"Hmm… ye worrying about one night of missing a rubber is a wee bit like closing the barn door after the horse has left."
I'm sitting on the sagging couch in the intern's locker room at Glasgow Royal Infirmary as Maisie lounges next to me, holding a plastic stick.
"Soothing," I say. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she smiles at me pleasantly.
"And it's not like I thought I was pregnant from unprotected sex less than like, a week ago. I just said that it got me thinking when I started throwing up."
"Well, congratulations, my brother's super sperm managed to knock ye up in less than two months." She makes a face. "Ah, god. I just joked about my brother's seminal fluids."
I'd come to the hospital to take Maisie to lunch, and just the smell of old coffee and disinfectant was enough to make me lose breakfast. She'd taken one look at my green complexion and dragged me down to the OB/GYN floor.
"I can't be pregnant," I groan, staring at the scatter of plastic tests.
Maisie had pulled ten of them out of the supply closet, "Just to be sure."
"Well, it's a wee bit sudden," she admits.
"I was going to law school in the fall," I say.
"Women have been pregnant and in graduate school before," she says dryly. "There's three heavily pregnant interns here at the hospital, though I sure as hell wouldn't do it."
"Do you really think Michael would let me go back to school if I'm pregnant with the MacTavish heir?" I know I'm feeling sorry for myself and it's unattractive. "Law school was the one thing I'd earned on my own. Your family didn't have to sponsor me, or pay for it. I just…"
"Sophie love." Maisie is as serious as I've ever seen her. "If ye aren't ready, we can fix this."
"What?"
"I can make arrangements," she tries to smile. "I would be sad, but this should be your choice."
"No," I say instantly. "No." My hand goes to my stomach protectively, even though the fetus is the size of a cashew at this point. "I was stunned for a minute. I don't know how Michael's going to react, but…" I'm sobbing, Maisie's sobbing, and then we're laughing because why not? "I want this baby. Michael might be freaked out at first- holy shit, Maisie! I'm pregnant!" We sit on the grimy plastic couch, hugging and holding a fistful of tests.
"Well then," she says, back in doctor mode. "Let's run a blood test and see how far along ye are."
While we're waiting for the results, she says, "I am a wee bit surprised. Michael's always been so adamant about wrapping it."
"Maybe it's the piercing," I say without thinking. "You know, tearing a hole or something? It's right at the tip, so-"
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph will ye shut the hell up?" She's cringing, "Why did ye tell me that? Oh, god I'll never get that out of my brain!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I wave my hands appeasingly. "I wasn't thinking!"
"I've given over fifty prostate exams this week and that is still less horrible than what ye just told me! Dinnae say another word." Her laptop chimes softly and she gratefully turns to it. "Thank god, your test results are in and then I'm sending ye away and pretending this conversation never happened." She taps a key. "Given these hCG levels, I'm thinking you're about six weeks along. Everything looks good. The next step is a scan."
"I should tell Michael first," I say. "That seems like something he should be present for, if… you know, if he's okay with it."
"Ye bampot, of course he's gonna be okay," she says, smacking my arm. "I'm hitting ye now because I will probably be denied my smacking privileges until ye have this baby."
"That's fair," I say, rubbing my arm.
"How are ye going to tell him?"
"I have… not the slightest idea," I admit.
"He's going to be so chuffed, I know it," she says encouragingly. "It dinnae look like you're taking me to lunch and my break is over anyway, so go home. My next rotation involves inserting catheters. You're queasy enough as it is. I dinnae want ye boaking up on me."
"You're too good to me." Giving her a hug, I whisper, "Thank you. Truly."
"Here," she hands me a sheet printed with the results of my blood work and a couple of flyers about vitamins and early care. "Dr. MacTavish would be a good choice as your O&G for the pregnancy, she delivered Mala and Arabella's babies."
"Dr. Carolyn MacTavish?"
"No, she's the wound specialist."
"Oh. Do you mean Dr. Maureen MacTavish?" I ask.
"She's the surgeon."
"Oh, my god! This family. Which MacTavish?"
Maisie's laughing. "Dr. Fiona MacTavish. I'll text you her contact info."
Ian's leaning against the wall in the hallway across from the nurse's station. I'm not saying he's flirting with the pretty red-headed nurse, but I've never seen him smile like that.
"Do you want me to go back into the locker room so you and Nurse Hottie have a couple of minutes?" I murmur as we head for the elevator.
"I dinnae know what ye mean, ma'am," he says sedately.
"Of course you don't," I smother my grin.
Ian shoos away a couple of teenagers admiring my cherry-red Aston Martin SUV and helps me inside. "Hey, Torin?" I ask. "Can we stop at the drugstore on the way home?"
"Aye, of course." He turns east, heading for the bougie little shopping district by our neighborhood. I like Torin a lot, he's in his mid-forties, head shaved bald with a long goatee with years of experience. He doesn't seem upset that he's been assigned to my detail, though, and unlike most of the MacTavish security, he's not incredibly uptight all the time.
We pull up in front of Boots, and I lean over the seat. "Is there anything I can get you while we're in there?"
"Aye. Can ye pick me up the big bag of Lucky Tatties?"
Lucky Tatties are coconut covered candies shaped like potatoes. They're hugely popular with like, ten-year-olds. This just makes me like Torin more. "You got it."
He leans against the SUV, scanning the street as Ian helps me out of the car. I browse the cosmetics aisles first, just to drive Ian mad with boredom so he won't follow me so closely and I'll be able to slip over to the vitamins section without him noting they're prenatal ones.
But first, a quick stop for the restroom.
"Hey Ian, can you stand across from the men's room instead? It freaks the girls out when they open the door and you're looming there."
He sighs, but moves down the hall a bit.
I'm washing my hands when the door opens and I hear a clamor- shelves crashing over, glass breaking, a couple of shrill screams. Before I can run out and see if Ian's okay, an arm goes around my throat.noveldrama
"Don't fucking move."
He smashes me back against the tiled wall. He's not much taller than me but stocky, dressed in jeans and a hoodie.
And holding a gun.
"Let… go…" I wheeze. His forearm is pressed hard against my throat and cutting off my air supply. My hand slaps against the wall mindlessly. "Bodyguard kill… you."
"He's busy," he says. "Do you remember me, you pampered little bitch?"
My face is nearly purple in the mirror's reflection, eyes bulging. I recognize him. "Fucking Tay… Taylor. Bastard…"
"I have your mother. Your security is shit, hers is worse. The bake shop is such a sweet idea, huh? Too bad she won't be able to open it."
"Doan you touch…" There are lights flashing in the corners of my eyes and my legs are going limp.
"You're going to get some information for me," he sounds so cheerful, like this is the best day ever. "The new arrangement with the Matsumori Yakuza. I can't believe those dumb fucks are running another deal after your mother made sure the last one was a disaster."
I can hear my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
"…you listening?" A hand slams against my cheek but his arm loosens slightly, and I drag in a desperate breath of air.
I need oxygen the baby you'll hurt the baby…
He stuffs something in my purse. "My contact information. Go fuck your husband, get him talking. You get me all the details on the Matsumori shipment or I'm sending pieces of Mom to you, gift-wrapped."
The bathroom door slams open. Ian's there with his gun out.
The cold metal of Taylor's barrel is pressed against my forehead. "I'll blow her fucking brains out," he says. "Stand aside."
"You're not leaving here alive unless ye let her go." Ian's calm, hands steady on his Ruger.
Taylor moves swiftly, shoving me toward Ian and racing past us. I hit Ian so hard I nearly knock him over but he gets an arm around me first. "Are ye okay?"
"He's got Mom," I croak, "get him please!"
I hear gunfire and Torin bursts into the bathroom. "She okay?"
"Mom," I sob. "He's got Mom. Robert Taylor. It's Robert Taylor."
"Ye shoot him?" Ian asks, gentle hands quickly checking my throat and head.
"No," Torin says regretfully. "Two men started trashing the store, I shot them both before I found ye back here. Taylor went out a side door before I could get off a shot."
"You have to find him!" I'm rocking back and forth mindlessly. "Please, please…"
"Hey now, let's get ye home, aye?" Ian says, putting his arm around my waist. My legs are numb and barely keep me upright. "Come now, Sophie, let us get ye to safety and call Michael. We'll find your mum."
"Michael," I can't stop sobbing. "I want Michael."
***
Chuffed – Scottish slang for excited or happy.