Linebacker’s Second Chance(110)
I wipe away the tears that are starting to form. “Maybe just this one cycle. The doctor hear sounded much more positive about the embryos than my doctor in New York ever did. Just this once.” My voice starts to crack again, but I stop it before I break down in the middle of the kitchen into an emotional puddle.
“All we’re doing today is a doctor’s appointment. Figuring out the right combo of shots, the right process. We’ve got the best doctor in El Paso--and he’s assured me the whole damn state of Texas and all of New Mexico while we’re at it. If you want to keep trying, we’ll find a doctor in Albuquerque, or we’ll fly out to Austin. Or Dallas. Or Houston.” Rowan walks up to me and takes me by the arms. “That’s the thing, baby. We’ve got money. We’ve got time. And I’ve got you. That’s all I need.” He traces his fingers lightly over my arms, and the rush of electricity zaps between us, hitting me straight in my center. Bending toward me, he presses his lips to mine, light and tender at first and then hungry, hot, and searching. Even through all of the doctor’s appointments, through all of the shots and anesthesia and lost wishes, he’s stayed desperately hungry for me, taking me when he wants and never letting me forget that I’m strong, sensual, and totally, completely *his.
“Let’s go in early and get this over with if we can. Then we’ll go to that Argentinian place with the empanadas. I want--“ I close my eyes and imagine it. “The one with the grilled beef inside, and the cilantro sauce.”
“Nothing gets me more excited than you talking about food,” he growls, squeezing my ass hard. “And my god woman, I love a good empanada.” I think about the date, about the apartment that Rowan bought when we started the treatments again, about it all. And I calm myself.
It’ll be a retreat, a beautiful stay.
“I’ll pack my bag,” I say. My stomach gives a nervous leap like it always does when we’re about to leave for El Paso. But maybe this time, we’ll get lucky. Stranger things have happened.
***
When the jet touches down in El Paso, Rowan already has a limo waiting for us outside. I roll my eyes and laugh. After my one encounter with Rowan’s limo driver and porter, I learned to drive his Range Rover and haven’t looked back. But for this occasion, I’ll be happy to sit back for a little while.
“Ms. Albright, your ride awaits.” His voice is full of positivity and light, and he grips my hand as he takes my bag over his shoulder.
“I’m still nervous,” I say. “But maybe a little less.” I slip into the limo, and we hold hands in silence during the ride over.
“Congratulations,” the nurse says when she walks in. “Are you guys having an ultrasound today?” My heart immediately sinks all the way to the pit of my stomach.
Rowan looks at me, searing pain clearly in his eyes. “No, God no. We’re here to talk about the next egg retrieval. We were waiting the two months between the first try and coming back here again.” He grabs my hand and holds it hard.
I’m old hat at this kind of loss, the horrible comments from nurses and even doctors, the ones who carelessly assume that everything is fine. I’ve even found my fair share of that type of person at fertility clinics. I squeeze his hand back. The nurse looks back and forth between the two of us, clearly confused.
“Let me go get the doctor,” she says, and she puts her hand to her chest like she’s seen a ghost. She exits quietly, and Rowan and I look at each other in confusion. Tears are threatening to prick at my eyes, but I swallow them, like I have so many times before. The quiet in the room feels deafening until we hear the click of dress shoes in the hallway outside of the exam room we’re waiting in. The doctor steps in the room and sits down across from us, an unreadable look on his face.
“Rowan, Cadence.” He looks at us and smiles warmly. Again, I’m grateful for Rowan’s connections in El Paso. “We have some news that changes things for the egg retrieval.”
“What?” I blurt out. “Were there problems with my blood panels from yesterday? Problems with the hormones--or whatever the heck you were testing for--“
“Well,” the doctor starts, looking between the both of us again. “I’m glad you’re sitting down. We were checking your blood for the remaining HCG from the last round of injections. And to our surprise, we found HCG consistent with a pregnancy between six and eight weeks gestation.”