Another Goal, page 15
I met Luka’s gaze over her head as she pulled out a paper gown. Is he mine?
He’d said he wanted to be, but I’d been such a brat today. And we still needed to talk. He deserved the full story about my family and my history, not just dribbles I let slip because I couldn’t hide them any longer.
I just couldn’t believe in his goodness. He seemed surreal. Too good to be true.
Especially given his past.
Especially because he was a professional athlete.
Especially because I wanted to find fault, so I didn’t have to put myself out there.
“I love you.”
I closed my eyes as I laid down on the exam table.
Dr. Lopez checked Bree’s heart—“Great!”—that caused my muscles to go lax, and I opened my eyes, meeting Luka’s gaze. He reached out and squeezed my hand. I exhaled a trickle at a time, so thankful for his support.
Dr. Lopez wheeled in the cart for another sonogram. “All is well with the baby…” Dr. Lopez stopped and showed us the intact placenta. “With your bleeding, we’re concerned about a tear, but the lack of amniotic fluid is very positive.”
I understood why Keelie liked this woman. She took her time, making sure we understood each new revelation, each health-related question, before moving on.
“Ah…”
“What does that mean?” Luka asked, panic leeching the color from his face.
I fumbled over, grasping his hand, squeezing it, trying to let him know he wasn’t alone. That I loved him, too. I was simply too chicken to say the words.
“Give me just a moment,” Dr. Lopez said.
After a pelvic exam, she scooched her chair back and Luka helped me sit up. He threaded his fingers through mine, and I nearly cried at the comfort of his touch. A fleeting thought of how I’d avoided touch for years tried to snag my consciousness, but Dr. Lopez finished typing and met my gaze.
“So, I have good news, which you already know: Bree is healthy. In fact, she’s great.”
My breath whooshed out in a gush of relief.
Dr. Lopez’s lips twitched. “I also have some maybe not so good news.” She peered at me, her expression stern. “You can’t fly. In fact, you really need to be on bed rest for the duration of your pregnancy.”
“What? Why?”
“Because your placenta is thinning and your blood pressure is elevated, which puts you at high risk for preeclampsia. That could be from the fall or from other stressors, but bottom line: getting on a plane, doing anything more than growing your baby, puts her and you at risk.”
“But…” I searched for something grounding, something I could break down and reconfigure like I normally would, but my mind was too chaotic to concentrate on the molecular structure of anything in the room. Instead, I stared at my shaking hands until Luka settled his fingers over mine. He wiggled his way in and linked his long fingers between my smaller ones.
My breathing slowed, evened out. I could focus again. I shuddered out a breath as I held on to Luka’s hand.
“Can you go over what bed rest entails?” Luka asked.
He pulled out his phone and typed notes as Dr. Lopez offered advice, suggestions, and orders. Luka asked questions, but I couldn’t follow them.
Somehow I was at a crossroads that led in both directions to potential doom: stay to keep Bree safe or leave because that was the only way to keep Bree safe, and risk her health.
I remained quiet as we exited the hospital and headed back to Luka’s condo. Once we stood in his place, a million thoughts bombarded me all at once.
“My job—” I said, my voice unsteady.
“Will be there when you’re ready to go back,” Luka said in a calm tone that didn’t match the frustration in his eyes. “I’ll even fly over there with you. Just don’t shut me out. Don’t count me out. Okay?”
“O-okay.”
“Good.” He huffed a breath. “I thought I’d have to argue with you more.”
“I’m too tired to fight.”
“Then let’s get you in bed and tucked in.”
“Luka?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He seemed to deflate even as he kissed my forehead. “You’re not alone now, Millie. We’re a team.”
“A team. I like that.” My lips curved upward. “I’ve never been part of a team before.”
“Well, you are now.” Luka winced. “I need to ice my nuts some more.”
“Bruised?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I’m not. Making sure you and Bree were safe was worth it. But that doesn’t mean I want it to happen again.”
We shuffled through the week—and I mean shuffled. I took everything easy because I was worried any sudden movement would pop Bree out of me prematurely. Luka shuffled because of his bruised balls.
But by the end of the week, he moved with his normal effortless grace, whereas I was growing to scary-large size and could no longer bend over to put on my shoes. Not that I needed shoes often.
Luka enjoyed pampering me. In fact, he seemed to revel in the opportunity. He bought a big cookbook filled with healthy recipes, and he’d sit with me after his morning workout with Cruz to develop the day’s menu. I found out he was good at cards, especially canasta. That was a game my grandmother had taught me—and Alyssa had taught Luka.
He always gave me time to make my work calls. I was still working, but I knew my bosses weren’t happy about my move to America and my lack of ability to be in the office now that drilling had started.
I was seeing Dr. Lopez every week, and today was the second visit since my trip to the ER.
“You both are doing well,” Dr. Lopez said with a grin. “While I expect baby Bree to show up early, the bed rest has bought us time to get her lungs more developed and add some much-needed fat to her little body. If you manage another three weeks, Millie, we’ll consider Bree full term.”
“At thirty-seven weeks?” Luka asked, clearly skeptical, though I remembered Dr. da Silva had said the same at my last visit with her. “I read that before, but why do you push for forty, then?”
Dr. Lopez offered us a breakdown of the baby’s growth rate, which Luka studied with fierce concentration, as if willing Bree to stay inside me longer.
He drove us back to his—our condo. It was strange to consider that I once again lived in Houston, though for the first time with a man.
He helped me into bed, fiddling with the sheet and gnawing at his lower lip. Finally, he settled his hip on the edge of the bed and stayed there, with me, until I fell asleep.
Luka was attentive and sweet, but I felt more and more an impostor. He’d shown me nothing but love, and I didn’t know what to do. Most of the time I wanted to throw myself into his arms, but I worried Luka didn’t truly want me. The others hadn’t.
We were getting ready for bed about a week later, and my mind chased itself around in circles. But as much as I wanted to talk to Luka about these worries, I couldn’t.
Rather, I didn’t know how.
“Millie?” he asked as he settled next to me.
“Hmm?”
“If I were to, say…want to make our team more permanent. What would you think?”
I turned so I could look at his face, my brow puckering. “What?”
He cleared his throat. “I, er, I…well, marriage,” Luka blurted.
“Marriage.” I blinked up at him, mouth fallen open in an O. “You want…you think marriage?” I squeaked.
“So that’s a no,” he said.
I could feel him withdrawing, emotionally, but also literally. Luka rose to his feet and moved away from the bed.
“Is this because of the money?” I asked. My voice cracked.
“What money?”
“My father’s money,” I said.
“I don’t give a single flying fuck about that money. In fact, far as I’m concerned, your shit bag of a father can keep it. Hope he chokes on it,” Luka spat.
I struggled out of the bed.
“Why are you getting out of bed?” Luka asked. “You just got in…”
“Because I can’t lie there and worry and not see your expression.” I stood, my hands on my belly, my eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh…”
“What?” Luka turned and his gaze slid over me, still annoyed until he came to the puddle at my feet.
I wiggled my toes and scrunched my nose at the mess. “Um…”
“Labor,” Luka breathed. He flapped his hands as if trying to calm himself, making a hell of a sight in his boxer briefs and bare chest. But his eyes were wide and his mouth slack, and shit! Shit! He wasn’t breathing.
Then I wasn’t breathing because the pain in my torso had begun; I wanted to pass out. Before I toppled over in a moaning, sobbing heap, Luka’s arms were around me, sheltering me. Holding me.
He was always holding me. And I loved that. So, so much.
Dammit. I wanted to finish our conversation about marriage, but I also couldn’t breathe. Licks of flame seemed to shoot out of my torso and straight up to my scalp.
Luka murmured into my hair. I had no clue what he said, but the kindness in his deep voice was enough. I latched on to that.
“Okay, sweetheart. You’re doing great. Breathe. That’s it. Breathe just like we learned. In slow, out slow.”
I collapsed against his chest as the last of the tension ebbed from my body. Holy hell. This was labor? It fucking sucked.
“I’m going to pick you up—”
“I’m too heavy. Just, just help me to the shower.”
“Millie…”
“I don’t want the amniotic fluid on my feet. It’s sticky. And gross. Plus, labor can last twenty-four hours, so we have time.”
Luka paled and swayed a little before he set his jaw. “You will not do this for twenty-four fucking hours.”
I giggled as I patted his chest. “Bree will come when she’s ready. We don’t control this show. She does.”
He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like the fuck I can’t just as another contraction caught me off guard. This one slammed into my belly and wrenched a startled scream past my lips.
“Two minutes and fifty-eight seconds. Holy shit. Shit. Hospital! Now. Go bag. Need the go bag. After. I’m holding you. Rubbing your shoulders. Are you breathing? Millie, breathe through the contraction.”
I would have laughed at Luka’s predicament if my insides weren’t trying to push out through my skin. I didn’t like labor.
“Keys, bag, wallet, flip-flops for Millie. Call Cormac and Keelie. No, first, call the doctor.”
Luka called my obstetrician as he held me, swaying slightly. His obvious care brought tears to my eyes. Even now, in the intensity of this moment, Luka somehow managed to give me everything I’d dreamed a life with him could be. Another contraction seized my body, and I dropped into a squat, trying to find a position that eased the unbearable ache in my hips, lower back, and belly. Luka dropped his phone as he sought to soothe me.
“Dr. Lopez will meet us at the hospital. We just need to get you there.” He repeated that over again.
Someone pounded on the door just as the last of the cramp eased. I froze, shock and fear searing through my system.
“Who?” A terrible thought crossed my mind. “Trent?” I squeaked. We hadn’t heard from him since the airport, and I’d been waiting.
Luka stared back at me, wide-eyed, still shirtless and in his underwear. “I don’t know. I’ll get it—”
“Don’t leave me,” I squealed, clutching him tighter. Rational? No way. But Luka was my security.
“Okay. We’ll go together. Can you move?”
“Y-yes.” I stepped forward, but it was more of a shuffle, made even more inelegant because I was clutching Luka’s arm. We eased our way slowly toward the door, and I flinched when another round of pounding rattled the locks.
“I heard Millie crying,” Cruz rumbled. “You okay?”
“It’s Cruiser,” Luka mumbled. “See? All good. Just let me grab the door. I won’t let go, Millie. I have you…”
Luka leaned forward and gripped the door handle with his fingertips just as Cruz flung it open, nearly catching Luka’s nose. He stumbled back with a yelp that sent him—and me—against the back of the sofa. Luka cradled me gently as he glared at Cruz.
“The fuck, man?” Luka began.
“She’s in labor?” Cruz asked, no nonsense.
“Yes,” I said. Another contraction ramped up. “I don’t want to do this anymore…”
“I got you, Millie. You’re doing so well with your breathing,” Luka cooed. But his eyes were wide.
“You breathe, hockey man. And have this baby,” I gritted. “I don’t want to!” The last ended in a shriek.
“Definitely labor,” Cruz said. “I’m grabbing her bag—“
“And her flip-flops,” Luka said.
“And flip-flops. Then you should put on some clothes so we can get to the hospital. I’ll drive your car so you can sit in the back with her.”
“Solid plan,” Luka said.
It was. Once Luka dressed and I had my flip-flops, I walked down the steps by myself, and we only had to stop once for another contraction. We settled in the car, and I heaved a sigh of relief.
“Twenty minutes,” Luka said, stroking my hair away from my sweating cheeks. “Then you’ll see your doctor and get an epidural, and—shit! Millie, I need my fingers. Not so hard, sweetheart.”
Chapter 13
Luka
I wiggled my fingers, wincing at the fierceness of Millie’s grip as Cruz made a deep growly grunt that meant trouble.
“What?” I asked, looking up and out the window at the Houston gridlock. Ahead, barely visible, were blue and red flashing lights.
No! No, no, no, no. Not now. Millie needed the hospital. She and Bree were counting on me to make this right.
“Accident,” Cruz said. His teeth flashed for a moment as he grimaced. “New, by the looks of it.”
“Well, do something.”
“And just what would you have me do?” he asked.
Millie whimpered as another contraction hit her. She pressed her palms against the sides of her belly and panted. I murmured to her, trying to calm my desperate heartbeat. I wasn’t good at this shit. I needed a plan I could attack—boxes I could tick.
Millie needed care.
“Two choices, man: either go along the shoulder until you can drive up on the feeder or come sit back here, hold Millie’s hand, and let me do it.”
“Man,” Cruz whined. “Those options suck.”
“You wanted to drive,” I reminded him.
He shot me an evil look before easing out of the line and onto the shoulder. “If I get a ticket, you’re paying for it.”
“Deal. Now get us to the hospital. The contractions are closer together.”
Millie’s cheeks flushed. Between contractions, she was great, but these seemed intense. And Bree was early. Five weeks early. That couldn’t be good. Babies needed time to add fat and finish their lungs. That’s what Dr. Lopez had said last week at our visit.
So, yeah, I was freaking out, replaying every word I’d read about preemies as I held Millie against my chest to reduce the bouncing.
Cruz floored the SUV up a slight embankment…and directly at a police cruiser. The cop stood out front, arms akimbo, sour expression pronounced even behind his sunglasses.
Cruz cursed and rolled to a stop. Millie stiffened, whimpering, seeking my hand to crush. I winced but kept my mouth shut since her body was the one trying to push out a baby.
The officer swaggered over and Cruz rolled down the window as I walked Millie through the e-e-es and oh-oh-ohs from the videos we’d watched.
The officer leaned against the window frame, confident in the law. “You realize you’re in violation—”
“I’m in fucking labor,” Millie screamed.
The officer rolled back on his heels, fingertips gripping the window frame. “Ma’am…”
“Unless you plan to escort us with your lights flashing and sirens,” Millie growled past teeth clenched so tightly I heard them squeak. “I suggest you move your ass.”
“Um…” Cruz gave the officer an apologetic look.
“She’s not normally so feisty,” I added.
“I’ll show you feisty,” Millie screamed. She gripped my fingers even harder.
“Shit! That hurts,” I said. “Stop trying to rip them off.”
“Um…” The officer lost his swagger and turned pale. “Yeah, so…maybe you, you should, um, follow me to the hospital.”
“You got it,” I said, flashing him a smile. “The faster the better,” I added.
Cruz heaved a massive sigh and gave me another dirty look in the rearview mirror. “She is too feisty.”
“I’m right here,” Millie shot back. “Shut your face and drive the car.”
Cruz raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. By the time we arrived at the hospital, Millie had had six more contractions and now sobbed softly between them. I hated seeing her like this, and the impotency of being unable to relieve her pain broke something loose in my chest.
The officer had rushed in and grabbed a wheelchair for us so that by the time I helped Millie out of the car, she could drop right into it.
“Thanks, man, for escorting us. I gotta go in with my…Millie, but I will send you some signed gear.”
“I’ll take care of this,” Cruz said, shooing me off.
Much as I wanted to bolt forward, I couldn’t risk Millie, so I settled for a sedate pace. The good news about active labor? You don’t have to wait in the waiting room. Another good thing about active labor? The staff puts your woman directly in a delivery room.
The really terrible thing about active labor?
“No drugs,” the doctor said, a hint of regret settling over her features. “But this will be over soon.”
“Now,” Millie gasped. “I want her out now.”
Dr. Lopez had helped get Millie out of her wet pants and underwear as I washed up. They draped Millie in a sheet, over her bent knees, as I took position by her head. I gave her my right hand this time, unsure my left one could take any more squeezing.
