Hot Single Daddy: A Second Chance, First Time Romance

by Juliana Conners

  “Okay,” I say, for lack of anything better to say.

  Am I going to be all right? I want to ask. Is the baby? What’s happening?

  But I know she doesn’t know the answers to these questions any more than I do. A fear overtakes me that feels even stronger than the pain. I just want to get the hospital, where they can give me some answers.

  Chapter 35

  I wait at the hospital for what feels like an eternity. My contractions— or whatever they were— have subsided a bit, although it’s still painful.

  A kind nurse has explained to me that while this is scary, it should be okay. If I have the baby this early, he will still be all right, although he will probably have to stay in the neonatal intensive care unit.

  But she thinks they’re trying to find a way to stop labor from happening, so that I can carry the baby longer. That’s the extent of the news I’ve received, and I don’t even know how much of it is accurate.

  I think of my mostly- finished letter to Ramsey, sitting at home on my desk. What if I have the baby before I can even send it? What if something happens to the baby?

  I can barely contain my anxiety, but luckily, a doctor finally enters my room and sits down to talk to me, instead of poke and prod me.

  “Ms. Carrington, I’m sorry that you’ve been here so long without many answers, but we needed to monitor your condition before we could say for sure what the status is.”

  I nod, fearing the worst.

  “We believe that you were in what we call false labor,” the doctor continues. “But because we couldn’t exactly be sure, the medicine we gave you was to try to stop the labor if it was indeed real labor.”

  I nod again, even though it still seems clear as mud to me.

  “At this point, after monitoring you for a few hours, it seems that either you were in false labor, or if you were in real labor, the medicine was successful and it has subsided.”

  “Okay,” I say, relieved.

  “In checking your cervix we see that the cervical cerclage is still intact, although it’s somewhat strained, and this can be problematic. Have you been on bed rest as instructed?”

  “Well…” I hesitate. “I mean, I’m not working. I’m not doing anything strenuous. I stay in bed most of the day, but it does get boring, so occasionally I get up and do some things to get ready for the baby for just a bit, before lying back down. And I’ve been out to some outings, although not a lot. The other doctor told me that it was okay to be primarily on bed rest, with just some light activity here and there.”

  “What do you mean, ‘do some things to get ready for the baby’?” he asks, looking at me the way my mom used to when I was younger and in trouble.

  “Well, I mean… before I felt these… contractions… I had been putting away baby clothes, getting his nursery ready, that sort of thing.”

  “Ms. Carrington, from this point on I would like to be clear that I’m ordering a very strict bed rest,” he says, staring at me in an I’m- serious manner, as if I couldn’t tell from his words and his tone. “It is very important that your cerclage stays intact. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then I’ll release you so that you can go home, but only under those exact conditions.”

  “Yes, doctor. I understand.”

  I don’t add that I understand I’ll be confined to bed and have very boring days. But at least the baby is all right.

  Chapter 36

  I look out the window with mixed feelings as the plane lands in Albuquerque. I’ve missed the view of the Sandia Mountains, and my home, but I’m not supposed to be back here yet. I fucked up big time.

  The stupid thing is that my deployment was almost over. If I could have just held out for another month, I would have been just fine. But I had to go and flip out like I did. I guess I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  Jensen, Riley and Whitney meet me at the airport. By now, they’ve all heard the story. I called them before I had to leave Afghanistan.

  “It’s bullshit that they sent you home because of this,” Jensen says, his face red with anger. “‘Medical leave?’ What the hell is that supposed to be?”

  Harlow and I had had a private chat before I left, and his feelings echoed Jensen’s.

  “It was a nice thing for them to do,” I tell him, with a sigh. “It makes it look voluntary. Whereas if they forced me out, it’d look worse. And they said this is just temporary. Until they can investigate and decide what to do about me. It’s not like I’ve been dishonorably discharged. Or court martialed. Under the circumstances, I think it’s more than fair.”

  “But now they’re just going to try to say you have PTSD,” Jensen says. “Which we both know is bullshit. They’ll just use it as an excuse to keep you out. Look at what they tried to do to me!”

  “Ramsey, don’t worry,” Riley interrupts. “We can fight this. They don’t have legal grounds to keep you out—”

  “Thanks, Riley,” I tell her. “And Jensen. I appreciate your concern, and your support. But I’m pretty sure I do have PTSD.”

  “You— what?”

  Jensen gasps.

  “Look, don’t be so surprised. You and Harlow were always asking me what’s up. I know you could tell something was different. And there’s no shame in—”

  “Of course there’s no shame in it,” Jensen says. “It happens to a lot of service members. And for good reason. But what’s shameful is the way they deal with it, the way they treat it. How are you going to get around it? They’ll send you to a doctor on base who will have to report everything you say to the powers that be. You’ll be screwed. Please don’t tell him what you just told us. We can help you through this—”

  “Yeah,” says Whitney, suddenly joining the conversation. “I work with some psychiatrists and psychologists at the med school. They’re completely independent from the military, and have a duty of patient privilege and confidentiality to uphold. You don’t have to tell the military you’re going to see one of them. They don’t have to know. You can just tell the military doctor whatever he wants to hear, but tell a different doctor the truth, and get some help.”

  “That’s just the thing,” I tell her. “I don’t know if there is any help. They probably kick us out of the military because we’re damaged beyond repair.”

  I know I sound like such a debbie downer, but I’ve faced the facts. So I toughen up.

  “But, I mean, I’ll likely take you up on your suggestion, Whitney. Thank you. And I’ve read about it, and I do my own stuff to help control it. It was just those damn assholes pushing Pipsqueak around like that, that was my tipping point. It wasn’t right.”

  I sigh.

  “I know they’re our brothers, but they really shouldn’t act like that,” Jensen says. “I don’t even think what you did had anything to do with PTSD. I think they’ll just try to pin it on you as some easy out. If you ask me, Jerry and Brian deserved to get their asses kicked. And they probably know that they deserved to.”

  That’s the confusing part. I’m definitely confused.

  “Well, I do think I have PTSD but I do agree with you that those guys deserved to have their asses handed to them for being such douches.”

  Everyone laughs. Even me. I haven’t laughed in… I can’t remember how long. Probably since I was with Monica.

  Monica.

  My head is spinning. She’s the last person I need to be thinking about right now. It will only add complications on top of everything else.

  “I think I just need a break,” I tell them. “I can handle this. On my own.”

  I see an injured look cross Jensen’s face so I add, “And with your help, which I appreciate.”

  I think about Monica’s criticism, that I always put everyone else ahead of me. She was definitely right about that.

  “I just need to concentrate on myself for a little while,” I tell them.

  “It’s about time,” Jensen says, and everyone nods their agreement.

>   I pause, wondering if that’s all the news they can handle for today. But I’m sick of hiding things, keeping secrets from the people who love me.

  “I actually kind… met someone,” I announce. “I guess it’s love. Or, it was love, and I’m hoping it still is.”

  I hear shocked gasps, except from Whitney, who says, “I knew it!”

  “What?” exclaims Riley. “When?”

  “Let me guess,” says Whitney. “A little before you left for deployment. When you went on your so- called ‘spirit quest.’”

  “Ooooh, la la,” Jensen teases. “I knew there was more to the story. So who is she?”

  “She’s…”

  It dawns on me that I’d better figure out what’s really going on with Monica and me before I out her name, for her sake as much as mine.

  “She’s no one I want to discuss, yet,” I tell them.

  “Come on, man, you can’t do that to us!” Jensen says.

  “Can’t a man just come back from war without being badgered to death?” I ask them. They laugh, and, thankfully, drop it, at least for now.

  It’s not that I think that anyone here will do anything to get Monica into trouble, but it still seems like a rather… private matter at this point.

  What if she really is pregnant? I wonder.

  Then I’m pretty sure the baby is mine. She told me on the phone she wasn’t seeing anyone, and I have no reason not to be believe her.

  Then it hits me. I want to believe her. I want her in my life. And if she’s pregnant, I want the baby in my life. I want to take care of both of them.

  Chapter 37

  I’m at home now, and I swear my contractions are getting much stronger and closer together, but maybe I’m just paranoid. I’m afraid to go back to the hospital so soon. They’ll think I’m crazy and send me home yet again.

  But, I begin timing them on an app I have on my tablet, and they’re reaching the point at which the hospital told me to come in. I wait a little longer, to make sure I’m not counting them wrong. They seem to be getting even stronger, though, until I can barely breathe.

  “Ummm. Susan?” I call, and then groan as I’m hit with another contraction.

  “Yes?” she calls, from the bathroom. “I’m in here. Just wetting a washcloth so I can put it on your forehead.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I say. “But I’m pretty sure things are happening faster than I’d anticipated. I think I need to go to the hospital!”

  “Oh, wow,” she asks, coming into my room. She massages my shoulders, and while it feels good, I worry that she thinks I’m over- reacting. “You really think things are progressing this fast?”

  “I think so,” I tell her, showing her my app. “Look at how close these contractions are coming on top of each other. And I feel like I’m being ripped in half.”

  I double over on the bed again, as a contraction surges through me.

  “Okay,” she says. “Let me get the car ready to take you to the hospital. Better safe than sorry.”

  Suddenly, though, I’m worried about the baby. Is it normal for the contractions to increase so quickly? What if something’s wrong?

  “Can you please bring me the Doppler?” I ask her. “It’s in the nursery. I just want to check on the baby.”

  “All right,” she says, and when she gets back to my room with it, she asks, “Do you want me to help you do it?”

  “No, it’s okay. You just get everything ready to go. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  “Okay,” she says, and leaves the room.

  I bought the Doppler after the surgery, to reassure me that I could listen to the baby’s heartbeat if I thought something might be wrong. It’s been one of my best investments ever, as it gives me peace of mind.

  But right now, I feel too panicky— and I’m in too much pain— to use it correctly. I rub the gel on my stomach and try to place the Doppler on it, but another contraction sears through me, and I have to stop and catch my breath. After a few more tries, and moving the Doppler into different positions, I’m able to hear the baby’s heartrate.

  Okay good, I think. At least I know he’s okay in there.

  I lay on my back on the bed, but then move into a seated position, and then lay flat on my stomach, as I’m hit with more contractions. I’m just trying to find a position, any position, that defuses the pain a bit. Nothing seems to do the trick though.

  I sit back up, but lean slightly back with my head resting on the pillow, swaying slowly from side to side and letting out deep, guttural moans.

  Where is Susan? I wonder. It sure seems to be taking her a long time.

  Just then, the doorbell rings. I sit up straight, startled, but I can’t stay in that position long, and soon slump back over with another contraction.

  “Did you call an ambulance instead?” I call out to Susan. “Good thinking, because I really think I need one! I think this baby is about to be born!”

  “No…” Susan replies, in a confused voice, and then I hear her open the front door.

  “Ramsey?” she asks, in a startled tone.

  “What?” I call out to her.

  I had to have misheard her, or maybe the pain of labor is making me start hearing things.

  Suddenly, he’s in the doorway and I’m thinking I really must be hallucinating.

  Ramsey.

  His broad shoulders, his tall frame, are here after all. Just in time.

  “What are you doing here?” I try to say, but it comes out in pants and grunts, as I grab my stomach and start making strange puffing sounds, without meaning to.

  “Me? What are you doing in general?” he asks.

  He has a started look on his face, and I can’t blame him for being shocked. But I kind of want to laugh— if only I could— since his question makes more sense than mine, under the circumstances.

  “Anyway, no time to talk,” he says, walking briskly and authoritatively over to the side of my bed. “There’s plenty of time for that later.”

  He looks me in the eyes, and then kisses me on the head as I yell, “Okay, so we’ve gotta head to the hospital now. I really think this baby wants out!”

  “It will be okay,” he tells me. “Just breathe. Let me feel.”

  Susan says, “I don’t know if that’s the best idea. Shouldn’t we just start heading over to the…”

  “I’ve had Emergency Medical Training,” he says. “I’ve done all of this and more, many times over. Trust me.”

  Instinctively, I part my legs and he reaches up with his hand.

  “You’re right,” he says. “There’s no time to go to the hospital. Susan, please call an ambulance so we can go once the baby is delivered. But we need to get this baby out, now. Here, feel.”

  He takes my hand and places it where his just was.

  “I can feel the baby’s head!” I cry out.

  “Oh my god,” says Susan, and looks like she might faint.

  “Susan, do you have any old or extra towels?” Ramsey asks, sounding very calm and practical. “And also, a rather large kitchen storage bowl of some sort?”

  “Uhh, yes. I do.” She sounds rather faint. “And I have a washcloth for her head. I’ll re- wet it.”

  “That’s great,” he says. “That’ll really help. Everything’s going to be okay. This baby is going to be here in no time.”

  She runs out of the room.

  “Now, Monica, I need you to lie back on the bed, and you’re going to go with that instinct you had a minute ago, and push, okay?”

  “All right,” I say, and I start pushing.

  Susan brings the towels and Ramsey puts them underneath me. She brings the cold washcloth to my forehead and it really does feel so good.

  “Okay, Susan, help me hold her legs up,” Ramsey says. “And Monica, I want you to push for as long as you can, counting to ten before you stop, then take a short break and do it all over again. Then you can have a longer break. Okay? Go.”

  I do as he says, with both Ramsey and Mo
nica counting out loud for me. I feel like I’m out of breath before I’m even at seven, but Ramsey says, “Don’t lose steam. You can do it. The harder you push, the sooner this will be over.”

  I push through to ten, and then do it all over again.

  I do it several more times, each time thinking I can’t get to ten, but usually making it. When I can’t, I at least get to nine.

  “Very good,” Ramsey says. “You’re doing great. He’s almost out.”

  “Good job, Monica!” Susan says, sounding much more excited than scared now.

  I suddenly feel a shooting, searing feeling full of pain, and as I start to cry out, “I can’t do it! It hurts so much…”

  Susan calls out, “Here he is! His head’s out!”

  “Monica, reach down and hold his head and push him out just a little further,” Ramsey says. “You’re so close. You’re almost there.”

  Okay baby, I tell him. Here we go. Welcome to the world.

  I push one more time as hard as I can, for as long as I can, and he slides right out, into Ramsey’s hands. His shrill cry pierces the room, and Ramsey places him on my chest.

  “Here you go, Mommy,” he says. “Congratulations.”

  He kisses me on the head, and then the baby on his head, which is surprisingly full of hair. I can’t do anything but stare at the tiny wonder that just came out of my body. I don’t even know or care why Ramsey is here, but I’m sure glad he is, if only because to the fact that I wouldn’t have known what to do without him.

  “When the cord’s done pulsing, I’ll cut it,” he says. “Or would Susan like the honors?”

  She looks at me, as if asking what I’d like.

  “Susan, thank you for all that you’ve done to get him here,” I tell her. “I’d love for you to cut the cord.”

  “I guess that’s only fair,” she says. “Since Ramsey got to catch him.”

  She cuts his chord as he nurses for a little bit.

  “I can’t believe how beautiful he is,” I say. “But he’s so tiny. And he’s early! Is he going to be okay?”