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Tegan shrugged. She was already going to have her legs in the air like a dead horse. Why do it twice if it could be avoided? “Sure.”
Tegan stripped, put the crinkly plastic gown on, and with Dr. Lucy’s help, placed her legs in the stirrups. Dr. Lucy pressed and kneaded her stomach, coming to a point just to the right of her belly button. “Ow!” Tegan hissed.
Dr. Lucy was silent, focusing on the same are, using her fingers in a different way. The pressure hurt, but not as much as a second ago. “Tegan... have you been experiencing any nausea lately? Head spins?”
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
“Um. I don’t know. Maybe two or three months? It’s gotten more severe lately though. In the last few days, which is why I took the test.”
Dr. Lucy moved from between her legs to by her side. “Ok, I’m going to just let you know, that the pain in your stomach you just felt then by me touching you? That was a lump, a reasonably big one.”
“What?”
“Have you been experiencing any discomfort lately around there? Do you check yourself regularly?”
“I check my boobs all the time, not my stomach. And I’ve been getting cramp-like feelings, but I didn’t think anything of it because my period has been off. And now I haven’t had it for a while, I just thought... shit, I don’t even know what I thought—”
“Hey,” Dr. Lucy said, removing her glove and patting her on the shoulder. “I’m not trying to criticize. I just need a few facts to best determine what’s going on. I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily, but I won’t lie to you either. I’ve seen enough of these over the years to know we need to do further tests. Luckily, I can do most of them here and now. The ones I need to know what action to take anyway. We can do the pap and we’ll need some further scrapings. I can do a quick biopsy to take some fluid and then upstairs for an ultrasound. We should have the results back in less than a week. I know waiting is probably the most horrible part, but it’s gotta be done. So, I really need you to clear your schedule for about two hours.”
The seriousness of what was being told to Tegan wasn’t lost on her, but it was what Lucy didn’t say that Tegan wanted to know. “Am I pregnant?”
For the first time, Lucy gave a small smile and gently pat Tegan’s forehead with her gloveless hand. “We’ll find that out too.”
Tegan lay back and stared at the ceiling. Focusing on a light above her head, anything to take her mind away from the steady jabs and pokes between her legs, making her wince.
* * *
A single light beamed down from the ceiling, giving Owen just enough light to continue his third hour of training. Owen snapped three jabs at the bag, blinked, and shook his head as the sweat stung his eyes. But he didn’t reach for his towel. He barely broke stride. Punches hit the bag, one after the other. Each one slower, more powerful, before he took half a step back and unleashed a flurry of rights and lefts. Then a kick to what would be his opponents mid-section. Then the head. Again. And again. Composed. Measured. Deadly. He repeated these things in his head. What was done in training camp was reflected in the match. Always.
Connor Williams was a striker, like him. Though Owen was equally as adept with his hands and feet, Williams favoured his kicks. Specifically, his right leg. Owen would therefore attack his left side. As the only time Williams would open himself up on his left, was at the exact moment he kicked with the right, when Owen himself would be vulnerable, it was a risky move. Fighters were taught to keep their non-striking fist up as a defense. There was no way Williams could defend both his midsection and temple at the same time. His timing would have to be perfect. Hitting the bag with punches was practice for the early exchanges. To toy with Williams, to chance an opening somewhere, with the aim of baiting him into using his right leg.
Everyone knew it was his go-to, but that didn’t make him predictable. It made him dangerous. Bruce Lee, the only man Owen idolised besides his own father, once said, “Never fear the man who has practised ten thousand kicks. Fear the one that has practised one kick ten thousand times.”
The one light above his head became many as Robert entered the room. “Do you realise you have to be at the airport in less than two hours? How long have you been up?”
“Dunno. Couldn’t sleep.”
“You’ve said the same thing every night for the past three weeks. What’s going on?”
“Nothin’...”
“That isn’t nothing. Don’t think I haven’t heard you, at early hours in the morning, in here or doing weights.”
“Since when does a little extra training hurt?”
“Since you’re doing triple the amount needed for a fight and running on next to no sleep. You’re burning yourself out.”
“I’m just tryna’ keep busy.”
“Yes, I know. What I don’t know is what you’re trying to distract yourself from.”
This, Owen couldn’t answer. Well, he could. He just wouldn’t. His father knew nothing of Tegan and what went on in Sydney. And Owen would like to keep it that way. He wanted her protected from this as much as possible. The closer she was to him, the more risk there was that she would be targeted by the media or his hardcore female fans.
It was bad enough having to deal with those risks as part of the profession. But she had no experience with it, and should her name or image be made public in relation to his, her whole life would turn upside down. As much as he hated texting here and there, it kept them in contact. Though not as much as he wanted.
Neither could deny there was something still there. Hell, less than a week ago she had wanted to video chat, and it lead to a show and tell exercise in mutual masturbation. Their one-night, no, two-night stand was still alive even in different countries. It had disappointed him that in the week since he hadn’t heard from her. Sure, they were both busy and life goes on. And neither had made any promises or guarantees. But it still bothered him. As much as the answer was probably too simple, it was the truth: he just missed her.
