“What?” I snap my head toward Logan. “I can’t cut down on hours. Are you insane? I have student loans to pay off and a child on the way.”
“But you’re working twelve-hour shifts, Adalyn. You’re not taking care of your body like you should and you’re extremely lethargic.”
“I’m going through a lot, okay? It will get better.”
Cutting in, Dr. Dallas asks, “Are you working seven to seven?” I nod. “It’s the best shift at the hospital. Just make sure you’re taking breaks, drinking as much electrolyte-replacement fluids as you can, peeing clear, and eating protein. Saltines when you’re feeling sick, but replenish with lots of protein.”
She goes over a few more things while getting the ultrasound ready. Suggesting I start taking more B6 vitamins and offering some holistic oils to help calm my anxiety, warning me if I don’t start taking care of my body, I could end up in the hospital as a patient rather than a nurse.
That’s the last thing I need.
Dr. Dallas inserts the wand, and my eyes shut as she shifts it around. Here I am pregnant, legs spread, an ultrasound tool lodged up my vagina, and the father is across the country without a care. I never expected a moment like this in my twenties, but here I am.
“Ah, look, there is it.”
Turning to the side, the screen lights up with white waves surrounded by black. Right in the middle is a tiny circle that looks more like a lima bean than anything.
“From the looks of it, you’re almost six weeks along.”
Sounds about right.
Logan squeezes my hand as I stare at the screen. Dr. Dallas is taking measurements and printing pictures, but the entire time, my mind is whirling with what I created. What Hayden and I created.
That tiny blip, that little baby is going to be born into a crazy, chaotic world. A mother completely freaked out, not knowing what the future will hold, and an oblivious father losing nothing. Life will simply go on for him, andIwill eventually become a tiny blip onhisradar. And I know that’s on me, but right now, I feel resentful and sad.
A tear slips down my cheek.
This baby deserves so much more.
Chapter Eighteen
HAYDEN
Ican’t believe I’m doing this.
I stand outside the restaurant, looking up at the neon sign.
Going in Blind.
Christ. This was a stupid idea, but when Calder told me he made me a profile a few weeks ago on the dating app, I didn’t really have an option.
I was matched with a few profiles but didn’t jump on them. I wasn’t interested. But after a few more weeks of feeling so damn alone, I decided to give it a try, if anything to at least not spend another night alone in my apartment watching Jane the Virgin on Netflix, which if I have to be honest is a good fucking show.
But I’m regretting it now. As much as I like to think I’m over Adalyn, I’m not.
I’m so not fucking over her.I don’t want to be over Adalyn. I want her to be mine.I think of her every goddamn day. I wonder what she’s doing. I wonder if I should send her flowers or lunch at work. I consider punching a wall every time I think about Logan being around her. Fucking happy as ever. When I’m clearheaded, I know that Adalyn didn’t dump me because she has feelings for Logan. But fuck if it doesn’t sting that he gets to see her every day, and right now, I’d settle for that. So, instead, I’ll focus on hating the bastard.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and tilt them to the sky. You can do this, Hayden. The profile suggests the girl was nice, she declared her love for Tom Hanks, which tells me she’s a classy lady. She could have said Zac Efron or Ryan Reynolds or some other Hollywood heartthrob, but she went classic with Tom Hanks. Leads me to believe she’s not going to be someone chasing after hockey players for one thing . . . the celebrity chaser.
Making my way through the doors, a beautiful African American woman at the hostess desk greets me. Her hair is pulled back, black eyelashes flutter, and a warm smile tugs on her lips.
“Welcome to Going in Blind. How can I help you?”
“Uh, yeah.” Hands stuffed in my pockets, I take in the ambiance of the restaurant. Fun and intimate with its modern aesthetics and exposed white brick walls, but the mood lighting creates a romantic feel. “I have a date with ShopGirl.”
“Ah yes, she’s waiting for you at the bar. She’s the blonde in the black turtleneck. Shall I show you to her?”
“Nah, that’s okay. I got it. Thank you, though.” I tap the desk and head over to the bar after the hostess tells me where we’ll be sitting for the evening. My date seems to be looking a little . . . loose. Her hand grips tightly onto a small tumbler, which she then tilts back, her head craning to accommodate the dump of liquid down her throat.
