Page 2 of Choosing My Happiness
“Hey, yeah. I’ve arrived and she’s pretty bad. We’re heading to the hospital. Can you let Blaze know? Yep, will do, Bull. Thanks. No, I’ll wait with her until he gets there. She needs someone with her.” He ended the call and slid into the seat, adjusting it quickly to his height. “Let’s go fix this,” he said brightly, before reversing out into the street.
I waited until the next contraction ended, squeezing the hand that he generously gave me when he noticed the pain.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Prospect’s face closed down as he tactfully answered, “Busy.”
That was confirmation enough. We’d been 3 years officially together, and I’d had 2 years of finding stashes of condoms in his pockets. They were mostly still new in their packets, but always different ones, and some were empty. I knew that they were being used regularly.
I sighed. “His regular fuck, or a once off?” I almost groaned the question through the pain.
He glanced at me in shock.
“He’s not exactly discreet, even though he promised me in our wedding vows,” I muttered. The kid’s jaw clenched in silence, then he shook his head.
The action said it all. Blaze was screwing around, while I was scared of losing our baby. I put my head back against the seatand concentrated on getting through the pain while we drove. I may have squeezed extra hard on Prospect’s fingers at times. He never complained.
* * *
I lay on the bed in a small room with a blue bed pad under me, and monitors were hooked up around my belly. There were a lot of concerned looks. Prospect’s being one of them. He respectfully stood out of the way of the nurses, waiting, hovering in the corner, his presence comforting and annoying at the same time. Blaze should be here, not a no name prospect.
The midwife ushered in a doctor who looked very uncomfortable and serious. He gestured Prospect forward to the other side of the bed.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lovelace, I’m very sorry,” he started. Prospect’s eyes flared in panic, and my heart dropped as the doctor cleared his throat and continued as gently as he could. “While you are in active labour, we can’t find your baby’s heartbeat. I’m afraid…” He stopped talking as I screamed.
Part of me felt sorry for the prospect. He’d been sent to cover for a brother–my husband–who never turned up, and now he was having to step up to deal with a mess that should never have been his. But most of me was thankful for his support, because he did step up in a huge way for me. As soon as that scream left my throat, he’d cradled me in his arms, holding me tight and letting me hide my face in his neck.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lovelace,” the doctor stuttered. The kid barely glanced at him as he spoke over my pain.
“Jim, my name’s Jim.”
Jim became more than just a prospect. In every way, he took the place of the man who said he was mine. Jim made thedifficult decisions for me. He listened to the doctor’s advice. He signed the forms for me to have an emergency c- section. He stood beside me and stood up for me.
Throughout the ordeal, Jim never left my side. He held my hand and kept my focus while the anesthesiologist wiped something cold on my back and administered the epidural. He whispered encouragement, and most importantly, he held me and caressed me as I cried out my pain and sorrow. He was the perfect husband to me, despite not being the one to say those promises. He even ignored the club as messages buzzed into his phone.
I heard the messages coming in. Jim checked them when he could, but kept his attention on me. I was grateful, so grateful… but so disappointed.
I remember asking him where Blaze was at one point. I can’t remember his answer, but I remember his disappointed look just before the sheet went up around my abdomen, and then I gave up.
* * *
Jim sat on the bed behind me, holding me carefully as I cuddled my little boy. My baby was perfect. His little eyes fused closed still, veins visible beneath his thin skin. But so perfect. I heard the camera click as Jim took some photos on his phone.
“I’ll send these to Blaze.”
I shook my head. “Please don’t… he doesn’t deserve them…. unless,” I looked at Jim, “did he message?”
Jim looked down and shook his head.
“Bull did,” he replied, “and some other club members. They wished you luck. A couple of other prospects checking in as well, and Janie, Bull’s ol’lady.”
I hated my husband then. Pure, fiery hate.
“Send them to Bull then. He can send the news around.” I looked back at my boy. I felt the acknowledging nod from Jim.
Then he asked, “What’s your number?”
I gave it to him, to hear the dings of a message come soon after. He’d sent those photos to me as well.
