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“TB…what?” The wrinkling of my forehead is instant. “Is that better than a concussion? Worse?”
“One in the same,” Wes calmly replies to my surprise. “It stands for traumatic brain injury, which is any physical disruption to normal brain function.”
Doctor Marky Mark pauses his typing and shoots my fiancé an arched eyebrow. “Doctor?”
“No, I’ve simply spent years with one at my estate.” After the announcement, he relocates his stare to me to make another. “Who will be tending to your follow up and insuring you follow any recommended regimen for recovery and any for…proper…pregnancy…care…as well.”
Additional throbbing to no real shock appears.
“Having a doctor on hand will be quite useful during the three Rs and prenatal care,” informs the male at the computer. “With a mild TBI you’re going to rest – both physically and mentally – rehabilitate – some minor exercises to gage and/or improve cognitive responses – and lastly a return to regular activities such as work. Considering what you do for a living according to your paperwork, it may be in your best interest to avoid diving as well as potentially hazardous areas where a repeat injury could occur. With that said…if you are indeed pregnant, you are still being advised not to do diving – particularly scuba – to avoid areas that increase the possibility for a fall and any heavy lifting.” A pause in typing is taken once more for him to make eye contact with me. “Monitoring you overnight is protocol; however, if there are no major issues with your MRI or blood tests, we should be able to get you out of here by late tomorrow morning.”
I nod my understanding.
“I’m gonna finish putting in these orders and then have Nurse Anita come draw some more blood. After that, additional visitors are welcome, but let’s keep their time in the room to a minimum.” He resumes his clicking. “Rest really should begin now.”
No one says another word until the scrub covered man is preparing to exit.
At that moment, we both politely thank him and properly say goodbye.
The instant the door is shut the man I’m surprised got to me as quickly as he did – considering he didn’t fly – quietly seethes, “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”
“I didn’t think that I really was.”
“Yet the thought crossed your mind if you took a fucking pregnancy test, Brynley.”
More pounds to the head have me groaning under my breath. “Am I supposed to tell you every thought I have, Weston?” The sneer he’s presented is bitter. “Neither of us wants that.”
“This is not a joke.”
“And you do not see ‘ha-ha’ thought bubbles surrounding my face.”
He folds his arms firmly on top of the black dress shirt and tie combination that’s admittedly one of my favorites. “How long have you known?”
“Since about two minutes before you walked into the room.”
“How long have you considered this to be a possibility?”
“I don’t know…like…” my shoulders innocently bounce. “Couple weeks maybe?”
“Weeks?!”
“I thought it was just shit I kept eating and then my mom reminded me that maybe it was time for my birth control shot and then when I checked about my appointment, I saw I had meant to move it and then never did and then the next thing I know I’m getting me a pregnancy test and Calen an orange soda so it’s not the only thing on the receipt.”
“Wait,” a single finger of objection is lifted up, “he knew you might be pregnant before I did?”
“No.” Another attempt to sit up higher is made. “He knew I needed to stop at the corner store and because I can’t so much as scratch my left tit without someone reporting on it, I thought buying something extra would help cover up what I was really buying.”
Relief settles on Wes’s shoulders upon his approach. “So, all the media speculating about your pregnancy was just that? Speculation? Not someone selling them your personal information?”
“If you’re implying that one of my only best friends outside of you, the person who apparently carried me to Hill, tried calling you on our way to here, collected all the information to give to you that he possibly could when you didn’t answer, is secretly betraying me then I suggest you go back to your Batman: Year One roots and fresh up on your investigation skills.”
Guilt grossly covers every crevice of his complexion.
As it should.
Just because he doesn’t love my relationship with Calen doesn’t mean he gets to blame him for every little leak the press and blogs receive.
Calen – like Vanessa – signed an NDA early into our friendship.
