Page 172 of The Single Dads Club
Bren
“Not feeling well?”
A deep male voice interrupted my nausea. My churning stomach was as insistent as a gnat buzzing near my ear, and I just wanted to slap it away. But in order for that to happen, I had to subject myself to this exam. Damn the comfy robe that Mandy thought I’d enjoy. If I had the usual paper sheet covering me, I could just pull it up over my head.
“Ugh,” I groaned, and the nurse piped in.
“Miss Matthews isn’t the biggest fan of…lady doctor visits.”
“Can we…uh… just get the uncomfortable part over with as soon as possible, please?” I added in a strangled whisper, still not removing my arm from over my face. Another flip of my churning gut caused a moan.
“No problem. I totally understand.”
Why did the voice sound familiar?
The doctor ran the water in the sink, and I peeked out from underneath my arm mask in time to see his rigid back. The snap of the rubber gloves sounded like gunfire to my sensitized body. I closed my eyes once again. God, could this just be over with already? There was nothing worse than the annual stirrups of shame, and now I had to be subjected to ittwicein one year. And if I was pregnant? I’d have so many hands inside my hoo-ha, I could tattoo anopen for businesssign right above it.
“Please scoot down to the end of the table.”
That voice.
If I hadn’t been so miserable, I would have garnered the energy to peek at whoever was looming over me. Instead, it took everything inside my soul to move down until my bare ass was hanging over the end of the table. A hand gripped one foot, then the next, helping me place them in the dreaded stirrups, but I kept my knees pressed firmly together.
The light creaked, and then it snapped on. Its searing heat pierced my sensitive flesh, and I felt on display. Exposed.
Vulnerable.
“Okay, Miss Matthews, I’m just going to—”
“I’ve had an exam before. I know the drill,” I groaned. If I could have flashed a green light in his face, I would have. Anything to speed up this torture.
“All righty then, let’s not waste any more time.” With gentle hands, he pushed my legs apart. “Relax, this will all be over soon.”
The doctor pressed on my stomach and slid two fingers inside my vaginal canal. Just when I thought he’d hurry up and get it over with, he stopped. My heart raced, and my already sweaty palms moistened to the point where I thought they might drip onto the paper lining the leather exam table.
Why was he stopping?
Was something wrong?
With me or with my possible baby?
He exhaled a ragged breath that spoke volumes. Something was definitely off here. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. White-hot panic seemed to have frozen my tongue.
A prickle of realization laced with dread stole up my spine and landed on the top of my skull.
“Bren?” he murmured softly.
My rapid breathing slowed to a stop as the tension in the room ratcheted up to Defcon Five.
“Yeah?” How did he know to call me by my middle name? Something about his voice sounded vaguely familiar. I racked my brain and slowly pulled the arm from over my face. If I could just get a good look at his expression, I might be able to gauge how devastating this situation had become in the space of a couple of seconds.
“Is everything o—”
My gaze met his, and the room spun. A wild, tragic swirl of vibrant colors took the place of regular vision. I struggled to sit up but fell back down on my back with a whooshing thump and a crinkle of paper.
No. Fucking. Way.
This can’t be happening. It can’t. God, what did I ever do to deserve this? The humiliation? The mortification. The…
