Page 112 of Heavy Crown

I swallow, and I sneak a furtive glance in Joyce’s direction.

“Would you rather be alone?” Dr. Bennett asks.

“I’ll go,” Joyce says, and she squeezes my hand. “Before I do, I want to add my two cents. Rory has been in a right state the last few weeks. Tried. Not eating properly.” She purses her lips. “Depressed. Not herself. I’m not telling you what to do.” She meets my gaze and then stares at Dr. Bennett. “But she needs help.”

My heart squeezes in my chest. God, is this what everyone has been thinking about me since Alex and I ended?

“She’s not been herself,” Joyce says. She gives me a half hug. “Dr. Bennett is bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. You be honest with him so you can get the help you need.”

There is no medicine for heartbreak, and I’m not sick enough for antidepressants, am I? My emotional breakdowns, my inability to sleep, the food I’ve thrown up, come back to me in a rush. A crushing heartbreak, that’s all.

“I will,” I say.

She gives me one last squeeze before slipping out the door and heading to the kitchen. As my shift supervisor in the kitchen, she’s been an unexpected gift.

Dr. Bennett adjusts the notepad on his lap, and he searches my face. “Tell me the truth.”

“You won’t tell Alex?” I ask.

He meets my gaze. “Joyce is right. I’m bound by doctor-patient confidentiality if you want it. He won’t hear anything from me. Your well-being will stay between us.”

I nod, and I gather my thoughts. Apart from my conversation with Posey after the wedding, I haven’t given anyone the complete picture of how I’m coping. Joyce’s assertions before she left make me realize I haven’t been doing a very good job of hiding anything. But if I do need help, if whatever I’m feeling isn’t just extreme heartbreak, I need to be honest.

I take a deep breath, and I tell him everything.

Dr. Bennett is quiet while I speak, and other than taking a few brief notes, he doesn’t write much on his paper. It’s comforting that he isn’t keeping a record of what happened between me and Alex and how I haven’t been coping well. I’d prefer not to become a footnote of Bellerivian history.

Once I’m finished, he releases a deep sigh. “That’s a lot for anyone to handle, Rory. There’s no shame in needing help, whether it be emotional or physical. We’ll wait for the bloodwork to come back, and then we’ll go from there. If something is off, we’ll order more tests. If that’s clear, I can refer you to a counselling service.”

“Oh, I can’t afford—”

“It’s covered. The royal insurance is all-encompassing. Best on the island. But if you’re feeling as low as you say you are, I might recommend an antidepressant as well. We can discuss that once we’ve got the bloodwork.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” I whisper.

“It’s entirely up to you.” His eyes are soft with sympathy.

There’s a knock on the door, and Dr. Bennett calls for whoever to come in. The nurse who took my blood passes him a slip of paper and retreats out the door.

Dr. Bennett grimaces.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Something is showing up in your bloodwork.” His sympathetic gaze turns pained. “Explains all your symptoms.”

My heart races, and I search his face for a clue about how bad it is. “What’s wrong with me?”

“When was your last cycle?”

The blood in my veins slows at the question, and a loud whooshing enters my head. “I—I don’t know. I took my pill packs back-to-back because I didn’t want PMS on top of how I’m already feeling.”

He purses his lips. “After you had food poisoning, did you use an alternative method of contraception?”

Heat rises to my cheeks, and a cool sweat breaks out under my arms. “No.”

“You’re pregnant,” Dr. Bennett says.

“No,” I cry. “I took my pills on schedule.”