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“I’m fucking glad.” All of these overpowering emotions try to surface. I have to keep them at bay. Because it’s probably false, and I’d rather be with her when she finds out. She was fucking crushed last time, and I don’t want her to be alone. “I’m on my way.”
“If you can’t come, I understand—”
“Hey, just breathe, cry if you fucking need to, and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I hear her cry, and it fucking kills me but it’s better than her holding it in. I tell her that I fucking love her, and then we both hang up. I quickly return to the table.
“I have to go,” I tell them.
“Why?” Jonathan wears so much fucking skepticism, and I’m not about to admit that I’m trying to have a baby. The information will go straight to Greg, his best friend.
“Daisy’s in therapy, and she’s really fucking emotional,” I lie. Her parents know that she sees Frederick for PTSD and depression.
Without further questioning, Lo tosses me his car keys. “Try not to drive my car into another fucking car again.”
“Thanks,” I say, too tightly wound to flip him off or dish out a fuck you.
“Tell Daisy I said hi.” Willow waves goodbye.
I nod and give her the best apologetic look I can fucking muster, which may be shit. Truth is, she’s probably better off with Lo mediating the lunch than with me here. I almost never give Jonathan Hale the benefit of the doubt.
Even now, when he shows signs of being a decent human being, I continue to wait for him to fail. I don’t know if that says more about him or me.
The keys dig into my palm while I practically sprint back to the valet, just thinking about Daisy.
My heart has never beat fucking faster.
DAISY CALLOWAY
I squirm on the hospital bed, the crinkling paper filling the tense silence. I’ve already torn off a section of the paper and creased the edges to form a palm tree.
Ryke stands beside the bed and plays with my hair while massaging my head, but even that barely loosens my tight shoulders.
“I’m all out of jokes,” I whisper, most of them flat-lining before I even uttered the words.
His brows rise, and my freefalling heart pauses midair. “Knock knock.”
My small smile lifts my cheeks. “Who’s there?”
“Fuck.” He tucks my hair behind my ear.
“Fuck who?” I play along, my lungs lighter.
He leans his head down, lips to my ear as he whispers, “Fuck me.”
My smile grows an extra inch or two. “How has that pickup line worked for you?”
He scrutinizes my features, landing on my lips that have curved upward. “Pretty fucking good.”
Two minutes later, when taut silence approaches us again, I say, “I’m sorry.” For the fifteenth time. I’ve been counting, and I wish I could retract this one too.
I’m not even deterred by his don’t fucking apologize replies or by that dark, annoyed look he thunders down on me. Our reality is this: in a couple minutes, Dr. Yoshida will saunter back into the office and declare me barren or at the very least, not pregnant.
Again.
I know that I ruined Ryke’s important lunch with his half-sister and father and brother for nothing. Willow needed him. Not me.
And it’s not even nothing, actually. This will be for terrible news.
I find myself staring off at the worst paper palm tree I’ve ever made and then at the New York City landscape, dreary clouds blanketing the sky and darkening the room.
“Daisy,” Ryke almost growls my name.
My wolf is going to bite me today. Maybe I’ll let him.
His expression never softens. “I want to fucking be here.”
My eyes are raw from crying earlier. I’m sick of being sad, but at least expelling these emotions gives me a better release than bottling them up.
“I just want to prepare you,” I say slowly. “That this is ninety-nine percent nothing, and I’m sorry for that too—”
“Stop.” He covers my mouth with his hand. “Fucking stop.” He’s upset, his gaze shattering but narrowed, still steadfast.
I touch his wrist, pulling his hand down and freeing my mouth. He lets me pretty easily. That’s Ryke for you. “I should feel different if I’m pregnant, I think,” I breathe. “I just feel the same.”
Almost a year of trying to get pregnant. Mentally, I could try another year with Ryke, the same way we’ve been doing, but my body has shorter agendas. Physically, time is running out.
“It’s okay,” he says strongly but his reddened eyes show a different kind of story. Tired. We’re both really tired. “Whatever fucking happens, it’s okay.”
I nod, the paper palm tree limp in my hands.
He rubs my back, and then the office door opens.
Dr. Yoshida carries a file, his features as impassive as Connor Cobalt, which sucks because I can’t determine any sort of answer.
He greets us with a simple nod and stands close. “I hope you’re both doing well.”
I’m sure he’s seen the news. We’ve been all over it.
Daisy Calloway’s Kinks: How many times has she had sex outdoors?
Daisy Calloway is just like her sister! Sex addict in the making!
Breaking News: Lily Calloway & Ryke Meadows had sex in the car. It wasn’t Daisy!
That was the worst one.
Hopefully though, Dr. Yoshida has just paid attention to the wedding headlines.
Raisy’s Secret Wedding! What We Know About It!
They didn’t know a lot. Most is speculation with fake sources claiming to have attended. Apparently there was a giant chocolate cake and we eloped in Prague. The cake is spot on. The city, not so much.
I try to sweep away the media from my mind, and everything seems to boil down to this moment. Dr. Yoshida will talk about my other options. He’ll propose surrogacy. I’ll have to wait a couple years, until Rose is physically ready to have another baby.
I brush a tear from the corner of my eye, before it even falls. I’ve played his voice in my head all morning, with these different scenarios. I can never be fully ready for the sting of the verdict, but at least Ryke is here.
My pillar, bracing me from the fall. You’ll stand up again, Daisy, I remind myself. You’re a Calloway sister.
I can do anything.
Dr. Yoshida pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I have some pamphlets and articles that I’d like you both to read up on.”
My veins run cold, waiting for the blow. Ryke’s arm wraps around my shoulders.
“These following months are going to be very important,” Dr. Yoshida says. “Getting pregnant was the first step, now carrying the baby to term will be your next big challenge.”
Blood drains out of my head, like I’ve been hung upside-down. “I don’t understand.”
Dr. Yoshida finally smiles. “Congratulations, Daisy, you’re pregnant.”
I shake my head once, feeling like a practical joke is being played on me. “I…how…are you sure?” I frown deeply, unwilling to believe in this just yet. “Are you a hundred, million percent sure?” Water builds in my eyes, scared that he’s going to pull the rug beneath my feet and say, gotcha!
I’ll fall hard.
“I ran the tests,” he explains. “You are without a doubt pregnant. A little over two weeks. You’ll need to come back soon for your first ultrasound. I want to do it early since this will be a high-risk pregnancy.”
My heart pounds, his words flowing through me and then floating away. I turn to Ryke, his reddened eyes never leaving me. He looks as overcome as I feel. And then I watch as tears slide down his cheeks.
He’s crying.
Ryke has acted very careful about the whole “family of three” concept, never outwardly jumping for joy. If it never came true, he didn’t want me to feel like I wasn’t good enough for him or that I denied him something he could obtain elsewhere.
I?
?ve almost forgotten how much this means to him.
“We’re going to have a baby,” I whisper, tears dripping down mine.
He nods and smiles, wider than almost anytime ever before, and he says, “Yeah, Calloway. We’re going to have a fucking baby.”
I laugh into my own tearful smile. “Say that again.” I reach up, my hands disappearing in his thick hair.
He repeats his words and then draws me to his chest, pulling me off the hospital bed and in his arms. I’m dizzy inside his embrace, my mind twirling a thousand, bazillion miles an hour. He kisses the top of my head and then my cheek, pulling away only a little to meet my lips.
I kiss him just as wildly and zealously and soulfully.
My world loses focus.
And I can worry about the next big challenge, as my doctor called it, but I don’t want this experience—which may be my only one—to be ruined by fear.
I’ve been scared of the dark, of strangers and things that go bump in the night. I never want to be scared of an unknown future, of risks. It’s the one fear that I choose to never have.
