
