Page 42 of Dissonance

“I know,” he says. “Let her do her job.”

I huff, rolling my eyes as the nurse returns with my sample, laying it out on a strip of paper towels. She tears into the slim foil packet, uncaps the lid and dips the test inside. Setting it down, she strips off her gloves and pops them in the trash in one smooth motion.

“Radiology can take you in about an hour,” she says, fingers brushing lightly over my bruised wrist. “Which gives us a little time—”

Lockie’s gaze shifts to the counter, and I follow his line of sight. He’s perfectly still, eyes fixed on something I can’t quite read from here, can’t make out the lines clearly enough to be sure. But the nurse can. It’s subtle, barely a flicker as she stands with the smallest of pauses, not dramatic like in films with surprising music and close-ups of her reaction. A crease appears between her brow before she quickly reaches for another test, tearing into it with quiet efficiency.

It doesn’t matter what the outcome is. I’ve heard how fast the results can show. And the way she glances over her shoulder…

My stomach drops to the floor, my hands going still in my lap. A strange rushing sound fills my ears, like the room’s being tipped into water, drowning everything else out. No. No, that’s…wrong.

Except—

My mind races, flashes of pill blister packs in my bag, my bedside table, the drawer at work. Mornings I couldn’t remember if I’d taken one and popped a second just to be safe. But it’s fine, people do that, it doesn’t mean…

“We’ll need your consent before we proceed with the X-ray,” the nurse says.

But she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at Lockie. He’s closer than he was before. I don’t know when he moved, but he’s there, one hand resting on the end of the bed, shoulders set, face carved hard and unreadable as he takes the form she’s offering.

“And the baby?” he asks.

The word hits the center of the room and stays there.

Baby.

“The radiation from a wrist X-ray is extremely low,” she explains. “We use shielding, and it’s considered safe.”

Their conversation barely penetrates the spiral swirling in my mind. When was my last period? How did I not notice? What am I going to—

“But if you’d rather wait,” the nurse adds, softer, glancing at me now, and all I can do is blink in response. Apparently, it’s the best I can manage. “That’s entirely your choice. I’ll give you this brace to go home with.”

Like I’m capable of deciding anything right now.

I look at my legs. They don’t feel like they’re mine, none of this feels like mine. The room, the paper crinkling under me, the pamphlets she’s now placing on the bed beside me. Newborns on the front, hands cradling around stomachs, couples leaning over a bassinet.

Prenatal care.

She reaches into a cabinet, setting a small tub alongside the leaflets.

“In the meantime, here are some prenatal vitamins to get you started until you can see your OB-GYN.” She glances between us. “Do you have one already, or would you like a recommendation?”

I open my mouth, then close it. Lockie steps forward, taking everything in one quiet swoop and tucking them into my bag. His hand finds mine, fingers closing around me, steady and warm and completely certain, and I hold on because he’s the only thing grounding me in this room.

“Thank you,” he says, voice level in a way mine absolutely would not be. “We’ll let you know.”

He guides me from the bed, my bag on his arm.

You can come back for the X-ray, she said. Or maybe it was something else. Everything past baby didn’t quite track.

We’re outside before I’ve registered walking through the door. Blinking, I look around, standing outside his SUV, the world still tilted off its axis. He steps in front of me before I can reach for the door, pulling me against him, one arm wrapping tightly around my shoulders, the other cradling the back of my head, tucking me into his chest, mindful of my wrist.

My hand fists in his jacket, needing the solid warmth of him as my mind refuses to slow down. It runs through everything instead—Tyler falling apart, Cooper’s schedule ramping up, Sip Station’s new album, the contracts pending signature, all of it still burning around me while I stand here not quite inside my own body.

“I don’t know how this happened.” The words come out muffled against him, not really for him to hear anyway. “I always take it. I don’t— I don’t understand how—”

I don’t know how to do this.

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice vibrating through his chest and into my bones. “We’ll figure it out, Mo Chridhe.”