Page 90

I busy myself with chatting up the vendors, trying to push away the nagging nervousness that Savannah was talking to Tristan.

That Savannah was talking to Stephanie.

That Savannah was talking to Tiffany Gable.

That Savannah is here in my town at all, talking to my people and walking my streets and trying to steal Tristan away from me.

I don’t know what this woman’s obsession with my future husband is, but it’s quite frankly terrifying.

I don’t know what she’s capable of, but I do know that she made Tristan miserable for a long time, and for that alone I want to punch the bitch.

It’s been a wonderful but stressful day, and having these little issues skating around in the backdrop has only made it all the more stressful. My feet are killing me despite the gym shoes, and my back hurts despite the belly band. I’m ready to lie down for about a month, but I’ve also been having problems getting into a comfortable position since my hips hurt no matter which way I lay, and baby girl chooses my sleeping time for her soccer games.

I’m ready to walk home, but I’m waiting for Tristan, who’s just finishing helping the high school kids pack up the tables and chairs. “I’ll be by in the morning to unload,” I hear him yell to Coach, and then he starts walking toward me.

I watch as he practically glides down the street. He makes even walking look graceful, something necessary for his agility when it comes to his sport. His scruff has grown in, and he’s practically sporting a beard. His eyes find mine, and he runs a hand through his hair as he moves in my direction.

God, he’s hot.

He links his hand through mine the second he gets to me. “Hey, future wife.” He leans over and presses a soft kiss to my cheek, and I can’t help my wide smile.

“Hey, future hubby.”

He grins, too, and then we walk toward home. We both wave when we pass our house. I can’t wait to move in. I can’t wait to get started on our future together.

We turn down Oak Tree Lane.

“My buddy Ben is throwing me a divorce bash. He chose the weekend before the Aces minicamp in April. Want to come to Vegas with me to celebrate?” he asks.

I laugh. “Ben Olson?”

He nods.

“Oh, wow. I don’t know if I can keep up with him. I’ve heard he throws some epic parties, and even if I could drink while I was there, I don’t know if I’d fit in.”

“Of course you would,” he says softly. “You’ll be there with me.”

I squeeze his hand, and then we’re walking up toward my front door.

“It sounds really fun. You’re sure I wouldn’t just be a third wheel or whatever?” I ask.

He nods. “I’m sure.” He bends down to kiss me. “I want you there.”

I nod. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

He grins. “I’m going to take a quick shower, but I’ll check to see if you’re still awake before bed. I’ll need one more goodnight kiss. Or, you know, whatever you’re up for.”

I giggle. “I’m exhausted, but I’ll leave my window unlocked so you can come in for that kiss.”

He raises a brow and kisses me once more, and then he heads down the driveaway. I go inside, and the house is quiet and dark as I creep through it toward my room. I’m sure my mom is already asleep—I saw her walking back home with Sue and Russ just after the fireworks, so she’s probably been home an hour by now, which means she’s in that sort of deep sleep that she’s impossible to wake from…the perfect time for Tristan to come back and see exactly what I’m up for.

But first, a shower is a great idea.

I grab my towel and head into the bathroom, and it’s when I peel off my clothes that something feels all wrong.

I glance down at my underwear and spot a pool of bright red blood.

I feel a little dizzy for a second, so I grab onto the counter and draw in a deep breath.

It’s a lot of blood, and fear paralyzes me for a second. I don’t get queasy at the sight or anything like that—in my line of work, I can’t—but when it’s coming from my body while I’m pregnant, icy terror grips my heart.

I sit on the toilet as I try to figure out what to do, and then a single thought flashes through my brain.

Call Tristan.

I reach for my jeans and fish my phone out, and I dial his number. He doesn’t pick up right away, and just before I’m sure it’ll go to voicemail, he catches it.

He’s out of breath. “Sorry! I was just getting in the shower when I saw you were calling. What’s up?”

My voice comes out small and scared. “I—I’m bleeding.”

“Bleeding?” he asks. He sounds confused.

“The baby—I’m scared, Tristan. It’s a lot of blood.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I stay where I am on the toilet, and less than a minute later, the bathroom door opens. In the back of my mind, I feel like I should be embarrassed that Tristan is walking in while I’m sitting naked on a toilet, but I can’t find it in me to care when I’m so scared about the reason why I might be bleeding.

He runs to me and wraps his arms around me, but I don’t miss when his eyes widen as they catch on my underwear still on the floor.

“Do you feel okay?” he asks, and I nod. “Does anything hurt?”

I shake my head. “I’m just scared,” I say softly.

“Let’s get you to the ER, okay?” he asks gently. “Where can I find you some clean underwear?”

“Top left drawer of my dresser.”

He runs to my bedroom and returns a minute later. “Do you have any pads?”

I nod toward the bathroom cabinet, and he hands me one. He turns around to give me privacy while I get dressed again, and once he hears me washing my hands, he wraps an arm around me. He waits until I’m done, and then he carries me through the house and out to his truck. “Do you want me to wake your mom?” he asks before he starts the truck.

I shake my head. “Let her sleep. No reason to worry her until we hear from the doctor.”

He speeds through toward the Quad Cities, since the emergency room there is slightly closer than Davenport, and his tires screech as he pulls into the parking lot at the emergency room. “Can you walk?” he asks as he runs around to open my door, and I nod.

We check in and it’s fairly empty, so I’m taken back to a room right away. “Are you the father?” the tech asks Tristan, and he nods. It’s complicated, but at the same time, it’s the truth.

They take my vitals, ask me about a million questions, stick a needle in my hand to hook me up to an IV, and the doctor comes in a few minutes later.

“We’re going to run a quick ultrasound,” she says, and she looks at Tristan. “You’ll need to stay here.” He opens his mouth to object the same time I do, but she holds up a hand. “I know you want to go back there, but it’s hospital policy. She’ll go into a room, have the ultrasound, and then she’ll come back here. We’ll wait for radiology to read the results and send them to me, and then I will report back with our findings.” She’s firm but kind, and I appreciate the fact that she’s so controlled when everything feels chaotic.

I’m wheeled back to the ultrasound room, and they run the test for me. There’s no screen in here, no speakers for me to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, so I have no idea whether everything is okay or not.

And then I’m wheeled back.

“If avoiding stress is one of the recommendations, they should really not do this to pregnant women,” I mutter to Tristan while we wait.

He squeezes my hand and presses a kiss to my temple. “Whatever they tell us, I’m right here.”

It’s a full forty-five minutes before the doctor returns. “The baby is fine,” she begins. “Nice, strong heartbeat. Growth is normal, and development is right on track. It looks like you’ve got a low-lying placenta. It could shift into previa, so my recommendation is definitely pelvic rest, and I’d even recommend bedrest for you.”

“Bedrest?” I repeat at the same time Tristan asks, “What’s previa?”

“When the placenta covers the opening of the cervix,” she explains. “It could become dangerous for both baby and mother, and it does shift to previa for about one in ten pregnant women diagnosed with a low-lying placenta. Usually risk factors include previous deliveries. Is this your first baby?” the doctor asks.

My eyes widen and my face blanches as I try to figure out how to answer that question.

I have things I haven’t told Tristan, yet he’s here with me. I don’t want to lie to the doctor…but I also can’t admit the truth. Not right now.

“Mm-hm,” I lie, and I try to convey to the doctor that I’m lying without letting Tristan in on it.

It doesn’t work. She just gives me a weird look, but since it won’t change the treatment, I’m not sure the cause matters. The only thing I have on my side here is the fact that I’m a nurse and while I know causes are important, treatment is more important.

I can fill in my regular doctor on the rest, especially since I can predict her next sentence.

“Make sure you see your OB in the next few days. They’ll run another ultrasound and just check that everything’s okay. We can send your paperwork right over.”

I make a mental note to call the office ahead of time and explain the situation.

Or maybe I should just tell Tristan the truth.

My brand-new princess cut diamond sparkles in the light. Aside from this visit to the emergency room, everything is going so well between us. It’s pure bliss. It’s everything I dreamed of since I was twelve.

I want to tell him, but I’m too scared of the potential consequences…especially after everything we’ve been through tonight.