The Trouble With Him: A Secret Pregnancy Romance (The Forbidden Love Series Book 3)

by Kat T. Masen

  “He has game.” Austin chuckles, letting out a slight cough. “As do many of the men in here. You’re quite the hit tonight.”

  My shoulders shrug, then I grin. “I’m going to stay single this year, you know, be a selfish bitch and make it all about me. I’m so done with the dating scene. It’s exhausting.”

  “To quote you, you do you, boo.”

  I burst out laughing at how awkward Austin sounded when saying that. We’ve both had more than enough to drink, so I toy with bringing up calling Millie. If Austin is fine with saying hello, as I know Millie will be too, it seems like the perfect way to ring in the new year—close the past to bigger and better things moving forward.

  “Hey, listen, would it be awkward if I call Millie? She would love to see you?”

  Austin dances in front of me, lost in his own groove. He has always been a good dancer, and they always say that men who can move on the dance floor can move in the bedroom. Don’t even think it.

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” he yells over the noise.

  I pull him away from the dance floor to a quieter section of the bar while dialing her number, and wait for the call to connect. As soon as her face appears, I wave and yell Happy New Year. With a smile on her face, she returns the sentiments.

  “So, guess who I ran into?”

  “Who?”

  Austin bumps into my side, causing me to smack his arm. He waves hello, grinning as Millie raises her brows, surprised to see him.

  “Austin?” Her eyes widen as her lips curve upward into a welcoming smile. “What a small world. How have you been?”

  “Busy with work…and you?”

  “Same, I’m in LA now.”

  Austin smiles. “Of course, it’s home.”

  “Okay, we just wanted to say hello,” I interrupt, pushing him out of the way. “I love you, Millie. Give everyone my love!”

  I press the button to end the call accidentally. “Oh shit!”

  “What happened?”

  “I hung up.” I laugh, followed by a hiccup. “Oh well, the night has only begun!”

  My hips sway on their own accord to the music, but my phone vibrates in my hand non-stop. I can barely make out the screen, squinting to read the text messages.

  Millie: Did you just hang up on me?

  Millie: So, you just ran into Austin? Is he okay? I hope he doesn’t hate me?

  Millie: You know what? Don’t answer that. Why are you at a pub? I saw an Irish flag behind you.

  Millie: And what the hell was that music?

  Millie: Okay, don’t answer any of that. Why aren’t you with Olivier? Did something happen?

  Millie: ANSWER THAT

  Geez, my sister is relentless in her pursuit of answers. I decide to ignore her. Besides, she’s busy with Will plus a drunk Rocky and Eric. I’m the least of her problems.

  Austin and I continue dancing with our new friends until my feet grow tired. If I knew I’d be jumping around all night, I wouldn’t have worn these strappy heels which pinch my feet.

  Placing my arms around him, I rest my head on his shoulder and losing myself in his comforting hug. He feels like home, and at a time when it feels like my whole world is falling apart, Austin walking into this bar is everything.

  A remixed version of Rihanna’s songs blares over the speaker, an unusual choice for an Irish bar, but apparently, Alistair is diverse with his music.

  “Remember the time we went on a road trip to Lake Tahoe, and it was just you and me? I think Millie had to come later because of some exam.”

  “Yeah, the trip when your mom and dad were heard, um, in the cellar?”

  I shake my head. “Urgh, I purposely forgot that. Thanks for the reminder.”

  “Anytime, so you were saying?”

  “We sang this song in the car during our sing-off. It surprised me you knew the lyrics.” I laugh.

  “I have sisters.”

  “That’s the excuse you said back then.”

  “Wait.” He slows down, so we’re both still. “Are you telling me we have a song?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know how I feel about it being a song about monsters. Isn’t that a bad omen?”

  Austin cocks his head to the side with a sneer. “You and your bad omens. Has anything terrible happened to you yet?”

  “Um, where shall I begin?”

  “But you’re alive, right? And aside from this wrist of yours, you are perfectly healthy.”

  “I am, but…” I trail off, staring at him oddly.

  “So, in my professional opinion, you’re not broken, just a little bruised.”

  I place my hands on his chest. “You know what, you’re right? I came here feeling very sorry for myself tonight. And as always, Dr. Carter, you’re impeccable with your timing in life.”

  Austin rubs his chin, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. I can’t help but mirror his expression, relaxing my shoulders while enjoying our time together.

  “What do you think… another round before Alistair kicks us out?”

  I grab his hand, dragging him to the bar. “Alistair, one more for the road. You know what, make it on the house for everyone.”

  Austin chuckles beside me while Alistair looks concerned. “Ava, sweetheart, that’s a fair bit of coin.”

  “Hey, what’s the point of all this coin if I’m fucking miserable,” I shout back at him before I grab the microphone, standing on top of the bar. “Drinks are on the house!”

  A loud roar erupts from the crowd. People push forward to the bar as Alistair and his wait staff busily begin pouring drinks. I lower my body, though careful to keep my legs in place to avoid a show. My body begins to wobble until I lose my balance, and Austin catches me while I fall into his arms.

  “You’re crazy, Ava.”

  I touch his nose with my finger, making him squirm. His eyes spark, the hazel staring back at me as he simpers. For a fleeting moment, my heart stills, but I’m quickly distracted by Alistair sliding two glasses of whisky toward Austin and me.

  We both take a glass, raising it to each other to clink them together.

  “To new beginnings, a new year,” he praises.

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Three

  Austin

  “Time of death, eighteen hundred hours and thirteen minutes.”

  The head physician, Dr. Trainor, quietly advises another doctor to accompany him in delivering the news to the family just outside in the corridor. A necessary task but, nonetheless, emotionally draining.

  He’s gone.

  A kid—just shy of six years old.

  All because of an allergic reaction to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich another kid ate beside him.

  Inside the ER, the team begins the task of preparing a post-mortem. Despite every trained staff member being called in to assist, we did everything possible to save him from the moment his mother carried him through the doors, hysterical as her son lay in her arms unresponsive.

  A colleague, Grayson, places his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tight. He’s a second-year resident, and I’m just shy of completing my first year. Over the past twelve months, I’ve witnessed deaths and can count every single one of them—drug overdoses, car accidents, heart attacks to name a few.

  But never a child.

  We work busily now, following protocol as Dr. Trainor leaves the area and heads down the hall. My body tenses, waiting for the shrilling scream, and then—we all stop the moment it echoes down the hallway. A sound so animalistic, it tears your conscience apart, and the questions beg to be answered, could we have done more? The answer, medically speaking, is no. An entire team of professionals did everything and anything to save him.

  And that’s what I repeat in my head. I’ve spent years studying, but the first times are always the hardest. All I can do now is put on a brave face and perform my job to help other patients who need my attention. Life must go on, despite a family outside wishing they were dead as well.

  Time become
s a blur—the emergency room’s relentless energy doesn’t allow me a moment to stop. Tonight will be the busiest, with alcohol poisoning being the number one reason for admissions. I’m not rostered on all night, though my shift extends two hours overdue to a couple being admitted for hyperthermia while falling into the Hudson River.

  When I officially clock off for the day, I stand inside the staff room with my head against the locker. My eyes are fixated on the ceiling, a blank canvas aside from the blinding fluorescent light. There’s a tightness inside my chest that won’t dissipate, no matter how hard I try to control my hitched breathing.

  The sound of the door opening breaks my trance. A fellow resident, Lane, walks in and notices me standing quietly. She opens her locker and retrieves her items in silence, then pulls her long ginger hair out of the bun it was styled in.

  “It was tough today,” she says, her voice low while dropping her gaze to the floor. “You did the best you could, Austin. You did everything you could, as did the team.”

  “Then why does it feel like it wasn’t enough?”

  “Because he’s gone. It was his time, as devastating as that may be,” Lane professes softly. “You’re going to have times when the world is shining, and you’ve saved a life. But there are also the darker moments when all efforts were not enough. This is the nature of the beast, and we’re bound to face these challenges if not daily.”

  I think about what she says, but the anger is a force desperate for destruction. What if I tried harder? What if the team tried harder? What if we fought for a bit longer and a miracle occurred? All these questions spin like a vicious cycle inside my exhausted state of mind.

  “Listen, shifts over,” Lane reminds me, releasing a sigh. “What are your plans tonight? I’m heading to a friend’s place for a rooftop party. You’re welcome to join me if you have no plans. It’s best you get out with people and don’t be alone tonight.”

  My head remains low. “I don’t feel like celebrating.”

  “Fair enough. Just promise me you won’t be alone, okay?”

  I’m unable to nod nor promise her anything, keeping my words at bay. Lane places her hand on my arm, then leans over and kisses my cheek. “Austin, you’re worthy of being here. You’ve helped so many people who needed you. Please never forget that.”

  It’s almost as if she knows my heinous thoughts, how I feel unworthy of even being on this earth. Why me? Why am I spared my life when somewhere in this city, a family is mourning the loss of their son?

  Grabbing my clothes, I change out of my scrubs, slamming the locker door. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I walk the corridors quietly, but all I hear is the shrilling scream repeating in my head.

  Lane is right, I can’t be alone tonight. With no plans, I decide to go home first to dump my stuff and have a much-needed shower, willing to gain some normality and attempt to wash off today’s event.

  Under the steaming hot water, my movements are still, allowing the water to cascade down my back. I run my hands through my hair, flashing back to the moment I told my parents I wanted to study medicine, and how proud they were because my grandfather was a heart surgeon prior to his passing.

  As I grew older, it’s all I could think about. It became my drive when I had to produce high grades to get accepted into Johns Hopkins. Then, as the years passed and fate played somewhat of a part with Millie, the decision to transfer to Columbia University felt like a step in the right direction. I was surrounded by the best, and as far as ERs go, we were the busiest in the city.

  I knew it would be challenging, but I find myself questioning my strength when these times present themselves, unsure if I have it in me to go all the way. One day, I’ll be in Dr. Trainor’s position, delivering news to families just like tonight, and that thought alone brings on another level of fear. Am I born to be this person, or will I fail miserably? Again, the questions plague me endlessly.

  The water is so relaxing as I lose track of time. When I finally turn the faucets off, I dry myself then wrap a towel around my waist while walking toward my closet. Not in the mood for anything dressy, I opt for a pair of jeans and my favorite navy hoody. With my white sneakers on, I also grab a jacket, given it’s predicted to hit below twenty tonight.

  There’s a stream of messages on my phone from friends inviting me out tonight and a few women I’ve hooked up with over the last year, but the more I think about it, the less appealing it is to have to make an effort and pretend everything is great. What I need is a drink, something stiff, then call it a night—alone.

  I walk to a bar called Alistair’s two blocks over from my apartment. It’s an Irish pub, and given this part of the city isn’t as busy as some areas like Times Square, I’m hoping to get a seat and drink before midnight.

  As I enter Alistair’s, the sound is deafening, precisely what I need to drown out the noise in my head. Pubs often cater to a different crowd, much more lively and friendly than some of the upper-class bars Manhattan is known for.

  My gaze falls upon a few rowdy patrons, obnoxious on the dance floor with a glass in hand. One, in particular, is relentless in his pursuit of what appears to be a much older woman than him. The sight of it is amusing, and I welcome the distraction.

  But then, my eyes unknowingly gravitate to a woman at the bar. The long, lean, tanned legs are crossed with a pair of black opened-toe heels. Jesus, she must have been cold outside. It amazes me how women will do anything for fashion, wearing the skimpiest dresses just to look sexy.

  Her body sits on the wooden stool, facing the bar. A jacket had been removed, hanging off the backrest and catching my attention is a bandage wrapped around her wrist. Fuck, my mind thinks the worst—a whole lot of problems and a possible suicide attempt gone wrong. No, don’t overthink it, she looks too well put together and confident in her attire.

  She releases a laugh, the corner of her mouth lifting. Okay, relax, it’s probably just a minor injury.

  My shoulders loosen, alleviating the momentary tension as I admire her curves in the very revealing gold dress she wears, noticing it barely covers her body. If I’m not mistaken, she’s not even wearing a bra.

  Fuck, like I need to be thinking with my dick right now.

  But something about her draws me in, a moth to a very burning flame. I tilt my head, bewildered by the curiosity until she angles her face giving me a better look at her side profile. Instantly, I recognize the beautiful woman like a friendly ghost from my past. A past I’d long forgotten.

  Ava Edwards.

  As I take steps closer to her, the man beside Ava appears to be coming on a little too strong, physically. Unwillingly, my fists clench as her face is less than pleased, and my hostility toward this stranger causes my teeth to grind, enough for me to warn him to back the fuck off.

  Ava spins on her chair, the emerald eyes meeting mine. For a split moment, I see my past come back. My life with Millie, a lot of ‘what-ifs’ and a trip down memory lane which hasn’t happened in a long while. So many mixed emotions from just one goddamn stare.

  The shimmer in her eyes reflects back at me, but there’s something about it that causes concern, almost as if she puts up a façade and wants everyone to see a different Ava.

  Without a second thought, she throws her arms around me. I allow myself to feel her embrace, the familiar scent which brings a sense of comfort. Ava and I had a friendship for years, thanks to my relationship with Millie, but we drifted apart, and I assumed her ties lay with her new brother-in-law.

  We both linger a little too long, and judging by the glass in front of her, she’s had a fair bit to drink already.

  There’s no holding back, heading straight to the liquor to ease the tension as we catch up on life. Neither one of us appears to be in the best of moods, denying the truth of the cross we bear because tonight is supposed to be a time to celebrate life.

  I enjoy the whisky served, though bourbon is a personal preference. In the end, nothing matters. Whatever can erase my memories, and
the quicker, the better.

  The close proximity gives me a chance to raise the topic of her injury, which is bandaged poorly in my professional opinion. Thankfully, she allows me to examine her wrist, which appears to be a minor sprain. Still, I suggest she have it x-rayed in case there’s further damage.

  With Ava beside me, I forget about earlier tonight as we drink our worries away and dance to the music that plays. Ava is always one to be the life of the party, and right now, I welcome her outgoing personality and overbearing need to drink ourselves into a stupor.

  Then, it becomes the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The clock strikes midnight, prompting us to ring in the new year the only way we can—more drinking and dancing.

  The crowd becomes even rowdier after midnight. A few grab the microphone, singing their renditions of pop classics. Some men get lucky, disappearing with women they’d only just met. I lose count of how many drinks I’ve chugged, my limbs falling numb while I enjoy dancing as if the world outside this pub doesn’t exist.

  Then, Ava asks if it’s okay to call Millie, to which I agree. Like I give a fuck anymore. That boat has long sailed, and I fucked a hell of a lot of women to get over her. It worked, obviously, since seeing her on the screen doesn’t evoke any romantic feelings. It is, however, surreal to see her again, and even though she didn’t confirm the words, I’d heard through the grapevine she’d gotten married and adopted a son. I don’t ask questions. It’s not my place to get involved in her life anymore.

  The damage is done, and Millie has her billionaire prince charming.

  After ending the call abruptly, thanks to Ava’s accidental finger slip, she offers drinks on the house, to which everyone cheers. I laugh, keeping my opinion to myself. If anyone has the money, it’s the daughter of Lex Edwards.