Page 58 of Written in the Charts

“It’s placenta previa.” Derek held his hand up to calm me as my quivering lip and furrowed brow grew worse. “But it’s not bad. Okay?” He tucked my chart under his arm and turned fully to me. “Given enough time on bedrest, the placenta will migrate upward and you’ll have a normal pregnancy from here. Okay? The thing is, you need to be on bed rest permanently until the bleeding stops and we see on the scan that the placenta has moved away from your cervix.”

“Why is she bleeding?” Evan asked. Now he looked concerned. “Like, will she die?”

“No, she’s not going to die. No one is going to die, okay?” Derek was trying to reassure me, but I still cried. “The reason she’s bleeding is because the placenta is positioned over the mouth of the cervix. As the baby grows, it puts downward pressure on the cervix, causing it to open slightly in preparation for birth. That’s all part of the natural process of pregnancy. But the cervix opening means a little bleeding. As long as she stays lying down, the gravity won’t put pressure on the cervix as badly, and hopefully, that placenta will move north.”

“What if it doesn’t?” My voice cracked as I asked the question, and my mother got me a tissue, placing it in my hand.

“It will. But if it doesn’t, we will do a cesarean a bit early. I’ve done hundreds of them and they are very routine. You’re in great hands. Now, you just need to make plans for your care. You can’t live alone. Mom needs to stay with you, or you can move in with her. Maggie can come by to care for you, or maybe Evan can sleep over.”

“No questions asked. I have leave built up. I’m moving in.” His intense eyes turned toward me. “I’m not letting you out of bed for anything except to pee.”

I chuckled, glancing at Mom, who shrugged her shoulders and offered a wink. “Well, Doc. It sounds like Gypsy is in good hands.” Mom folded her hands over her purse. “Guess she doesn’t need her mother anymore with such a fine young man to watch over her.”

I looked at Evan, happy he was there to comfort me. We had a long road ahead of us for him to build back his ability to trust, but it was a fight I was willing to take on. I loved him. I wanted him by my side every day of my life.

CHAPTERFORTY-THREE

Evan

I stared at the results of the paternity test. I had tried to tell Gypsy and Derek it wasn’t necessary, but since Gypsy had started the process, Derek encouraged me to complete it. I saw the clear result—I was the father—and realized that Derek was right. There would always have been some reason in the back of my mind to doubt whether the little boy growing in Gypsy’s womb was my son or Dr. Marshal’s if I hadn’t gone through with it. It wasn’t her fault. I knew that now. I had trust issues because of my past.

“Almost time,” Gypsy said, grabbing my hand. I smiled at her, placing the paternity results on her bedside table. We had started couples’ counseling to help me deal with the trust issue I had, and the counselor was kind enough to meet us over video conferencing due to Gypsy’s bed rest.

“Yeah, it is.” I felt confident that things would get better, even if it took some time. Gypsy knew how fucked up my heart was and she promised me to be the most trustworthy woman in the world to help me heal and not be so reactive toward her.

“You’re happy?” she asked me, taking my hand and placing it on her stomach. The large, round bulge of a baby’s bottom or head, hard beneath her skin, fit the palm of my hand perfectly.

“We never did get a chance to talk about that, did we?” Strange how I’d known she was pregnant for months, but my own emotional chaos had kept me from being able to communicate what it meant to me. “Being a father is something I always wanted. When Misty—well, when that happened, I was heartbroken over more than just the cheating. I wanted that baby to be mine so badly, and it was like I’d lost a child and a partner all at once.”

“I get that.” Gypsy covered my hand with hers. I felt her stomach stirring and the baby moved. It sort of grossed me out, like that scene in the movie where the alien tears through the person’s stomach and you see their insides moving. I didn’t know how pregnant people did it, feeling a kid move around inside you. I shuddered.

Gypsy laughed at me, causing her belly to jiggle and the baby to move more. I pulled my hand away, weirded out by it. “Don’t be upset. I just don’t see the joy and beauty in that. It’s sort of creepy.”

She laughed harder, snatching my hand back. “Evan,” she said, calming. She kissed my hand. “I don’t want you to take that promotion. Okay? I want you to stay here and be with me.”

I sighed, realizing I hadn’t even told her about it at all. Not the new job, not the rejection, not the knee issue. Not even the fact that in the fall I’d be having reconstructive surgery on my knee to fix the root tear.

“Babe—”

“No, don’t call me babe and then tell me you’re leaving. You do not get to desert me again.”

“Baby, please. Listen.” I brought her hand to my lips and kissed it. “I got a promotion, but not the one I wanted.”

Gypsy looked uneasy, her body shrinking away from me.

“I got promoted to First Sergeant instead of Command Sergeant.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means desk duty.” I scowled, still hating that I’d never see active duty in combat again, but a lot had changed in the past few weeks that made me glad that I hadn’t been deployed. “It means I’m staying stationed at Yellow Springs for at least eighteen more months, and then I decide whether I want to extend my contract with them.” I sighed. “I also have to have that surgery on my knee because it’s pretty bad, I guess.”

Gypsy grimaced. “I know. Cameron told me.” It felt odd listening to her talk about Dr. Marshal after everything that happened. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“I am. But I’m telling you right now, not getting that promotion was the best thing that could have happened. I know where I belong now, and that is right here with you and our little guy.” Without thinking, I placed my hand on her stomach again, feeling a strong kick. My eyes widened, and I looked up at her smile.

“You felt him kick?”

I nodded, searching for his little foot beneath her skin. He kicked again, this time harder. “We’re going to have to call him Beckham or something.”

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