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Roman-1(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(93)

By:Kristina Weaver


“We should discuss what to do from here.”

That’s all the doctor says before leaving the room to give us time.

I laugh bitterly and continue to stare up at the white ceiling, my emotions seesawing between anger and weariness.

“Dove.”

I hear the sadness and the need to comfort in his voice, and I finally turn my head to meet his eyes, my own gaze rueful.

“I guess it was too good to be true anyway.”

The baby, or what we’d thought was a baby, is nothing more than a fertilized egg currently trapped in one of my fallopian tubes. Ectopic pregnancies apparently are not as rare as one might think, according to Doctor Barrows, but I have to go in for a procedure to get ‘it’, as the doctor had so tactlessly called my kid, removed.

“I’m…disappointed,” I say, watching his pale face tighten into that familiar mask.

“It will be all right, dove. Barrows said there’s no reason you can’t get pregnant again. We’re lucky to have caught it this early before something bad happened to you.”

Like getting all excited about a baby and then learning that I can’t possibly carry it to full term without dying?

“We should call him back in and talk about this.”

I know he’d prefer to talk, to assure me that these things happen and that everything will be okay, but I just can’t. I need action now, not hours to sit and stare at the weary disappointment written all over his expressionless face.

And…I need to get to grips with the fact that instead of soul-crushing sadness I’m just relieved that this didn’t go any further, to the point of actual attachment before I’d have to let go of an actual baby.

Sounds harsh, I know, but I’m comforting myself with the fact that the egg isn’t a full baby yet. I have to, or I’ll probably break down and get all hysterical.

So much for this being the day of new beginnings, I think, remembering that I was going to declare myself and demand answers from Vincent. Instead of getting a new start and the happiness I’ve been lacking, I now have to face a ‘procedure’, and, ironically, the crushing disappointment of realizing that Vincent and I no longer have to get married.





Chapter Twenty Five




Only time can heal wounds. At least, that’s what my dead Grammy Elsa had always said. I’d been six at the time and hadn’t quite understood her reasoning because, of course, I’d been a smart ass and taken it literally, telling her in an imperious voice that she was wrong. Band aids and stitches are what heal you, and medicine, of course.

Now I know what she’d meant, and I still don’t believe her, because instead of feeling like shit four days after my procedure, I feel great from nothing other than the affectionate support that Vincent has given me.

I must be heartless to have gotten over a failed pregnancy this quickly, or so I keep telling myself, but instead of moping around, pining for a baby I never truly had, I am spending the day sightseeing with the man I love.

“You’re looking better, dove. You’ve got your color back,” he says, pulling me down to laze on the grass surrounding the Statue of Liberty.

“I feel better, babe,” I say honestly, picking at my half eaten egg salad sandwich.

The tour guide starts rounding everyone up for a last hem and haw about the landmark, and I lace our fingers together as we amble over, listening with only half an ear.

I’ve enjoyed this time together and the reprieve he’s given me after everything, but it’s high time that I stopped being such a baby and started facing some of my issues.

Number one: I need clarification on the whole love thing.

Number two: I want to know if he still intends for us to get married, something I am now fully on board with and quite excited about. If it happens.

Number three: Eric fucking Brennan needs to be removed from my life immediately, before I lose my shit—the crank calls started again after I’d come out of the hospital, so I know someone’s definitely watching me.

Number four: I need to get back to painting my happy shit again, and for that to happen I need to be happy.

Number five: I absolutely do not want to live in some pretentious piece of shit mansion in the ‘burbs, and I won’t compromise, even if things work out and we stay together and have another kid.

That set, I continue to stroll around as he listens attentively to everything being said by the tour guide.

Two hours later, just as we get home, my cell rings, and this time when I answer it I know exactly what to say.

“Leave me alone, asshole.”

Vincent frowns at me before grabbing the phone, his grimace pronounced when he puts it to his ear only to find the line dead.