by Kylie Parker
The thought of being alone, without Dylan starts another crying jag that leaves me spent on the bathroom floor. My body is physically and emotionally drained. I have no choice but to succumb right there on the cold tile of the bathroom floor.
31
Dylan
I can't leave. She is hurting. I did that. I hurt her. The realization makes me ache. I didn't know how much I loved her until I saw her laying on that bathroom floor, trying so hard to be strong. I'll give her some time and then I will try talking to her again. I have to find a way to convince her I truly love her. I am not going to give up so easy.
I can't call Blake and ask for advice. I blame him for getting me in this mess in the first place. My dad is a non-starter. I need help. I am big enough to admit that much at least. Mrs. Daniels gave me a very stern lecture as I was packing my briefcase. She doesn't even know the dirty details, but she knew right away I had screwed up in a very big way and my wife ran away from home because of it.
My mind turns to whisking her away. I can load her on the jet and take her somewhere special. No, I can't do that. The woman is in no shape to travel and would probably balk at the idea in the first place. Flowers and chocolate are not even close to righting this wrong.
An idea starts to form. Alexa is a girl who appreciates the simple things in life. We've been back to Maine twice since that first time. She has developed a love for my favorite meal. It is something we now share. I don't think I could ever eat another platter of fish and chips without her company. She came to this place because she loves the mountains. This is where I asked her to marry me. The fact she came back here tells me I have a chance. A slim one, but a chance to rectify my horrible mistake.
I debate whether I should check on her or leave her be. I know what I should do, but I ignore it and head back downstairs to see if she has emerged from the bathroom. The door is closed. I don't hear anything.
“Alexa?” I tap on the door.
Silence. Thank God, she managed to leave the bathroom. I head to the dining room to see if she will talk to me yet. It's empty, as is the kitchen. I head back upstairs, to the room she has claimed as her own. The door is closed, so I repeat the process, knocking and waiting. No answer. I'm not surprised. I open the door just a bit to see if she is asleep or ignoring me.
The bed is empty. Goddammit! She escaped again! That woman is going to have me running all over the place trying to catch up with her. I growl and head back downstairs. Something tells me to check the bathroom where I lost saw her.
I open the door and see her sprawled out on the tiles. She isn't moving. My heart nearly stops, “Alexa!” I shout, far too loudly.
Her response is a groan. My heart goes from a complete stop to nearly pounding out of my chest.
“Baby, I'm here,” I say, scooping her up off the floor. Her head rolls back and forth and there is more moaning. “Hold tight, I'm taking you to the couch.” I say, carrying her in my arms and gently laying her on the couch.
I put a pillow under her head and feel my pocket, searching for my phone. My first response is to call for help. Seeing her like this is terrifying.
“Dylan,” she says, barely audible.
“I'm here, baby, I'm here,” I repeat. I know I sound like a complete fool, but I have no idea what to say. My mind is going in a hundred different directions. The thought of losing her to some horrible disease jumps to the forefront of my thoughts. I need help.
“I'm going to call for an ambulance,” I tell her, trying to remember where my damn phone is.
“No,” she mumbles. “I'm fine.”
I take her hand, kiss it and then turn it over and kiss her palm, “No, babe, you're not. You are very sick and I am taking you to the hospital.”
“It's okay,” she says again. “I just need to sleep.”
“Not on the bathroom floor,” I retort.
“Dylan, please, I just want to go to bed,” she says again.
I debate doing as she asks to make her happy, but I can't. I know she isn't well and I know she is going to pissed, but I'm taking her to the hospital. I decide to skip the ambulance. It'll be faster if I drive her there myself. The SUV I rented is in the garage.
“I'll be right back, baby,” I promise, kissing her forehead before running out to bring the vehicle as close to the front door as possible.
It only takes me a few minutes, but I feel as if I have been away from her for hours. My mind is addled with worry. I can barely think straight.
“Get it together, Dylan,” I say to myself, running up the porch steps and into the house.
I scoop her up and start walking towards the door.
“Dylan, I'm okay, really,” she says a little more clear, but her face says different. She is ghost white.
“Alexa, I know you aren't going to believe me, but I love you. I can't even begin to think of living without you, so that means your ass is going to the hospital to get checked out. If you're fine, great, but I won't sit back and watch you suffer,” I say with my usual authoritative tone. I need her not to argue.
We reach the SUV and I carefully put her in before buckling her seatbelt. She doesn't argue. I use the button to lean her seat back a bit to make her as comfortable as possible. The fact she doesn't call me an asshole or tell me to jump off a bridge scares me to death. The normal Alexa would have.
I do my best to take it slow and easy on the bumpy gravel road, but my fear is like a lead weight on the gas pedal. I have to use the navigation system to guide me to the hospital because I have no idea where we are or even what town I'm in.
The neon red EMERGENCY sign is ahead and I feel immediate relief. I'm pretty sure I took the corner on two wheels, but I don't care. Alexa hasn't said a word the entire thirty minutes it has taken to get to the hospital.
I park in front of the sliding double doors of the very small one-story hospital. I quickly consider getting back in the vehicle and driving another thirty minutes to a bigger hospital, but figure I can get a helicopter out of here if needed.
I carefully open the passenger door, undo her seatbelt and scoop her into my arms again. My weight causes the automatic doors to slide wide open and I carry her to the front desk. A nurse jumps up and opens the doors that lead into a hall and I follow, carrying my precious cargo. The nurse is asking me questions about what happened and I can't answer. I don't know.
Once I put Alexa on the bed, there is a flurry of activity as nurses check her vitals and stab her with needles, asking me what feels like a hundred questions. None of which I can answer. It is then I realize I hadn't been paying attention. I have been so wrapped up with the Larsen acquisition, I essentially ignored what was happening under my own nose.
“Sir?” I focus on the older man wearing a white coat standing in front of me.
“Yes?”
“We're going to run some blood work and get her on an IV. She's dehydrated. We'll know more about what is making her sick once the blood work comes back,” he explains.
I nod, “How long?”
The doctor smiles, “Well, we are a small hospital, but we can get the basics back in about thirty minutes. Your wife is our only patient here in the ER for the moment, so I promise she will get great care. Just sit tight, she's going to be fine,” he says before leaving the room.
I stare at my pale, beautiful Alexa laying on the bed. She has tried to answer the nurses questions but she is so weak, speaking seems to be too much for her. I go to her, hold her hand and lean in to kiss her.
She gives me a wane smile, “I'm okay. Don't worry.”
I kiss her cheek and then her forehead, squeezing her hand tight, “You better be. We have a lot to talk about.”
We wait for over an hour. My frustration level is increasing with every passing minute. Alexa seems to be feeling a little better.
“This doesn't mean we're okay,” she tells me.
I nod, “I know. I promise I will do whatever it takes to make you trust me again. I love you and I will do anything to prove it to you.�
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She opens her mouth, but I don't get to hear her response. The doctor and another male pushing a big machine step into the small room.
“What's that?” I ask, staring at the contraption. Once again my heart falls into my stomach as I imagine a variety of scenarios that end with Alexa being plagued by some horrible disease.
The doctor smiles, “This is an ultrasound. I want to get a peek inside Alexa's belly.”
“Why? What is it?” My mind races as I try to think of the various organs that could be afflicted.
“Let's let this guy do his job and we'll go from there,” the doctor says, leaving the room again.
The doctor-looking tech lifts Alexa's shirt and starts to unbutton her pants. I shoot him a glare. He ignores me and squirts some blue gel on Alexa's flat tummy.
When she jerks, I growl, he rolls his eyes, “Sorry. I should have warned you it was cold.”
He gets right to work, moving what looks like a wand with a mouse attached to the bottom around her stomach, clicking various keys on the machine before excusing himself from the room.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
She looks at me, “I feel better. This is kind of freaking me out though,” she waves a hand over her exposed stomach.
The doctor comes back in, smiling from ear to ear. I want to knock that smile off his face.
“What's going on, doctor?” I ask, not trying to hide my anger at being kept in the dark.
He reaches his hand out, “Congratulations! You're going to be a dad. Not once, but twice!”
I stare at him—completely dumbfounded. The words seem to be stuck, like my brain is rejecting them.
“What?” Alexa and I say at the same time.
The doctor laughs and points to the machine. The tech goes back and puts the little wand thing back on Alexa's stomach.
“You see that there,” he says pointing to a blob.
I nod.
“That's your babies.”
My mind starts to do somersaults.
Alexa shrieks, “What? Twins!”
“Twins?” I repeat.
The doctor laughs, “Yes. Twins. According to this it looks like you are about 12 weeks. You say you've been sick for a few weeks? The good news is that should get better here in the next couple of weeks, but you have to take care of yourself young lady. You need to drink more water and eat a healthy diet and get some rest.”
I stare at Alexa. My mind starts to do mental math. We have been together just over twelve weeks. I know there hasn't been anybody else. I know that with every fiber of my being.
“We'll give you two a minute,” the doctor says. “We'll get you out of here real quick and you,” he points to Alexa, “you get home and get to bed. You need to relax and not push yourself too hard.”
“She won't. I promise,” I jump in.
My heart feels as if it will explode with a combination of love and truth be told, pride. I made two babies. Not just one. That's me, always the overachiever.
When the men leave, I look at Alyssa, “Twins?” I repeat.
She smiles and puts a hand on her belly, “I have no idea how that happened. I've been on the pill--” she stops. “I did miss a few when all that crazy business was happening, but I thought it would be okay.”
I shrug, “It will be fine. You will have the best care possible.”
She looks at me, “This changes nothing, Dylan.”
I shake my head, “Oh yes it does. It changes everything.”
She looks as if she wants to argue.
“We'll talk later, but Alexa, you are my wife and I am not letting you go so easy. I will prove myself to you. I will be in your life and the lives of my children.”
She shrugs, “We'll see.”
32
Alexa
Dylan has been beside me for the past three days. He is hovering. I think I have heard him apologize no less than a hundred times. Although I tell him I feel much better, he refuses to let me do anything. Sure, I still puke my brains out every morning, but I feel fine once all that nasty business is out of the way.
Through contacts that only a man of Dylan's means would have, he has had a prescription delivered that is supposed to control the nausea. According to the doctor Dylan has been consulting in LA, the morning sickness is intensified because I'm carrying twins. Lucky me.
I hear a knock on the door and don't bother saying come in or asking who it is. It's Dylan. It's always Dylan.
“Feel like getting some air?” he asks.
“Um, yeah, are you going to let me out of this damn bed to do it or just knock out the wall?” I ask with heavy sarcasm. I'm pretty sure he would prefer the latter, but I would be very happy if he would let me out of my prison.
He grins, unphased by snotty attitude, “Outside. The doctor says it is safe for you to be up and around.”
I can't help but laugh, “You think? I mean women have been doing this whole baby thing for a couple thousands years. I don't think they were confined to their beds the entire pregnancy.”
“Get dressed. I'll have everything ready to go,” he says, ignoring my snide comments.
I hesitate, but the idea of getting outside, even if it is with him, is too tempting. I dress in jeans, a t-shirt and throw on a wool sweater to fight off the chill. I pause at the top of the stairs, listening. I don't hear him on the phone. It is a little test I have been running the past couple of days. I want to know if he is reporting back on his progress of repairing his marriage.
So far, I haven't heard a peep. He has ignored his phone and I have only seen him on his laptop once. His attention has been on me, which I like, but it certainly doesn't erase what happened.
“I'm ready,” I say, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him. He is truly one of the most handsome men on the earth I've decided and it isn't only because I have his babies in my belly. He looks very casual in relaxed jeans, a long sleeve baseball-style shirt and that worn pair of Nikes he seems to favor.
He walks over, kisses me and takes my hand. I let him. No matter how badly he shattered my heart, I still love his touch.
“We'll go slow. You tell me if you start to feel sick,” he instructs me.
I chuckle, “Believe me, you'll know.”
He smiles, “I really wish there was a way I could take away the sickness part of this whole thing. I would gladly share it.”
“I know you would,” I say, meaning every word. He is an ass, but he is a true gentleman and I know he would never actually want me to suffer.
We walk through the meadow hand in hand. The air is cool with fall colors in full bloom all around us. It is a beautiful sight and I want to treasure every moment of it. We stop walking and Dylan pulls off the backpack he has been carrying. Pulling out a blanket and spreading it out, making sure it is nice and smooth.
“Sit,” he commands. I obey.
He plops down next to me and I know something is coming. I should have known he didn't bring me out here to look at orange leaves.
“Alexa,” he starts, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. “I know I have said it before and I want to make sure you understand how sorry I am for deceiving you early on. It was a really shitty thing to do. But, you have to know I don't feel the same way I did then. Everything has changed.”
I sigh, wanting to believe him, but part of me isn't so sure it is me alone he is in love with. The babies I'm carrying are likely the real reason he wants me back.
“Don't sigh. I need you to understand this is the real deal. I want to start over,” he says, opening the box, revealing a small ring with two infinity symbols intertwined. The symbols are made with tiny, delicate diamonds.
He slides the ring onto the ring finger of my right hand and looks at me, waiting for a response. I truly don't know what to say to him. I do love him and that's what really sucks. I don't want to love him.
“Alexa, before you say this isn't real or something like that, it is real. It is the most real th
ing I have in my life. I didn't think I could fall in love or anything like that. Women don't love me for me. They love me for my money and what I can do for them, which has always made me hold back. When I saw you in that coffee shop, I instantly knew you were different.”
I shrug, “I did love you, Dylan and you didn't love me.”
“No. That isn't true. I didn't immediately love you—no, of course not. How could I? It was your sincere kindness, understanding and willingness to stick by me that made me see what real love is. When I came home and you were gone, I felt as if you had taken my heart and soul with you. I couldn't breathe,” he says, his breath hitching.
I know he is being honest. I can see the pain on his face and I am going with my gut. He is legit. He isn't running game. I can't help myself and reach my hand out to touch his face. He looks at me and I can see the sadness in his eyes. The past few days he has been hurting. That was never my intent. When I left, I had assumed it wouldn't bother him a bit. I know otherwise now.
I lean forward and kiss him, “Okay,” I say.
In an instant, the sweet kiss turns into one that is passionate and full of love. He wraps his arms around me, bringing me over him. My knees squeeze either side of his waist as his arms snake around me, pulling me tight against him.
When it is time to come up for air, he leans back, “Thank you. Thank you for giving me another chance. I swear to God I will never let you down or hurt you like that ever again.”
I give him a quick kiss on his nose, “I hope not, because if there ever is a next time, I will not run away. I will kick your ass.”
He laughs and squeezes me tighter, before quickly releasing me, “Oh crap! Sorry!”
I shake my head, “It's fine. The babies are tucked away nice and safe.”
I crawl off him and stretch out on the blanket next to him. We spend the next hour talking about our future and where we will raise our babies. We both decide his apartment isn't the right place. As soon as we get back, we will start house hunting. It is the first day of our brand-new lives together. I am thrilled by the promise of a bright future with my husband. My hand moves to my flat stomach and I can't help but picture two beautiful boys that look just like their daddy. I have no idea how I managed to get so lucky, but I promise to never take any of it for granted.
