Page 84 of Reclaimed

Aiden:

typing

Aiden:

typing

Aiden:

Of course

The device feelsheavy in my hand. My leg bounces at an unnatural speed. I run my thumb over the screen, trying to come up with another question.

This clinic waiting room feels suffocating. They’ve turned off the air for summer and with all the windows shut tight, it’s hot and uncomfortable. My skirt sticks to my thighs against the chair, surely to leave a visible crease when I stand. Despite the falling temps, I still like wearing the flowy fabric. The stretchy waistbands are perfect for accommodating my growing baby bump and the occasional breeze between my legs keeps me cool. Nobody warned me pregnancy is this hot.

I cross one ankle over the other and sigh. I should have asked Aiden to be here. I thought about it this morning but my stubbornness won out. Even though we’ve told his entire family that he’s the dad, he is, in fact,notthe father. When he signed on for this fake dating thing, he had no idea there was a third wheel hanging around. One that’s nearly impossible to ignore.

He's managed with ease, of course. He’s Aiden Powell. That carefree, easygoing man I remembered. His family might think they need to keep an eye on him, but I’ve been in his presence often over the last six weeks, and I don’t see the cause for concern.

That might be because I find the little bit of melancholy extremely attractive. The recent plunge into a sexual relationship isn’t helping the cause.

I tighten my thighs.Shit. Not now.

But sitting here alone, seeing the women with their partners whispering excitedly about what’s to come, I miss him. His presence is a grounding force I could use during this anticipation.

I still haven’t felt the baby move, and I’m terrified that the minute that wand touches my stomach, they’re going to deliver horrible news. News I don’t know how I’d endure alone.

I just wish I had his hand to hold. His warmth. His touch. His scent. His whispered words of reassurance.

But like I told myself this morning, I have to do this alone.

The door across from the receptionist opens, the slow click and whirr of the automatic function making it feel like forever passes before a woman in maroon scrubs steps into the room.

“Isla Fitzgerald?”

A lump swells in my throat. Slinging my purse strap over my head, I hesitantly approach. “Hi.”

“Looks like you’re here for a twenty-week anatomy scan?” She smiles kindly and gestures me through the door.

“I am.” The shake in my voice stops me from saying more.

“Right this way. We’re down the hall and on the right.”

The doors whirr shut behind us. Several steps away a sudden loud thud has me turning around. A hand attached to a tan arm wedges between the doors, pulling them open a crack enough for the rest of the person to slip through. My breath leaves me in a whoosh, relief rippling through me.

Aiden’s here.

“Sorry I’m late,” he rumbles. Catching up to my frozen state, he slips his fingers through mine. Those blue eyes blaze with an unveiled message. “Almost missed it.”

“Is this the dad?” the tech interrupts, her tone both surprised and suspicious.

I plaster on a too-bright smile. “Yep, this is him. I thought he had to work.”

“Surprise.” Aiden murmurs against my shoulder. The kiss he presses there has heat flowing through me that has nothing to do with the pregnancy hormones and everything to do with hormones of a different kind.

Like a gray cloud after a rainy day, my earlier apprehension melts into the background.

We’re led into a dim room with a bed in the middle beside the ultrasound machine. A white sheet covers the top and a folded blanket sits near the foot.

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