Page 40 of Breakaway

“You’re going to feel my hands on your abdomen, but I’m only checking the baby’s size and position,” she comments, moving quickly but efficiently. Thankfully, her prodding only lasts a few seconds, though I’m certain it feels like a lifetime to Andi. “Now on to the fun part!” Dr. Baker winks, having no idea how conflicted Andi is about this pregnancy. No part of this appointment is going to be enjoyable for her. She dims the lights and points to the flat screen mounted on the wall. “I’m going to put some gel on your stomach, and then we’ll begin the ultrasound. At no point should you feel any discomfort, so please tell me if you experience anything aside from a slight amount of pressure.”

Once again, Andi nods, too nervous to speak. I squeeze her hand, a silent reminder that she isn’t alone, and cross my fingers that this goes by quickly, for her sake. Dr. Baker powers on the monitor and presses the ultrasound wand to Andi’s abdomen. My breath catches as I wait to hear that familiar whoosh of a heartbeat. I was never religious growing up, but during my first week of captivity, you would’ve thought I was a devout fucking follower with how many times my knees hit the dirt, and I begged for someone to save us.

I gave up the notion of there being a higher power that was listening to my broken pleas, much less giving a shit, not long after. But right now, I come close to praying for the first time in two years. I can't explain why I’m so invested in this baby; I just am. My Great Aunt Mildred used to tell me that sometimes things don’t make sense to us in the moment, but clarity always prevails when the timing is right. She was a day-drinker with a penchant for embellishing the truth. I barely paid attention to anything she said, but those words seemed to stick.

And then I hear it. The rapid whooshing sound that accompanies the flicker of a heartbeat on the monitor. My relieved exhale is overly loud in such a confined space, but I’m too happy to give a shit. The image pans out, giving us our first glimpse of the baby. Beside me, Andi makes a choking noise that catches my attention instantly. I swivel to face her, searching for any sign of distress, but the only thing I find is tears streaming down her cheeks. Her gaze is fixated on the screen, her hand squeezing mine so tightly, it’s a wonder I still have circulation in my fingers.

“Holy shit. That’s a baby, Briggs.” Her voice is filled with wonder and fear as she struggles to process the magnitude of what she’s witnessing.

“Yeah, Angel. That’s a baby. Your baby,” I emphasize, using my thumb to swipe at the rivulets streaking her face. Slowly, Andi turns to look at me, a thousand words passing between us without so much as a sound escaping. This is why she’s been so afraid. She can’t deny the truth, nor her feelings, any longer. I think she always knew that seeing her child, hearing its heartbeat, would change her outlook irrevocably. The ultrasound Andi had at the hospital was black and white, the image barely discernible. Compared to the 4D sonogram taking place, so vivid I can count every finger and toe? There’s no contest.

“Fetal heart rate is a hundred and forty-seven beats per minute,” Dr. Baker states, a smile in her voice as she starts taking the baby’s measurements.

“Is that good?” Andi questions, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth.

“It’s great, Angel,” I answer instantly, causing Dr. Baker to glance at me curiously.

“I take it someone’s been reading a few baby books in preparation?” she asks jokingly. Knowing what she does about Andi, I’m sure we make an odd and confusing duo, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to explain our situation.

“Sure, if you count the textbooks I read in medical school.” My bland response makes it difficult to ascertain my feelings about the matter, so I can’t blame the woman for being nosy.

“Ah,” Dr. Baker starts, her focus split between the conversation and scanning the baby’s anatomy for any abnormalities. “Did you make the jump to something else? I swear I thought about throwing in the towel a dozen times.” She laughs lightly, completely clueless to the can of worms she’s prodding at.

“No, I finished and practiced Family Medicine for two years, but it’s not for me anymore.” My retort is gruff, a side effect of the topic we’re discussing. Dr. Baker glances at me, her eyes softening as realization sets in. There are only two reasons a doctor would walk away from their lifelong dream after barely having it realized. One–they fucked up royally and had their license taken away, or two–they lost a patient, and it affected them so profoundly they couldn’t stomach another day in that profession. I suppose you could categorize me with the latter, but the loss I experienced was on a far greater scale.

“Does everything look okay so far?” Andi interrupts, saving me from the pitying stare of her too-observant doctor. I bring our clasped hands to my mouth and rest them against my lips. Andi has no idea how wrong her perception of us really is, but I intend to show her. The fact that we both exist in the same timeline, our paths crossing at exactly the right moment despite every obstacle we’ve faced working against us? Against our happiness? It’s fucking kismet.

“All good so far,” Dr. Baker responds, flashing Andi a smile. “I’ve just checked the baby’s spine; now I’m having a look at the neck and brain before we move on to the lower half.” I split my focus from watching the screen, observing every detail and making sure nothing gets overlooked, to staring at Andi, my heart thundering from the hesitant smile that’s fighting its way free. The baby starts to move, its erratic motions making her laugh, which only jostles the poor thing even more. Andi falls into a fit of laughter, the tears pooling in her eyes so different from the ones she was shedding just a few moments ago.

“Would you like to know the gender?” Dr. Baker asks, pausing the scan until Andi decides so she doesn’t accidentally see something if she’d rather be surprised.

“Oh…um…” She turns to me in search of the right answer, but I won’t take this choice from her. It’s another fact she can’t un-know, one more thing that humanizes the fetus growing inside of her. It’s easier to keep that air of detachment she’s worked so hard to maintain if she’s unaware of the specifics. “I’m not sure. Maybe?”

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” Dr. Baker advises. “If you want to think on it for a while, that’s perfectly fine. You can stop by anytime if you change your mind, and I’ll happily read you the results.”

“Okay. Let’s wait for now,” Andi agrees, her lip finding its way back between her teeth. She’s nervous; I get that, but it’s not going to stop me from finding out. I stare intently at the screen as Dr. Baker shifts the wand, a clear image of the baby’s gender popping up a second later. A grin splits my face, and because Andi was focused on me and not the sonogram, she catches my elation immediately.

“You know!” she accuses, trying her best to dredge up a shred of anger.

“I do,” I admit, my heart so full it could burst. I barely recognize the man I am in this moment. In fact, I didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell of him ever being resurrected. “Don’t worry, Angel. I won’t say a word unless you ask me extra nicely.” I wink, enjoying the flush that ignites along her cheeks from my blatant flirting.

“Well, that about covers it!” Dr. Baker announces, holstering the ultrasound wand before giving Andi a paper towel to clean the gel from her stomach. “Everything looked great; all measurements were right on track for your gestational age, and the due date you were given of December 24th is still accurate, based on my findings. It’s been so nice meeting you, Andi. I know your life has been tumultuous, and there are still hurdles you have to clear, but I want you to reach out to me personally if any issues arise.

“I’ll make a note that your appointments are to be with me alone, since the other obstetricians employed here are male. We don’t usually like to assign patients to a specific provider because there’s no guarantee they’ll be on call when it comes time to deliver, but I think these are extenuating circumstances, and I just returned from my honeymoon in the Maldives, so I have no vacation time for the next year.” Andi laughs, gripping my forearm so I can help her to a seated position.

“I really appreciate that, Dr. Baker, and it was great to meet you as well,” Andi responds, her entire body loosening as the last of her nerves finally begin to fade.

“Make sure you’re taking a prenatal and drinking lots of water. Here’s my number in case you need anything before your next appointment. Otherwise, take care, and I’ll see you soon.” She scribbles the information down and hands it to Andi, leading us back to the lobby so we can make arrangements with the receptionist.

“Your next visit will be in four weeks, but please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions or concerns,” the woman behind the front desk informs us, writing the date on a reminder card–as if I’ll forget. “Is there an insurance policy we can bill today’s visit to?”

“No, we’ll be self-paying for now,” I answer, handing over my credit card without a second thought.

“I’m sorry, what?” Andi squeaks out, her eyes wide with shock.

“Self-pay? As in, I pay for it myself. You know how money works, right?” I snark, acting like an asshole in hopes of her being too stunned to fight me about it.

“Excuse us for just a moment,” Andi whispers, her polite smile a complete juxtaposition to the death grip she has on my arm while leading me a few feet away.