Page 21 of Taming His Teacher

My other class of seniors, the statistics kids, are especially hyper. I’m the last thing standing between them and freedom, and it takes all the concentration I have to keep their attention instead of letting them run roughshod over my lesson plan. This is an AP class, too, but they’re much less serious than my calc students. My laser focus on keeping eyes on the board and brains in heads makes it easier to tamp down the growing unease that’s cramping my belly. That’s all it is: a psychosomatic manifestation of my ambivalence about this pregnancy. I’ll call my midwife after this is over. She’ll have me come in, check me out and tell me I’m a nervous first-time mother, not to worry.

When the clock strikes half-past two, the boys nearly crush me on the way out the door, making me laugh with their hurried but polite good-byes. When the last of them has gone, I take up my old-school eraser in desperate need of clapping, and start to erase the board. I’m up on tiptoes trying to reach a problem Shane Burdock had done out on the board. Given that the kid is six foot four, I’ll never be able to—

A scream of agony rips from my throat as a tearing sensation slashes through my belly and I crumple to the ground. Shit.Shit. I curl into the fetal position to ride it out, trying to breathe around the pain. Good practice for labor. When it’s passed, I don’t bother cleaning up the rest of my classroom. I gather up my bag and hurry out, calling Will on my cell on my way back to our apartment. I get his voice mail. I leave a casual message, asking him to call back when he gets the chance.

When I’ve hauled up the steps, I find a note explaining his absence and his failure to pick up the phone. A scrawled missive on the kitchen table tells me he left for his parents’ house after fifth period. He’ll see me Monday.

Will’s a bit of a techno-phobe, hence the hand-written note instead of a text. I won’t be able to reach him until he’s pulled into his parents’ driveway in Cherry Hill because he turns his phone off when he’s driving. Great. I guess I’ll be going to see my midwife by myself.

I’m about to dial her when there’s a pounding at my door. Not the hesitant knocking I usually get, but a knock that says if the door isn’t opened in the next thirty seconds, it will be broken down. I’m expecting Collins. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s forgotten to call a cab to get him to the airport and a kindhearted faculty member has had to rush him to Logan so he doesn’t miss his flight to Omaha.

Grabbing my keys and slipping my billfold in my pocket, I shove on my shoes before I swing open the door, ready to chide him for his forgetfulness. But instead of Collins’s spiky blond head, I’m greeted by Shep. His eyes are wide and he looks pissed instead of pleased he’s found me here.

“Why aren’t you at the doctor?”

“I beg your pardon?”

His voice has this deep, gravelly property to it; a restrained growl. It’s incredibly sexy, even in my less-than-hundred-percent state.

“Tuttle said you looked like shit.”

“I’ll need to have a discussion with Mr. Tuttle about language—” Shep’s fists clench by his sides and a vein stands out on his temple. He is not amused. “But if you must know, I was about to call my midwife. So if you’ll excuse me—”

My lecture is cut off by another slashing sensation in my abdomen, and I pitch forward. My clutching hand lands on Shep’s broad shoulder as I muffle the shriek rising in my throat into a whimper.

“I’m taking you to the ER.”

This time, the growl is not restrained, nor are his hands. One arm comes behind my knees to knock my legs out from under me, and the other behind my shoulders until I’m in his arms like a damsel in distress.

In my head, I’m formulating an appropriate scolding:Mr. Shepherd, please put me down this instant. And call 911. But the pain radiating out of my pelvis punctures any rational thoughts in my brain. He carries me down the stairs and out to my car like I don’t weigh any more than his gym bag, propping me against the passenger side long enough to unlock the door and settle me inside, taking an extra second to put my seatbelt on.

Another stab of agony rips through me and I double over, feeling a gush between my legs. I must be bleeding. A lot. This isn’t spotting. I’m having a miscarriage. Through the panic and agony, I hear Shep cursing my Civic for being an automatic. It makes me laugh until the next sharp pain drives all human thoughts from my head.

* * *

Shep

I wish this goddamn car had a stick shift. I fucking hate automatics. If this were a stick shift, I’d have something to think about other than Erin’s agonized moaning. She’s curled up in a pathetic ball, and I reach out to rub her back, which is turned toward me.

“You’re going to be okay, Erin. It’s going to be all right, I promise.”

I don’t know if she can hear me, and I don’t know if that’s true, but goddamn if I’m going to say otherwise. I keep talking, telling her everything’s going to be fine. When a bad one rips through her, she curls up tighter toward the window. There’s blood staining the seat.

Jesus Christ.

I press the pedal down farther, blowing late through a yellow and tearing down Route 2, hoping to god the Staties aren’t out in force this afternoon. Luck is with me and ten excruciating minutes later, I screech to a halt in front of the ER doors, barely putting Erin’s car in park before ripping open the passenger-side door. She’s hot and light in my arms, moaning and shivering, imploding in pain.

Where the fuck are you, Will?

A nurse in scrubs runs toward us, probably seeing the blood soaking through Erin’s clothes. She’s shouting but I don’t understand the words. All I can say is, “I think she’s having a miscarriage.”

The nurse grabs my sleeve and hauls me toward a bed, directing me to set Erin down. I don’t want to let her go, but if I don’t, they won’t be able to help her, make it stop. That’s what I want more than anything.Make it stop.Every scream, every whimper wrenched from her body is a punch to my chest.

“Her name’s Erin. Erin Brewster. Help her.”

A swarm of white coats and a rainbow of scrubs descend. They start shouting orders and asking her questions, shoving me out of the way. A nurse grabs my arm and urges me out of the room. I walk backward, not able to stand the helplessness, the fear choking me. There’s a glass panel that lets me see her while the nurse who manhandled me out here tries to drag answers from me. I half answer her questions. Most I don’t know the answers to, and I can’t take my eyes off of Erin—

“Are you her husband?”

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