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[ Truyện Tiếng Anh] Beauty From Love

Chủ đề trong 'Album' bởi novelonline, 21/07/2016.

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    I move my hand to her clit and stroke it as she slides up and down on my ****. I want her to come too. If she doesn’t, I feel like a selfish, inadequate lover. “Does that feel good?”

    “Yeah, don’t stop.”

    And just like two, perfectly synced bombs, we explode together.

    Eighteen weeks—almost halfway through the pregnancy. I can’t believe how much L’s belly has changed in the last month. It’s a small bump you can barely detect beneath her clothes but I’m amazed by the way it feels when she lies flat, like a firm grapefruit protruding from her lower abdomen.

    L has a visit with her OB today. I had to skip her last appointment because of work but I wouldn’t miss today for anything in the world. She’s getting her first four-dimensional ultrasound. I’ve been looking online at some of the pictures and we should be able to see our baby’s face for the first time today.

    Dr. Sommersby comes into the room and does all the routine stuff first. I get to hear the heartbeat for the first time and I swear it triggers something in my chest, a sensation I’ve never felt before, and I have this crazy picture pop into my head of my heart growing like The Grinch’s.

    “Are you okay?”

    “That’s my first time to hear the heartbeat. I didn’t know it would make me feel like this.”

    Dr. Sommersby laughs. “Well, Mr. McLachlan, you’re going to be feeling a lot of different things when you see your baby on this ultrasound. He or she is going to look a lot different than when we looked at six weeks.”

    L pushes the waistband of her bottoms down and the good doctor begins the scan. It takes a minute for me to get my bearings but then it becomes clear. “Look, L.” I laugh—maybe even sort of giggling. “It’s a hand—and I can see all of the fingers.” I watch the screen, mesmerized by what I’m looking at because it’s so much better when it’s your own child you’re seeing.

    I’m not sure I blink for fear of missing something. It’s moving so much—she hasn’t mentioned feeling anything. “Do you feel those somersaults?”

    “Maybe little flutters here and there—nothing I registered as the baby moving. I thought it was gas bubbles or something.” She giggles.

    Dr. Sommersby moves the probe and we get a perfect shot of the face so she still-frames it. “This is a nice one.”

    “Look at that. It has to be a girl because that little face looks just like you.”

    Laurelyn doesn’t take her eyes from the screen for a moment. “I don’t think so. That’s definitely your nose and chin so I think it’s a boy.”

    “Do you want to find out who’s right?”

    Neither of us answers because we’ve been having this discussion for weeks. She’s dying to know and wants to have everything purchased gender-specific and ready to go when the baby arrives. It’s killing her that Addison already knows she’s having a boy. But I want to be surprised. I think nothing would be more special than seeing your baby for the first time and hearing it’s a boy or it’s a girl.

    “I’ve seen that look before. Can’t agree, huh?”

    L shakes her head. “Nope, and no one is budging.”

    “I can always write it down and seal it in an envelope for the one wanting to know.”

    I’d rather be told now rather than her know and let it slip in casual conversation or me find out when I see a nursery painted pink or blue. So I give in, pushing aside what I want just as I always do with L, because I love her so much and want her to be happy. “It’s fine. You can tell us.”

    “Let’s see if this little booger will cooperate and shows us.” She moves the probe across L’s belly. “I make it a habit to not look until I’ve been given the go-ahead so I don’t let it slip.” I hold my breath, waiting to hear the verdict. Do I have a son or a daughter?

    “No, don’t tell us.” L looks at me and squeezes my hand. “I’ll know what the baby is when it gets here and I can buy all the clothes I want then. You deserve to have this surprise.”

    I don’t want her to give in—that’s my job. “But you’re dying to know.”

    “It’s okay. I have the rest of my life to know if it’s a boy or girl, so let’s enjoy the angst of not knowing.”

    I lean up to kiss her. “Thank you, love.”

    “All right, then, we’ll move on to measurements.” Our fun is over as the diagnostic part of the ultrasound begins—no more cute shots of the baby’s features. “Laurelyn, have you been having any contractions?”

    “Not that I know of.” She laughs but then sees the concerned look on Dr. Sommersby’s face. “I’m assuming that’s something I would recognize, wouldn’t I?”

    “You’re a first-time mom, so you might not. Any cramping at all?”

    “No, nothing. Is something wrong?” I hear the panic in her voice and it sends my heart to racing.

    “Your cervix length is shortened and you appear dilated. The membranes are hourglassing through the cervix.”

    “I don’t know what that means.”

    Dr. Sommersby stops the exam. “When a mother goes into labor, her uterus contracts and over time, this is what causes her cervix to shorten, or thin, and dilate. The contractions start out mild and gradually become more intense, but that’s not the case for about one percent of pregnant women. They have weakened cervical tissue, for one reason or another, and the weight of the fetus causes dilation without any contractions at all. It usually isn’t diagnosed until the mother has had at least one second-trimester miscarriage. I’m afraid that’s what is happening here.”

    I hear the word miscarriage and I’m confused. I thought we were beyond that risk. “How serious is this?”

    “Critical, I’m afraid. You’re at least two centimeters.”

    She’s too early. I already know it but I ask anyway. “What about the baby?”

    “Viability is considered twenty-four weeks but even then, survival rate at that gestation is around fifty percent and the lifelong deficits can be devastating.”

    “That’s at least five weeks away.” Laurelyn looks at me, her face pained. She doesn’t have to say the words—I doubt she could if she tried—because we both comprehend what the outcome will be. Our baby won’t survive being born now.

    “We have two options: let nature take its course and allow the pregnancy to terminate on its own, or do everything possible to maintain it.”
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    We look at one another but don’t need time to talk it over. “We want everything possible to be done.”

    “You should know this will be a very long road. We’ll make decisions about your plan of care on a daily basis since your con***ion can change rapidly.” Dr. Sommersby picks up the phone to make a call. “I want you transported to the hospital by ambulance. There will be no going back if those hourglassing membranes rupture.”

    The shock sets in and Laurelyn begins to cry. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anything was wrong. I felt completely normal.”

    This isn’t her fault. It’s mine. I’m the one ramming my dick into her when I should’ve been keeping it to myself. “I think I did this—last night. I was too rough with you.” I knew I’d end up hurting her and the baby.

    Dr. Sommersby ends her call. “I’m admitting you to labor and delivery and your orders will be there when you arrive. The nurses are going to be doing a lot of things to you at once but most importantly, you’re on strict bed rest in Trendelenburg position. That means the head of your bed will be in the lowest position and the foot will be elevated so you’ll almost be standing on your head. It’s going to be an uncomfortable position but if we’re lucky, the membranes will go back up into the cervix. If that happens, it’s possible I can take you *****rgery and place a cerclage where I’d weave a suture through the cervix and then pull it closed and tie it shut.”

    “How long does the cerclage stay in?”

    “I’d clip it around thirty-six weeks.”

    “So there’s a chance I could still carry the baby to full term?”

    “We have a shot if I’m able to get the cerclage in, but it’s tricky because there’s risks associated with placing it. The needle I’d use to place the suture can rupture the bag of waters. That’s why I want you lying with your head down—so it can go back inside the cervix—or I won’t even make an attempt.”

    This is scary as hell. I don’t recall ever feeling this kind of terror.

    “Could I have caused this during ***?” The guilt I feel is killing me and if I did this, I should know I’m the cause.

    “No. With incompetent cervix, there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. And there’s no way of knowing you have it until there’s a problem. But the good news is that we know Laurelyn’s cervix is weak, so I’d bring her in with her next pregnancy, somewhere around fourteen weeks, and place a cerclage before this happens again.”

    I hadn’t even considered future pregnancies. I’ve barely had time to wrap my head around this one. “So it’s possible for her to become pregnant again and carry the baby to term?”

    “As long as the suture is placed in time, she shouldn’t have any complications.” That’s such a relief to hear.

    The ambulance service arrives and I can only stand back and watch as they move her over onto the stretcher. “Are you her husband?”

    “I am.”

    “We can’t let you ride with her but you can follow us in your vehicle.”

    I want to argue, tell them they’re nuts if they think they’re separating me from my wife, but that’ll cause an unnecessary delay. “Okay.” I kiss her forehead. “I’ll be right behind you.”

    I’m following the ambulance and the harsh reality of our situation hits me—Laurelyn and I could lose our baby. Suddenly, all the problems we encountered along the way to this place seem so insignificant. “Oh God, please take care of Laurelyn and our baby. I beg you to not take our little one before it’s had a chance to live.”

    L is already admitted to her room in labor and delivery by the time I park and find her. Just as Dr. Sommersby promised, she’s already been positioned in a bed with the head down and her feet up. Gravity. It’s what we used to get her pregnant and now it looks like we’re going to use it to keep her that way.

    Several nurses are doing different things to L at the same time—one starting an IV, another getting vital signs and placing a monitor on her stomach, a third asking a long list of questions about her medical history. It’s a lot to take in at once seeing so many things done to your wife simultaneously. And I have no control over any of it. All I can do is sit back and hope these people know what they’re doing.

    An hour later, the whirlwind of getting L admitted and the nurses completing the doctor’s initial orders is over. She’s settled in—best she can be while almost turned upside down—and we’re left alone for the first time since this nightmare began. I scoot my chair to the head of her bed so she can see me and I take her hand. I lean over and kiss it. “Can I do anything for you?”

    “Wake me up and tell me it’s all a bad dream.”

    “Everything is going to be okay. Our baby has a fighter’s heart. She’s part of you so she doesn’t have a choice.”

    “You said she. You’re so convinced this baby is a girl.”

    I am. “You’re so convinced she’s a boy.”

    “Why a girl? I thought every man wanted a son.”

    Too much emphasis is placed on men wanting sons. “When I lost you, I had a lot of time on my hands. I spent most of it thinking about what my future would look like if I got you back. You holding a little girl with long brown curls and your same caramel-colored eyes … that’s what I always saw and I guess her image stuck with me, but I’d be thrilled with any child you give me.”

    Tears fill her eyes but they run toward her hairline instead of down her cheeks. I reach over and wipe them away. “I should call my parents to let them know what’s happening. I’m sure my mum will be in the car immediately.”

    “Tell her she doesn’t have to come. There’s nothing she can do but look at me … like this.”

    “As if that’s going to happen.” Margaret McLachlan will be here in less than four hours. I predict it and pity any who gets in her way.

    This is going to be miserable for L. Only an hour in and she’s already slid toward the headboard so far that her head is pressed against it. “Want me to pull you down in the bed?” Or up? I don’t know which you’d call it.

    “Yeah, but don’t tug on that.” She points to a plastic tube hanging on the bed.

    “What is it?”

    She wrinkles her nose. “A catheter.”
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    Oh God. “Inside you?”

    “Yeah. That’s generally where they go.”

    I didn’t see them put that in her. “Why?”

    “I can’t get up to the bathroom and I think you can imagine why a bedpan isn’t going to work.”

    “Oh, L. I’m so sorry you’re the one going through all of this.” I would do it for her in a second.

    “I can do anything I need to for our baby. I’ll forget all about this little bit of discomfort when they place him in my arms.”

    I lean down to kiss her forehead. “Her.”

    I help L with repositioning before going out into the hallway to phone my parents. I’m not sure I’ve ever dreaded a call so much in my life. Mum is going to be devastated.

    We do our normal greeting but then the part comes where I have to tell her why I’m calling. I start at the beginning, careful to not leave out any details, and I can hear her crying before I even get to the part about the cerclage. “Listen, Mum. The doctor is optimistic that the membranes will go back inside so she can stitch the cervix closed. There’s hope.”

    “How is Laurelyn handling this?”

    “She’s okay—willing to do whatever it takes to keep this baby inside for as long as possible.”

    “I’m packing a bag as we speak. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

    This is going to be a long road per Dr. Sommersby. “You don’t have to come now, Mum. There’s nothing you’ll be able to do except sit in an uncomfortable chair and look at Laurelyn while she slowly slides toward the head of the bed.”

    “Then that’s what my job will be—not staying four hours away.”

    I hang up and prepare myself for the other call I have to make to Jolie Prescott. I still haven’t forgiven her for making Laurelyn cry, telling her she had made a stupid mistake by becoming pregnant. L didn’t tell me so but I wonder in the back of my mind if her mum might have encouraged her to have an abortion. If she did, she’s smart for not telling me. I don’t think I could ever forgive her for such a thing.

    “Jolie, it’s Jack. Laurelyn asked me to call you because something has happened.”

    “Is she okay?”

    “She is but there’s been a complication with the baby and she’s in the hospital.”

    “Is she having a miscarriage?” Her voice sounds a little too hopeful.

    “She could lose the baby but the doctor is doing everything possible to prevent it.”

    “I need to talk to Laurelyn because I have some great news. Jake and I are getting married.”

    All I see is red. What a bitch. She finds out her daughter is in the hospital fighting to save the life of her grandchild and her response is to tell Laurelyn about her happy news. Un-****ing-believable! Perhaps she’s mentally ill on some level. No sane person would be so indifferent to their child.

    “She’s asleep,” I lie. I won’t allow her to upset Laurelyn. “I’ll have her call when she wakes.” Or maybe I won’t. I’m not sure speaking to her mum is beneficial right now. I think it could cause a lot more harm than good.

    23

    I didn’t sleep much last night. Even after I was given a sleeping pill, I only dosed in intervals. I don’t think Jack Henry nodded off once all night, although I repeatedly asked him to try and get some sleep. The nurse showed him how to turn the chair into a bed but he refuses, and each time I open my eyes or move, he slides to the edge of his seat and asks me if I’m okay. He’s like a guard dog watching over me and our baby.

    I brush my teeth and Jack Henry helps me wash up. “Did you tell Margaret they’re doing an ultrasound this morning?”

    He’s standing at my bedside wearing his cotton sleep pants and a T-shirt, rubbing his scruff. He has a case of bed head, although he never slept, and he couldn’t look more adorable. “Yeah. She wants to stay and watch if it’s okay with you.”

    Of course, it’s fine by me. “I don’t mind. I’d love for her to see the baby.”

    “She’ll be really happy about that. She never got to be with Em when they did any of hers.”

    I’m almost afraid to ask about my mom but I need to. “You never mentioned it, but did you talk to my mom?”

    “I did.”

    “What did she say?”

    He looks like he’s thinking up something to say. “I told her what was happening and that we were going to do everything possible to save the baby.”

    “What did she say about that?”

    “She asked if you were miscarrying and then told me she wanted to talk to you because she had good news. She and your dad are getting married.” He looks like he’s angry. “I didn’t think her timing was appropriate, so I told her you were asleep and would call her later.”

    Asking about the miscarriage without any concern for me or the baby and then jumping straight into her good news … that hurts. But it’s just like my mom. I don’t get the disconnect there. I haven’t even laid eyes on this baby yet and I already know I’ll put his happiness ahead of my own. That’s what a real mother does.

    She’s hoping I’ll lose the baby because she thinks I should be pursuing my career instead of a family. This is a problem for me and I’m not sure she’ll continue to hold a place in my life if she’s going to wish my child away. “She probably won’t call to check on us but if she does, tell her the nurse is with me and I can’t talk.” I can’t handle her right now.

    Margaret arrives only moments before Dr. Sommersby comes into the room for my scan. “Is it okay if my mother-in-law stays?”

    “That’s fine with me if it’s all right with you.”

    I look at Margaret and she’s wearing a huge grin. That’s how a grandmother should be, ecstatic about seeing her grandchild, not wishing it away. “Yes. I would very much like her to be here.”

    The ultrasound procedure is the same as yesterday—lots of measuring and documenting—but Dr. Sommersby is nice enough to show Margaret some great close-ups of the baby. She agrees with me—that the baby looks like Jack Henry—but in the end there’s no change in the membranes, so we’ll continue doing what we did yesterday. I’ll continue to lie with my head down and we’ll check for improvement tomorrow.

    Day four. I didn’t think I’d become sick of this so quickly but I am. I don’t want to stay here any longer. I want to be home at Avalon. I cried like a baby after Jack Henry finally went to sleep last night because I didn’t want him to see me. I’ve been holding it in, putting on a tough exterior, because I don’t want him or Margaret to see my weakness and mistake it for selfishness.
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    I can see how one could lie here and become depressed. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me now, but I’ll keep doing what I have to for this baby and pray the membranes have retreated.

    I wait on pins and needles, lying on a bed of nails upside down, as I hold my breath for the verdict. “I don’t see hourglassing, Laurelyn. I think we can put you on the surgery schedule and place the cerclage today.”

    Hallelujah! I want to jump out of bed and turn cartwheels down the hall.

    Jack Henry squeezes my hand and leans up to kiss me. “I knew you’d do it. I never doubted you for a second.”

    Things move rapidly, prepping me for surgery, and I’m nervous. No … more like petrified. There are still risks involved with this procedure, so we aren’t out of the woods yet. But the prognosis is much improved from what it was four days ago.

    My surgical nurse and anesthetist come into the room to move me to the OR. Jack Henry looks as terrified as I feel. “You’re going to do perfect and Dr. Sommersby is going to take good care of you. I’ll be right here waiting.” He leans down and kisses my mouth. “I love you, L.”

    “Love you too.”

    I’m wheeled down the hall backward, the fluorescent lights flashing as we move beneath them. It’s disorienting moving in the wrong direction and the flickering doesn’t help. It’s nauseating. “I don’t feel well.”

    The bed is stopped and a washcloth is placed over my face. “Close your eyes and don’t watch the overhead lights.” I remember the nurses telling me to notify them immediately if I felt nauseated. Vomiting could cause my membranes to balloon out further or possibly even rupture. “Concentrate on your breathing and take slow, deep breaths. We’re almost there.” I feel something being placed in my hand. “This is an alcohol pad. Sniff it. It’ll help the nausea pass.”

    I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. Miraculously, it helps. I sure wish I’d known about that little trick a couple months ago.

    The freezing cold air of the operating room hits me the second I’m taken inside and my body involuntarily shakes before it’s really even had a chance to cool. My teeth are clenched tightly and a rigor causes me to jerk. “I have some warm blankets for you once we get you moved over.”

    I’m slid with sheets and a backboard to a table in the middle of the room. Bright lights shine directly on my crotch. Stirrups await, and I’m pretty sure I know what’s next. I’ll be spread-eagle for everyone in this room to see. How humiliating. I hope they put me to sleep first.

    I look up and see the upside down face of the nurse anesthetist placing an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. “Just a little fresh air for you, Mrs. McLachlan.” A moment later the woman standing over me says, “I’m going to give you something through your IV to make you really sleepy.”

    “Okay.”

    And everything goes black.

    24

    I can’t sit. I’m restless, pacing L’s room from the door to look down the hall and back to the ignored chair.

    “The doctor said Laurelyn would be in surgery almost an hour if there were no complications and then she’d go to the recovery room for an hour, so park your ass in that chair before you give me motion sickness.” Mum doesn’t look up from where she’s reading, her glasses low on her nose.

    I take the chair next to her. “Sorry. I can’t help myself.” My heart pounds and bats flutter in my gut.

    “You always were a nervous one, watching over Chloe like she was a delicate flower. You could never see that your baby sister was as tough as nails but it was good practice for you. You’ve transitioned from the sheltering big brother into the protective husband and father.”

    “I’m still the sheltering big brother.” And I don’t like Chloe being with that ****er.

    “Ben is good for Chloe. He treats her well.”

    Because he knows I’ll kick his ass if he steps out of line. “He’s a bastard, Mum. He’s using Chloe and he’s only going to hurt her in the end. You don’t know him the way I do.” It’s only a matter of time and I’ll be there to take him down when he does.

    She looks skeptical. “And how well do you know him?”

    “Well enough.”

    “Ben is the brother of Laurelyn’s best friend and he pursued her when she came to Australia.”

    My mum knows Ben went after L? “That’s right.”

    “You were both chasing after her at the same time so he was your opponent in the duel to win Laurelyn’s heart.”

    “But she was mine and he knew that,” I argue.

    “Listen to me, son. Ben went after his sister’s best friend, knowing there would be hell to pay if he screwed it up. He proposed an authentic relationship with her from the beginning, one that might have prospered into something real. Now, think back on what you offered—a fling lasting a few months with no connection afterward. You never even asked her last name while she was living with you and sharing your bed. So, tell me who behaved worse.”

    Okay. Mum has a point. I was probably more of a bastard than Ben but that doesn’t mean I should stop looking out for Chloe. “I’ll lighten up a little on him.”

    “No, son. You’ll lighten up a lot. Chloe’s in love with Ben and you don’t have the right to ruin it because you refuse to let go of a rivalry that ended when you won Laurelyn’s heart.”

    Oh hell. Why’d my sister have to go and fall in love with Ben Donavon, of all ****ing people? The earth is populated by billions and she had to choose him. “I can do it but it’s going to take some time. I can’t cut it off like a switch.”

    “If it helps, think of it as a favor to your mum.”

    No. It doesn’t help one bit but I don’t have time to answer because L’s phone is ringing in the cabinet where her things are stored. I’m sure it’s her mum. I really don’t have the patience or desire to talk to her right now, but she has the right to an update on her daughter and grandchild—if that’s the reason behind her call. She could be calling to discuss wedding plans. I wouldn’t put that past her. Selfish bitch.

    I don’t recognize the number and then remember it wasn’t her ringtone I heard. “Hello?”

    “Good morning, this is Grayson Drake, assistant to the prosecuting attorney in the case against Blake Phillips. I’m trying to locate Miss Laurelyn Prescott.”
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    “It’s McLachlan now.”

    “I’m sorry?”

    “She’s no longer a Prescott. It’s Laurelyn McLachlan. This is her husband, Jack McLachlan,” I explain.

    “I was unaware you and Miss Prescott had married. May I speak with her?”

    “She’s not available at the moment and won’t be anytime soon.”

    “Well … I guess I can go ahead and speak with you since you’re one of the witnesses to testify in this case. I spoke with Miss Prescott several months ago …”

    I interrupt because that’s no longer who she is. “It’s Mrs. McLachlan.”

    “Er … yes. I spoke with your wife several months ago when the Blake Phillips case went before a judge for arraignment but I’ll catch you up, as you are now her husband and you both live in another country. Are you familiar with the American justice system?”

    “Not at all.”

    “As you know, Mr. Phillips was released on bail months ago since he wasn’t considered a flight risk due to his ties in the community, meaning his wife and children.” Yeah, I know. The ****er has been walking around free as a bird. “The judge in the preliminary hearing felt there was sufficient evidence to move the case to trial, and the grand jury did as well, so Mr. Phillips was officially indicted. He entered a plea of not guilty to all charges against him and a trial has been set for next week on May seventh. The prosecutor needs to speak with both of you about your testimony prior to that day, preferably in person, but over the phone is acceptable if you can’t be present before the trial.”

    Seriously? We live on a different continent and we’re given a week’s notice? “Our presence isn’t possible at this time. My wife is pregnant and is experiencing some complications so she’s been admitted to the hospital for an indefinite period of time.”

    “We can try to move the date back but not more than a few weeks at most.”

    That won’t work. “Laurelyn won’t be traveling for the remainder of her pregnancy.” Or soon after. She’ll be nursing and there’s no way we’re dragging a newborn across the globe because of Blake Phillips.

    “Well, that certainly poses a problem, Mr. McLachlan. Mr. Phillips is already making a lot of noise about his constitutional right to a speedy trial being violated with the date as it is.”

    That sends me into orbit. “Who gives a **** about his rights after the things he did to my wife?”

    “The American justice system does.”

    “Well, that’s very unfortunate.” This is a technical world we live in. “What about testifying via video?”

    “It isn’t unheard of for a witness to testify over closed-circuit video but it’s a long shot. I wouldn’t expect the judge to go for it. Allowing a victim to testify from the other side of the globe is unprecedented in a criminal case where constitutional rights are at stake. Not to mention that cross-examining over webcast would be terribly difficult. Frankly, Mr. McLachlan, I’m surprised this case made it to trial because you and your wife are basically the only evidence we have. It’s weak even with your testimony because it’s otherwise unsupported. The remaining evidence is circumstantial, at best, and likely inadmissible, so it would be damn near impossible to get a guilty verdict without your testimony. I would expect his defense attorney to make a motion for the charges to be dropped and that will likely happen if you don’t testify.”

    This is incredible. “You have our statements. Can’t you use those?”

    “They’re hearsay, and even if we could use them, they are unpersuasive.” He has an answer for everything.

    Un-****ing-believable. “So, you’re telling me he can attack my wife, attempt to rape her, and get away with it?”

    “It’s hard to win a case when the defendant has connections and the best defense attorney money can buy,” he explains.

    “Well, he’s not the only one with money and connections. So, I guess that’s the American way.” But it’s not the McLachlan way. There’s no way I’m letting that ****er get away with what he did to Laurelyn. “It truly sickens me to see him walk but we can’t risk the safety of our unborn child. As such, Laurelyn won’t be coming and I can’t leave her at this critical time.”

    “I’m very sorry to hear that, Mr. McLachlan. I wish you and your wife the best.”

    I end the call with Mr. Drake and I’m beyond furious. “Blake Phillips attacked Laurelyn—left her body bloody with bruises—and attempted to rape her. He would have been successful had I not gotten to her in time and he’s going to walk without any repercussions.”

    I’m sorry my mum had to hear that conversation. “It’s not right but at least she’s here now and not in Nashville. He can’t get to her from where he is.”

    “I’m not done with him.”

    “Son, there’s nothing you can do. As much as I hate what that man did to our girl, you have to let it go.”

    I’m set to argue with my mum and throw her words back in her face. “She’s one of us now and we protect our own … at any cost.” But I’m not able because the door opens with L being brought back into her room.

    I’m happy to see the head of her bed in a normal position. I reach for her hand but she’s sleeping and doesn’t stir when I take it in mine. “I thought she’d be awake when she came back.”

    “Some people are a little groggier than others after anesthesia. It’s just sticking with her a little longer—doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.” The nurse reapplies the monitor on her belly. “I’m putting the contraction monitor back on so we can make sure she isn’t having contractions. Sometimes a cerclage will cause the uterus to contract. If that happens, we’ll need to give her some medicine to stop them.”

    So, the cerclage is a step in the right direction but we’ve yet to hit a safe place. “The procedure went well as far as you know?”

    “She did great. Dr. Sommersby should come around and talk to you within the hour.”

    I breathe a sigh of relief because nothing catastrophic, such as ruptured membranes, happened. This woman is my life and now this baby is as well. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to either of them.

    25

    It takes a moment for my eyes to focus but I’m able to make out Jack Henry sitting at my bedside. He’s holding my hand, brushing his thumb over the top the way he so often does. “Hey, pretty girl.”
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    “McLachlan,” I croak out and realize how sore and scratchy my throat is. I try to cough, to clear what feels like a plug but to no avail. “Can I have something to drink?”

    Margaret comes to my bedside with a cup and spoon. “The nurse says you can have a few ice chips and progress to sips of water once you’re more alert.”

    Jack Henry lifts the head of the bed and it dawns on me—I’m no longer lying with my head down. I panic, my hands immediately reaching for my stomach as I fear the worst. “The baby?”

    My husband’s hand joins mine on my abdomen. “She’s fine.”

    Margaret purses her lips while looking at Jack Henry. “You little ****. It’s a girl and you didn’t tell me.”

    He’s in trouble now. “No, Mum. We don’t know what the baby is. I think it’s a girl so I call it a she to aggravate L—she’s leaning toward a boy.”

    “Oh.”

    Although I just had surgery, I feel more normal than I have in days. “I guess everything went well since they’re letting me sit up?”

    “Yeah. Dr. Sommersby came in about thirty minutes ago. She’s optimistic the cerclage will hold because your cervix felt firm and is thicker than it appeared on the ultrasound. She said the bag of waters ballooning through the cervix probably had it stretched.” What a relief.

    Margaret comes over to kiss me. “All right, kiddos. I’m going to step out and let the two of you have some time together. Can I get you something?”

    I have everything I need right here. “I can’t think of anything, but thank you.”

    Jack Henry waits until Margaret is gone before he hovers over me, his head against mine, and places his hand on my stomach. “I was so scared, L.”

    I reach for his face because I want to feel it. He’s been too preoccupied with me and the baby to trim his facial hair. His scruff is too long to be considered stubble so it’s almost a beard. “I know. I was too, but for the first time in days, I finally feel like everything’s going to be okay.”

    “Dr. Sommersby says she wants to observe you today and most of tomorrow. If you don’t have pain or contractions, she’s going to discharge you late tomorrow evening.”

    “Omigod, what a relief.” I can’t wait to get back to Avalon. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed it. “I could’ve pushed through as long as I needed to but I must admit, I’m ready to get out of here. Four days of lying in this bed staring at these walls is a lot to take.”

    “Babe, you’ve been a champ. Even the nurses have bragged on how well you handled standing on your head for days. You never complained once.”

    Complaining would’ve only made it harder on Jack Henry and would’ve accomplished nothing. “There was no reason to. I was prepared to do whatever was needed for this baby and there was no other way of looking at it.”

    “I know you would and it’s only one of the many reasons I love you so much.”

    I shouldn’t but I want to know if my mom has checked on us. “Has anyone called?”

    A peculiar look claims Jack Henry’s face and I can only interpret it to mean my mom isn’t concerned enough to call for an update. “I’ve updated Addison. She said to tell you she loves you and wishes she could be here. Emma called and wants you to know she loves you and is thinking of you and the baby. Chloe, pretty much the same—loves you, thinking of you.”

    “But nothing from my family?” I bet she didn’t even tell Nanna and Pops. I know they would’ve called if they knew something was wrong.

    “I’m sorry, babe.”

    “It’s fine—she’s wrapped up in him. I’m used to it.” I guess I was stupid for thinking she might put me before herself, or him, for once, but it’s okay. Margaret’s been more of a mom to me this year than my own has been my whole life. The McLachlans are my family now and they love me. And I love them.

    I’m discharged from the hospital for good behavior—no complications such as pain, bleeding, leaking, or contractions—but I’m given instructions to return immediately should any of these things occur. I’m to be on modified bed rest at home, meaning I can only shower and go to the bathroom. Otherwise I’m to do a lot of nothing while lying around. Dr. Sommersby says I may progress to routine activities after two weeks with one exception. No ***. My vagina is completely off limits so nothing is allowed within the temple. Strict doctor’s orders and one of the few things she isn’t lax about.

    This is going to be a rough five months.

    “Couch or bed?” Jack Henry asks as we pass through the kitchen.

    “I’m sort of sick of the bed so I think I’d prefer the couch for a little while. Maybe you can sit with me and we can watch TV.”

    “Absolutely. Mum thought you might need something comfy to wear the next couple of weeks so she brought some to the house this morning. Would you like me to get them for you?”

    Margaret is so thoughtful. “Yes, please.” Mental note: Call and thank her for that.

    Jack Henry returns with a pink T-shirt and a pair of white and pink pinstriped pants. Both are soft cotton and freshly laundered. “I can’t believe she washed them too.”

    “She would do anything for you.” He hands the clothes to me. “She loves you dearly.”

    My eyes fill with tears and my heart aches, but I don’t know if it’s the hormones or the sadness I feel when I think of how little my own mother cares about me. “I love her too.”

    “She knows.”

    I change into my new jammies and stretch out on the couch with a fluffy pillow under my head and my feet in Jack Henry’s lap. He’s rubbing my feet as we watch television and it’s one of the most boring times we’ve ever spent together. And I love it—just being with him in our home doing nothing. It’s absolutely ****astic.

    I’ve been home from the hospital for a week and every day is pretty much the same. I go to bed with Jack Henry every night without ***. We wake up. He showers and goes to work. I shower and go to the couch. I lie there all day and when he comes in after work, we have dinner together on the couch. When’s it’s late, we go back to bed, again without ***, for another night of sleep.

    I’m a very compliant patient but it’s killing me.

    Poor Addison. I don’t know how she maintained her sanity for as long as she did, especially in that small apartment, but her jail sentence ended this week. The placenta previa is gone and she’s allowed to return to her normal activities. First on her agenda is coming to see me, and I’m glad because I have questions for her.
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    I forgo the comfies and put on yoga pants and a T-shirt. It seemed much more fitting for company, although I have no doubt Addison spent her fair share of days in pajamas.

    She comes into the living room and looks so adorable in her fitted white top and faded jeans with her belly bump. “Oh, Addie. Look at you.” I get up from the couch to hug her and put my hands on her stomach. “He’s grown so much since I saw you last. I can’t believe it.”

    “I know. This is happening crazy fast.” She puts her hands on her stomach and caresses it. He’ll be here in my arms in ten weeks. Can you believe that? I’m going to be a mom and then you will be too a couple of months after me.” She reaches out and touches my small bulge. “You’ll be this big before you know it and you’ll wonder where all the time went.”

    “Are you and Zac any closer to choosing a name?”

    “I want him to be named Donavon but Zac says everyone will call him Donnie and he hates that name.”

    “So what are his choices?”

    She rolls her eyes and huffs. “Gareth. Tell me—if you had to guess—what do you think people would call my son when they shorten his name?”

    Ugh! “Gary.”

    “Exactly.” She puts her hands out. “So, how is Gary better than Donnie?”

    Poor Addison. “They’re both pretty … not great for a little newborn baby.”

    “Yeah, I agree with you there but Donavon is my maiden name, or it will be after we’re married, and I want to use it. It has meaning behind it. Nothing about Gareth is special.” I like Gareth, although I tend to agree with Addie on this one.

    “But do you like the name?”

    She shrugs. “Eh … it’s okay.”

    “Then what about Donavon Gareth or Gareth Donavon?” It’s a compromise and they both get to use the name they want.

    “I want Donavon Zachary.” That also seems fair since each of them will have one of their names used.

    “What does Zac think about you wanting to use Zachary after him?”

    “Oh, he’s fine with using his own name, just not mine. This baby is going to have Kingston as his last name so he gets his way on two of the three names by default. Shouldn’t I get to choose the other? I’m the one who’s been lying in bed miserable for over three months. Look at my ass. I’ve already gained fifteen pounds because I couldn’t do anything but eat.”

    Thank God I only have another week to go with the bed rest.

    It only seems fair to let her choose at least one of the names. “Have you told him how you feel?”

    She looks at me quizzically, or maybe like I’m stupid. I can’t be sure which because both look about the same coming from Addie. “Are you kidding me?” I’m assuming that’s a yes.

    I was once given some marital advice by a very wise woman, and although Addie and Zac aren’t married yet, I think Addie could benefit from it. “Margaret shared some secrets with me about getting what you want. I haven’t put it to the test yet but she says we, as women, hold the power of the nookie and can use it to our advantage.”

    “How does that work?”

    She isn’t going to like this part. “Withhold ***.”

    She immediately shakes her head. “Nope. I don’t want to withhold ***. I just started having it again and frankly, I missed the **** out of it.”

    “Zac doesn’t have to know that.”

    “He can kind of tell how much I missed it. I’ve been making up for lost time.” For some reason, I don’t doubt that for a moment.

    “Do you want to embroider your son’s clothes with the name Donavon or Gareth? Your decision.”

    “I highly doubt Zac will let me embroider any of his clothes.”

    Talk of withholding *** reminds me … I’m not withholding but I won’t be getting any, either. “I’ve got a question. How did you survive not having *** for three months?” I’m looking at five whole months and then a six-week recovery period. Six and a half months total. That’s brutal.

    “We had plenty of ***—just not the penetrating kind. Nothing in the vagina—that’s what my obstetrician told me—so Zac got plenty of blow jobs and I got lots of oral. And magical fingers. Zac can stroke me off like nobody’s business.” She shrugs. “I don’t have to tell you that the baby’s safety always came first, so we did what we had to do to get by.” I knew I could depend on her to give me an honest answer.

    I’ve spent very little time considering the alternatives because I’ve been so scared about everything. But we have other options. And they’re good ones so we can still give and receive pleasure. We’ll just need to go into it disciplined, knowing Jack Henry can’t get inside me.

    “I gotta know. What is Ben saying about all of this?”

    “He was so pissed off when I told him. He didn’t want to accept that his best friend was ****ing his baby sister. I think he was pretending Zac was sleeping on the couch all those nights I stayed over at his apartment.”

    I think my ****man would like to think there isn’t anything like that going on between his sister and Ben, but I know differently. “Jack Henry isn’t taking it too well about Ben and Chloe, but he’ll come around.”

    “I don’t think he has much of a choice. Ben seems to have fallen hard for Miss Chloe.” I’m really happy to hear that since she has it pretty bad for him.

    “She told me she thought Ben was the one.”

    Addie puts her hands together and cups them over her mouth. “Oh … that’s so sweet.”

    “And she said he was supremely ****licious.”

    “Ugh!” She points her finger at me and laughs. “You are so wrong for telling me that. No one ever needs to hear that her brother is … those words you said.” She grimaces and feigns gagging.

    I hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay. Moving on, then …”

    “What about the case with Blake? Heard anything else about that?”

    “Not in a while but it should be coming up soon. I should probably call the prosecuting attorney and let him know about my … con***ion. I hope they can postpone everything until after the baby is born because I have to testify. I want to.”

    “As you should. It’s your right to stand up and tell people what he did to you. No way he’ll walk away from this and when he’s found guilty, I hope he gets a horny cellmate with a huge dick.” Eww. Leave it to Addison to come up with something like that.
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    I’d like to call for a case status when Addison leaves, so I look at the clock and calculate the time change in my head. Bummer. It won’t work out today. I’ll have to wait until morning to catch Mr. Drake during office hours.

    Addie and I laugh and catch up for hours. It’s good to be with her. I feel like we’ve spent too much time apart, although we’re living in the same town, only fifteen minutes between us.

    I like the Addison I’m seeing. Motherhood is good for her. I guess it’s true—a baby really can change everything.

    26

    Laurelyn’s second week of bed rest has been uneventful and her late-morning appointment with Dr. Sommersby went well. Her cervix is unchanged—no bleeding, leaking, or contractions—and the baby has grown well since her last scan. It finally seems everything is getting back on track with this pregnancy. Except no ***. “Since you’re officially released from bed rest, can I take you out to lunch to celebrate?”

    “That sounds really good.”

    Eating anywhere besides our living-room couch will suit me. “Where do you want to go? Sheridan’s? Or what about that new hibachi restaurant? I’ve heard their sushi is amazing.”

    She’s grinning. “I really want a big, fat, juicy cheeseburger and a huge order of fries with a giant chocolate shake from that fifties diner on the square—the one you took me to last year.”

    Ah, yes. She was my companion then and things were still new. That morning was when I learned her real name and then she danced for me later that evening for the first time. It was a very memorable day and the recollection nudges me in the ****, encouraging him to wake up. But I have to learn how to get that under control. I’m going to have a really long drought ahead of me.

    We walk into the diner and nothing has changed—still a black-and-white-checkered floor with fifties décor. The aroma of freshly dropped french fries and frying hamburgers hangs in the air. “Want to sit at the bar again?”

    “Probably not a good idea. I don’t think they’ll be very comfortable for my back so I’d rather sit at a booth.”

    We choose one directly behind the spot where we sat a year ago. “I want to put some music on. You already know what I want if the waitress comes by.” She walks toward the jukebox and I watch her bum sway side to side. Even pregnant, my wife is smokin’ hot.

    She isn’t gone long before she returns and I hear a familiar tune playing overhead, although I can’t immediately place it. She’s smiling and I know she wants to play name that tune, a game I can’t win with her. “I know this song but the name hasn’t come to me just yet—hold on a sec.”

    I listen for a moment and then it hits me. “‘I Only Have Eyes For You,’ but I don’t know who sings it.”

    “The Flamingos, silly.”

    “Of course, how could I not remember? Oh yeah, maybe because I’ve never heard of them.” She’s a musical genius. “I can’t believe I married a musical Wikipedia. Is there anything you don’t know about music?”

    “Possibly, but I haven’t found it yet.”

    Our food arrives and L doesn’t hesitate to jump in. She takes a huge bite of her cheeseburger and ketchup drips down, landing right in the center of her swollen, pregnant cleavage. She was already beautifully endowed but the pregnancy has given her a little extra boost. Her tits look even more spectacular.

    She looks down at the ketchup in the cleavage and then back to me. She licks her lips to clean the smear of ketchup from her mouth. “You’d really like to lick that off, wouldn’t you?” My **** immediately awakens at the thought of my tongue running down into that cleft.

    I put my cheeseburger on my plate and lean across the table to look into her eyes so she understands my seriousness. “I haven’t been inside you for three weeks and it doesn’t look as though I will be anytime soon, so you can’t say things like that to me. It’s torturous.”

    Her chewing slows and she puts her cheeseburger down. “Abstinence isn’t going to be all that pleasant for me, either. I enjoy *** too.”

    I hope she doesn’t get mad at me for what I’m about to say. “I sort of have this hysteria that started when we left the doctor’s office. It’s sinking in that it will be months before I’ll have you again.”

    She uses her napkin to wipe the ketchup from her cleavage. “I’m sorry. I thought I was being cute.”

    I don’t want to sour her mood. “You are terribly cute … and that’s the problem. I want you but can’t have you.”

    Her smile returns and I know we’re fine. “I’ll try to keep the cuteness to a minimum, then.”

    “That’s probably best.”

    We change the subject of *** back to music and L tells me about every song playing overhead. “I chose this one because I love it so much, but they made a mistake putting it in the jukebox because it wasn’t released until the early sixties.” I listen and recognize “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley.

    “I really like this song too.” I get up from our booth and put my hand out to her. “Dance with me.”

    She looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. “This is a diner. People don’t dance here.”

    “Maybe others don’t but you and I do.”

    She giggles and slides out of the booth. I grasp her hand in mine and place my free one on her lower back. “I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t almost empty in here.”

    The only other customers are an older couple admiring us from the corner booth. “They see how in love we are and it reminds them of how they were once like this too.”

    We sway to the tune of the song and I hold her close. “I couldn’t help falling in love with you.” She smiles and I kiss the top of her head.

    I hum the words I don’t know and whisper-sing the chorus as we sway. I return to humming when it comes to the next part I should know, but don’t. “I’ve never heard you sing before.”

    “It’s not really my forte.”

    “No, it’s not. Your singing sucks,” she laughs.

    “Thank you for breaking it to me gently.”

    “I doubt I’m breaking anything to you.”

    She’s right. I can’t sing worth a damn. “I’ll bow out gracefully from the job of teaching our swarm to sing.”

    She stops swaying and looks up at me. “Sure you still want several after all that’s happened with this pregnancy? This problem with my cervix isn’t going away. I’ll need a stitch every time and will be on pelvic rest for the entire pregnancy.”

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