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“Fuck off,” I snapped back.
“You want to go get changed, or you want me to carry you to your bedroom, rip your pajamas off you, and put some new ones on?” he offered.
I might’ve called his bluff, except he really,reallydidn’t sound like he was bluffing. The fucker was going to do anything and everything in his power to get me to the doctor’s. I didn’t have much of a choice.
That infuriated me, to say the least.
“Fuck you,” I spat, turning on my heel and stomping to my bedroom.
“We’ve gotta leave in fifteen,” he called to my back. “I’ll make you a breakfast burrito to have on the way.”
Fuck, now I wanted a breakfast burrito.
* * *
I gave Kip the silent treatment for the rest of the morning.
Very mature of me, but it was either that or scream expletives at him.
And if I was screaming at him, I couldn’t eat the breakfast burrito. Which was fucking amazing.
But even that didn’t help with the fact that I’d lost. I’d lost because I had indeed gotten dressed, climbed into Kip’s truck—with his help—and let him drive me to my OB’s office. I did not like to lose. Especially to Kip.
I’d been dealing with this thing alone for months. I’d been in control of where and when I went places for this entire time—well, apart from the bathroom, because the baby dictated that—and my entire life, after escaping my abusive husband. Yielding to Kip on this one thing felt like the end of the world.
I’d given up enough control to him by marrying him in the first place. This was too much.
This, along with the ride to the doctor’s office, which was always anxiety inducing. Yes, I’d been given the all clear at the hospital the previous morning, but a lot could happen in twenty-four hours. I’d been feeling those same weird little flutters last night that I’d been feeling on and off for a couple of weeks.
Flutters that could’ve been hunger pangs, gas, or it could be the tiny limbs of my baby moving inside me. But if I focused too much on that, I couldn’t feel anything at all.
I had nothing to compare it to, since my previous pregnancies had never made it this far. I was flying blind. Beyond that, I didn’t want to tell myself I was feeling baby kicks, reassure myself that’s what I was feeling, and go to the doctor only to find out they weren’t because my baby was gone.
Better to write them off as gas for now. Better that than to hope.
My head throbbed as we checked in at the office, though I did not miss the receptionist and a couple of other women checking Kip out. Including the pregnant women here with their husbands.
Because Kip, as always, looked great. He was wearing faded jeans, and instead of his work boots, he had on Chuck Taylors that should’ve looked weird on him but somehow worked. His jeans fit him perfectly, showing off his perfect ass. Then there was his white tee, not tight but hinting at the abs I knew were underneath it. His biceps were straining against the fabric of his tee, showing off muscled, tanned arms that had veins running down to his large and well-manicured hands. Although he was a builder, and they were callused, he always kept his hands in great shape.
He was wearing his cap backward, with his dirty-blond hair peeking out the bottom of it. He still had that shadow of stubble on a square jaw.
In short, he was fucking catnip to women. Especially pregnant women, who, if they were anything like me, were being ruled by their hormones. It took everything I had not to drag him into the bathroom and make him fuck me there and then.
Though I guessed trying to battle against my libido in the waiting room was a welcome change to battling against an anxiety attack.
Kip looked outwardly calm, his usual self. Upon first glance. But I didn’t miss the tightness in his limbs, the wrinkling around his eyes, the way his jaw moved, like he was grinding his teeth. Yeah, he was nervous. No, he was scared.
He wasscared.
Forgetting that I was supposed to be mad at him, I reached over and grabbed his hand.
Kip jerked when I grabbed hold of it, and I immediately tried to pull it back. But he tightened his grip, not letting me go, and rested our intertwined hands on his muscular thigh.
We stayed like that, sitting there, holding hands right until the nurse came to get us. Kip kept holding my hand as we stood and followed the nurse, only letting me go so they could weigh me, and then grabbing me again until it was clear I had to sit in the exam chair and he got the husband chair across the room. He looked forlorn with the distance, and I ignored that.
The nurse was cheerful as she took my blood pressure, saying how exciting it was for “Dad to be able to make it for this one!” she exclaimed.
I didn’t look at Kip as she said that. It was all too weird.
