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I loved her.
I wasn’t sure how it happened or whether or not I was happy about it, but what I did know was that in that moment, seeing the wreckage of the car, my entire life before her held no meaning.
My life only began to make sense the moment she walked into it.
No longer was I the man that had to do bad things for a paycheck—because essentially, a killer for hire had been what I’d done for years—I was her man. I was her person to do with what she would.
And now, looking at her while the woman at her side set up to do an ultrasound on her—on our—baby, I realized that I had the best of luck.
Had I not come when I did, I wouldn’t have been here yesterday morning—God, it’d been that long since all the shit had gone down with the sheriff?—then I wouldn’t be here right now, experiencing this precious moment.
“All right,” the sonographer with the nametag that read “Yennifer” said. “So what’s going to happen is this”—she held up a wand—“is going to go inside of you. Vaginally. Being eight weeks, it’s still a little small to be seen from outside your belly. And since you were in your wreck, we want to be sure that you and Baby are doing well. Sound good?”
Keene stepped away while everything “down there” was happening.
I watched in fascination.
Meanwhile, my confused girl didn’t care that I watched.
It was as if she’d accepted me as her person and knew instinctually that I was supposed to be there helping her through this.
I was glad.
I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t want her to make me go.
Something inside of me visibly recoiled at not being able to be at her side.
Then again, that likely had to do with the horrific accident that we’d come upon with her being trapped inside the upside-down car.
If that sheriff didn’t die, he would wish he had by the time I was through with him.
It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even next month. But one way or another, he’d forfeited his life today.
And I would make it hurt.
I would make him wish he’d never been born, let alone been alive long enough to do what he’d done to Simi.
“That’s extremely uncomfortable,” Simi announced when the woman, Yennifer, did her thing with the wand.
I felt my insides go molten.
I didn’t like her feeling uncomfortable in the least, especially when it came to something like that.
I reached out and took her hand, hoping that now I wasn’t the one making things uncomfortable.
She instantly latched on, her hand squeezing mine so tight that she let it be known, without words, that she didn’t want me letting go.
“You can turn around, good gentlemen,” Yennifer said. “All privates are now covered.”
I snorted, as did Keene.
“And here’s the baby!” Yennifer declared.
I blinked at the screen, which all four of us were now looking at, and couldn’t see a goddamn thing.
“No offense, ma’am, because I’m sure you’re more than capable of doing your job to the fullest, but what the fuck am I looking at?” Keene said what we were likely all thinking.
Yennifer snorted. “Language, kind sir.”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Yennifer pointed at the screen and said, “This wall is the uterus. This is the placenta attached to the uterine wall, and this,” she paused at a blob with a blackish circle in the middle of it, “is your baby. Head. Body. Little arm buds. Heart.”
I felt my stomach drop to my knees.
Because now that she’d pointed everything out, I could definitely see what she was talking about.
Though it still resembled a blob more than a baby.
“Holy shit, Kissimmee,” Keene said. “You’re going to be a mother!”
I snorted at his words, but it was Simi who turned and leveled her brother with a stare. “And apparently, Keene, you’re going to be an uncle.” She paused. “Is Kissimmee my full name?”
My heart dropped again at the reminder that she couldn’t remember a thing.
“Yes,” Keene said with less excitement. “We all have stupid names.”
Yennifer turned to look at Keene and said, “Keene isn’t a stupid name.”
We all noticed that she agreed that Kissimmee was stupid, which made my eyes narrow.
“Then again,” she said, “at least you have a unique name that is somewhat easy to pronounce and guess how to spell. You’d never believe how many times a day I have to spell my name and then respell it because people don’t understand ‘Jennifer with a Y.’”
“Try Coffey with a Y on the end,” I said.
“Ys are stupid,” she agreed. “Now, the heartbeat right now is a hundred and sixty-eight. That’s perfect. Everything looks good. No abruptions in the placenta. No trauma that I can see at all,” she pressed a few buttons, and then the sound of a heartbeat filled the room.
The hand still holding mine tightened as she squeezed harder at the sound.
