Page 15 of Property of Brute & Axl
“That’s the heartbeat?” I heard it before, in the hospital, but being so focused on everything else, I didn’t pay much attention. Never had the silence just to listen.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks. I smile and close my eyes, resting my head against the table. “Here, hold onto it, and take a few minutes to enjoy.”
I grip the wand the way she did as she places the connected monitor in my other hand. Listening with my eyes closed, I count every beat, holding my breath when it’s a tad too long between sounds. Eventually, it’s all I hear, all I feel as my heartbeat syncs with the baby’s. Imagining every pound behind my chest wall is the baby’s is the first time I’ve felt happiness instead of fear or pain.
There’s a future in that heartbeat. Laughter and family. Things that rang hollow to me just yesterday. I don’t know what my past holds, the secrets lurking, ready to pounce in the dead of night, but I know, right now, there’s a future out there for me, and I want this baby to be part of it.
Clearing my throat, my eyes open, and I turn my head to see Rayne watching me, a smile on her face. Clearly pleased with whatever she’s witnessed.
“If I had decided to put the baby up for adoption before, would it be too late to change my mind now?” Am I really thinking of having a baby when my tomorrow holds such uncertainty? A double thwomp is my answer.
“No, it’s not. Once the baby is born, there is a revocation period to allow you to decide if you truly want to give up the baby.”
“So I don’t have to make any decisions right now?” The doctor shakes her head as I reluctantly return the medical device. She hands me a towel to wipe off my belly, and I sit up. “Can I add someone to my emergency contacts?” I haven’t asked either of them yet, but they took me home from the hospital, have taken care of me as I’ve been healing, and since this is one of their babies, I don’t trust anyone else.
“Of course. If you write down the name and number, we can get that taken care of up front while we make your next appointment and schedule you in for an ultrasound.”
As I write down their names, I realize I’ll have to ask Brute for their numbers because I didn’t bring the phone Axl had given me. “I just need to ask for the numbers,” I say as we exit the exam room.
“Sure, I’ll meet you up front in a few minutes.” She wanders off in the opposite direction while I go to the waiting room.
Stopping in the doorway, the area is packed with pregnant women and their spouses, and they’re all giving Brute a wide berth. He’s intimidating with his tattoos, biker boots, and the mean scowl on his face. They don’t know the softer side, though. The one that held me while I cried as he changed my bandages this morning. The one who makes sure I eat, even when I’m not feeling hungry. If he didn’t take such good care of me, I think I’d be afraid of him, too.
When our eyes meet, the harshness in his stare turns to something softer for a split second. Nobody would have noticed, but I did.
As I walk towards him, he gets to his feet and meets me halfway at the front of the office and reception desk. “Everything go okay?” His deep, rumbled voice soothes the anxiety in me.
Handing him the paper with his and Axl’s names, I ask, “Would you write down your numbers?” He doesn’t even ask why; he simply does it. “It’s so you're both my emergency contacts.” He gives a lop-sided grin and hands it back to me.
Brute’s eyes wander across my face and down my body, searching for something. “You seem more relaxed.” His scowl has returned, along with suspicion.
“I heard the heartbeat,” I respond as the doctor approaches.
Offering her the paper, she has the nurse enter the information into the system before setting up my next appointment. “Everything was perfect today, so we don’t need to see you for about four weeks. However, you’re always welcome to come in if there’s something amiss, or call if you have questions. The ultrasound request has been submitted, and they’ll contact you with an appointment date, then confirm with us, so I’ll know to watch for the results when they become available.”
“Will I be able to see the gender?” I’m unsure if I want to, but I’d like the option.
“If the baby is in the right position, there’s no reason you shouldn’t.” I’m handed the appointment card and the number for the ultrasound clinic in case I don’t hear from them in the next couple of days.
As we leave, Brute’s palm remains on my back. My stomach grumbles, revealing its hunger. “What do you feel like?” Brute asks, staring down at me.
There’s a chill in the air, so I opt for soup and a sandwich. It also seems like something I’ll be able to eat on my own since both arms are still in a cast or a sling. The painkillers are helping with my ribs today, so long as I don’t move too fast. The stitches across my body have begun to really itch, however, and the urge to scratch has become almost annoying.
“Could we stop at the truck and grab that cream for the stitches?” He’s already leading me in that direction when the sound of gunfire shatters my peaceful illusion.
Dropping to the ground, my ears ring as my eyes shut tight. Terror freezes me on the spot, and when I feel hands gently gripping my shoulders, I expel a deafening scream.
Memories flicker through my mind. Brutal hands on my body, feet kicking at me, a knife slicing across various parts of my body. Horrifying eyes ogling me as agony assaults between my legs, and I screech until I have no voice left.
“Finleigh,” a furious voice calls, and I’m suddenly in the woods, running nearly naked. Terrified of being caught, branches whip at my face and body. The metallic stench of blood and moss invades my sinuses, and fear of predators finding me and eating me alive forces my body to continue forward.
“Finleigh!” A shout of my name that isn’t terrifying draws me back to reality. “Come back.” Brute’s steely hands clasp my head, so I’m forced to look at him.
“I’m here,” my voice cracks. I’m covered in sweat, and the smell of my fear is palpable. “It wasn’t a gunshot.” That’s obvious now. Too many people watch us for it to have been something so dangerous.
“No. Car backfiring,” he confirms, slipping his arms around me and carrying me to his truck.
Easy and Viking stand near the now-open passenger side door, and I feel even worse being placed in the seat like a toddler.