I didn’t know what else to do. So I took the fucking check.
FIVE YEARS LATER
I stared at the stick.
Blinked once.
Twice.
It was still there.
The second line.
I’d taken a handful of pregnancy tests over the years. Every time they were negative, I felt a palpable surge of relief. When I was with Waylon, at least. The one single time I had a scare with Beau I stared at the negative test and told myself I was relieved. I was studying for boards, stretched to my limits. No way a baby would’ve been prudent at that time. All things I’d told myself. And yet I couldn’t hide the nugget of disappointment I carried around with me at the negative test. And the worry that I might not ever carry Beau’s baby.
I was already a mother to Clara. I’d be more than happy with just Clara for the rest of my life. But selfishly, I wanted a big family. I’d never had one. But I also wanted to be a doctor. And had grueling hours ahead of me. Clara was in school, needing us less. A baby was not in the cards at that time.
I couldn’t have everything.
Especially when, objectively, I had everything.
Then came the second pink line.
I was still staring at it, waiting for it to go away.
It didn’t.
Silently, I walked into our bedroom, where Beau was reading a textbook wearing his reading glasses.
He read up so he could help quiz me.
He was also shirtless.
The peppering of gray on his head and beard only served to make him more attractive. Add in the tan from our endless weekends at the beach, the chiseled muscles from the gym… Beau was effortlessly hot.
Yeah, my husband had not lost his novelty. Even after five years. I did it less, but I still pinched myself to make sure this was real.
It was.
“Why does cisplatin kill the kidneys?”
I heard the words, I even knew the answer, but I couldn’t speak. I just stood in the middle of our bedroom.
A few seconds of silence passed, Beau still looking at the book before his eyes darted up playfully, likely to tease me. Yes, on occasion, Beau Shaw teased me. Was playful. He was still my favorite grumpy bastard, but he softened a little. For me. For Clara. The more distance he got from her illness, the shooting, the less on guard he was. As much as a parent who had had to face the real possibility that their child could die could be. I understood that that was something he’d carry forever. It was something that would color his smiles with a darkness he could never shake.
One I didn’t want him to. Because it was a part of him. His intensity. How he loved.
And that’s what I got then, as Beau took in my body language, sensed my borderline catatonic state. I watched his eyes zero in on the thing I was holding in my hands.
He hurled the book across the room. It hit something, made a loud crash then thumped to the floor. It was not a light textbook.
I didn’t even jump. Beau jackknifed off the bed, coming toward me in a few long strides.
He gingerly placed his hands on my hips, head touching mine as he looked down at the positive test in my hands.
“It’s terrible timing,” I blurted. “I’m in the middle of med school—then there’s residency, and if I even get the fellowship I want, it just keeps going. It only gets busier. I’m going to get busier. You’re in the middle of the cookbook. There’s just?—”
“You’re carrying my baby.” His interruption—he still did that after all these years—was not a question. His voice was low and rumbly, yet impassive. I couldn’t quite catch a feeling in it. It was hard at the best of times with Beau, but right then, with my heartbeat echoing through my skull, I couldn’t decipher much.
