CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

NOAH

The scariest moment of my life was when Amber nearly fainted.

Hate to say it but carrying her to the car felt good. I miss holding her, being close to her. Wish I knew how I messed up so terribly. Have to find that out.

After they roll Amber away, I call my brothers and tell them where I am and what’s happening.

“Ryder’s here, and we’re on our way,” Blake says.

“Thanks.”

When I look back on this day objectively, I’ll recognize what a jackass I’ve been. The woman behind the receptionist desk—who I’ve come to realize is also a nurse—has enough on her plate without having to deal with me and my antics.

Despite it all, she keeps her composure, and for that, I am grateful. I can also say the same about the nurse tending to Amber and the doctor who visited her. They all treated me better than I deserved.

I position myself in the waiting area so I can see Amber’s room—if that’s what they call them— and every time somebody leaves her and moves my way, I’m all over them, peppering them with questions. Get the standard, “She’s fine,” from them, and that’s it. For some reason, I don’t believe them. They’re keeping something from me.

Sitting with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, I hear the doors swoosh open. “There he is.”

“Hey, you guys.”

“How is she?” Blake asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer. “They won’t tell me anything.” The nurse taking care of Amber comes out from behind the curtain and starts talking to somebody. “That’s her nurse.”

“Hey.” Ryder waves to the woman behind the receptionist’s desk.

“Friend of yours?”

“Jamie. We occasionally hook up. Let me check and see if she knows anything.

“That would be great.”

Ryder walks over to her, and she smiles. It’s a beautiful smile, which I might have seen earlier if I weren’t such a dick.

They talk, and she giggles.

“He’s a smooth one,” Rob says.

“Yes, he is,” Blake answers.

Amber’s nurse quits talking to whomever and advances down the hall and up to the desk. Jamie, the gal behind the receptionist counter, introduces her to Ryder. He says something that’s probably charming, and she gives him an ear-to-ear grin.

“Smooth,” Rob states again.

“Yep,” Blake responds.

Jamie and the nurse talk a bit, and then Jamie writes something down and hands it to her coworker. Ryder says something—again, probably something that’s clever—that causes her eyebrows to flash up and hold.

Rob: “Smooth.”

Blake: “The smoothest.”

Amber’s nurse gives Ryder a quick head bob and Jamie a crisp wave before whirling and walking away.

Ryder taps the receptionist counter and ambles back over to us. The receptionist is watching him with a devilish grin until the point when he reaches us. Probably not even aware she’s doing it.

“Find anything out?” I ask.

“I didn’t ask her. Couldn’t put her in that position. But yeah, I learned something. I think.”

“Well?”

“Your girl is pregnant.”

Three jaws hit the floor. Mine, Blake’s, and Rob’s.

“Pregnant?”

“Yes. Pam, that’s the nurse taking care of her, asked Jamie for the number of an obstetrician for the girl who came in earlier. She was about to give a name and glanced over at you. Jamie stopped her from giving it. A code thing, I guess. You know how it is.”

“It has to be your kid,” Blake states.

“Has to be.”

“You should probably find out for sure.”

The nurse goes in to see Amber and comes back out. Walks the other way, down the hall.

“Hey, Ryder, can you distract Jamie? I’m going to talk to Amber.”

“Sure thing.” He saunters to the side of the reception desk and waves Jamie to him. She happily responds.

“I’m going,” I say to my brothers and get up and trek. Reach Amber’s location unobstructed. Scan back and forth like I’m starring in a low-budget spy film. Slide the curtain aside and step through. Amber is sitting on the edge of a bed, studying a piece of paper.

“How are you feeling?”

She looks up, startled. Holds the paper tightly and brings it between her legs. “What are you doing in here? You have to leave.”

“I want to know how you are. I’m worried.”

A gush of air pushes from her mouth, and she mumbles, “I bet you are.”

Since the moment we met, I’ve never once raised my voice around Amber, not even close. Until now. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means. Now get out of here. You make me sick.”

Wow. Both barrels. Through my observations in life, the only reason for someone to say something like that is if they have committed a terrible sin. And I haven’t committed one where Amber is concerned. Thus: “You’ve seen Farrah’s posts on social media, haven’t you?”

“Didn’t have to use social media to learn things. Farrah’s been keeping me updated via text, through photos.”

I feel my face scrunch.

She points at a nearby table where her phone sits. “Hand me that, and I’ll show you.”

I grab the phone and hand it to her.

Her fingers are a blur, and she gets to where she wants to go in a hurry. Holds the phone up near my face, and I lean backward.

I snatch it from her. “No, no, no,” I chant.

“Yes, yes, yes. That’s a picture of Farrah, naked in our bed. Then there’s the one of her standing next to it in some sort of exotic outfit. And let’s not forget the one of you two out at some function, which was taken, I’m assuming, when you were supposed to be out of town on business.” She uses air quotes when she says out of town on business.

“None of that… Okay, please listen. None of that’s true.”

“That’s not our bed?”

“Yes, it is. But I was never with her. I have somebody on it right now, and they’re going to find out how she got in there and who let her in.” I hand her the phone back. “Can you show me the function you’re talking about?”

She takes the phone, taps it, hands it back. “You see? Look.”

I show it to her. “This was taken on Mom’s birthday. Blake pointed it out to me. Because of the photographer’s angle, it appears she and I are together. And the dress. Remember the dress she was wearing?”

Amber takes the phone back and studies it more closely. Nods. “Okay, I’ll give you that. But I saw the ring. You’re engaged, and she’s pregnant.”

“All part of her warped… I don’t know what it is. But I didn’t give her a ring. We aren’t engaged, and if she is pregnant—which I don’t believe she is—the baby isn’t mine.”

Her head slumps. She stares at her lap.

“Did you learn any of this while still in New York? Is that why you left?”

She doesn’t answer. Remains silent.

I continue, “You have to believe me, Amber. Farrah and I have never been together.”

She looks up. Lips tight.

I continue, “Remember when she caught you on the street and warned you to stay away from me?”

“Yes.”

“And remember when I told you she came to my office, and I let her have it? She warned me I’d be sorry. Well, she kept her promise, didn’t she? She tore us apart and hurt me more than you can imagine.”

Amber cries, and I sit next to her, drape my arm around her, kiss her cheek.

She leans her head into me.

I take her hand and tug on the paper she’s clutching.

She releases it, and I inspect it. “Obstetrician, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“Wish you had told me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that––”

“You don’t have to say anything else. I know.”

The nurse comes back in. “What the hell? What are you doing to her? Get away from her.”

“It’s all right,” Amber says and interlocks her fingers with mine. “He’s the father.”

“I figured as much. But he shouldn’t be in here. Not without permission.”

“Is it all right if he stays?”

“No need. The doctor says you’re good to go. Take better care of yourself.”

“She will,” I promise. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“Okay, then. Let’s get you discharged.”