Page 77 of Full Out Fiend

“There’s nothing to do besides wait, I’m afraid. We’ll schedule another ultrasound for twenty-eight weeks to see if the placenta has moved. Until then, you’re on pelvic rest. Nothing inside your vagina from now until the next ultrasound.”

Tears spring to my eyes. I’m still processing the information when Fielding starts in with his questions.

“She’s on her feet all day at work. Is that a concern?”

“Not unless you experience cramping or bleeding,” the doctor answers, looking at me. “Any sign of bleeding whatsoever warrants an immediate call to our twenty-four-hour nurse line.”

“Got it,” Fielding confirms, typing furiously on his phone.

My chest goes tight with affection.He’s taking notes. Good thing, too. Because I’m still fixated on one phrase.

“When you say nothing in…”

“No vaginal intercourse. No toys, hands, or any other contact. External orgasm is fine. We just want to minimize contact and potential irritation to the cervix since your placenta isright there.”

Fielding asks more questions. The doctor goes into detail about uterine growth patterns and the lip of my cervix. I’m completely zoned out thirty seconds into the conversation.

I’m still fighting back tears. Which is silly, really. The baby looks great. Everything else is fine.

But things with Fielding are so fresh. And so good. Like, so, so good. We finally settled into this version of our relationship, and now sex is just off the table?Shit.

He’s Fielding—he won’t give me one ounce of grief about not getting any for the next two months. I doubt he’s even thought about himself yet as he sits in that hard plastic chair, back ramrod straight, firing off more questions for the doctor. And that makes me feel even more guilty and even more sad about what this means.

We’ve come so far in such a short amount of time.

What comes next now that we have to pump the brakes?

Chapter 41

Daphne

Icriedintheshower. I cried again trying to get through my skincare routine. I’m a fountain of feelings tonight, and nothing seems to ease the ache in my heart.

I’ve been texting Serena all afternoon. She demanded to see close-ups of every ultrasound picture, although I can’t identify the subjects of half of them. She had the wisdom (or lack thereof) to do a quick Google search for placenta previa and has been sending me her findings ever since.

Like the ultrasound tech said, the condition is common. It really does resolve itself the majority of the time, and most women go on to have full-term, healthy deliveries.

But I doubt any of those women were in relationships that were just getting off the ground.

I change the bed sheets to distract myself—methodically pulling the tight elastic corners over each side of the mattress and tucking in the top sheet just how I like it. Halfway through the project, I’m out of breath, so I’m sitting on the edge of the mattress trying to steady my breathing when Fielding by passes the open door of my bedroom.

“Do you need help?” he asks, leaning against the jamb wearing nothing but basketball shorts with his shirt slung over his shoulder. He’s either finishing up a workout or on his way to the shower.

“No, I’m fine. I can finish this, then I’ll probably just go to bed.” I shrug in what I hope is a casual way, turning my head to stare out the window before he gets a chance to really look at me.

“Daphne…”

I swallow past the threat of tears.

“What’s wrong, angel?” The mattress shifts as he sits beside me.

I refuse to breathe life into my insecurities. I can’t explain this to him. Instead, I press my lips together and shake my head, still watching the scenery outside the window.

“What are you doing in here anyway?” he pushes, his tone more serious now as he stares at the rumbled sheets on the floor in my bedroom.

I focus on them, too, rather than meeting his gaze.

Softly, but with as much determination as I can muster, I explain, “I figured it would be easier for both of us if I just slept in here again.”