Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sasha
When I finish with my shower, Ronan shows me to the room where Conor stored all of my belongings. It’s strange, having them in his house. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my apartment.
It’s a silly thought, but that dingy little box was the place where I grew up. The place where I had some of my best memories. I wonder if Ronan would take me back there one last time. Probably not. He says it isn’t safe, and I doubt he would understand the emotional connection I had to it.
As I knot my towel around my chest, I bend over to take a peek in one of the boxes that holds my clothes. But when I do, I notice Ronan’s dress shoes behind me in the doorway. I crane my neck to look at him and catch him staring at my ass.
I smile.
Sometimes he seems so unsure of himself, but right now he’s as close to a man as any other. He catches me staring and his eyes move to the blue thong dangling between my fingers.
“You should wear the black ones,” he says. “With the red bows.”
I’m pretty sure my mouth is open, but there’s nothing coming out of it. I don’t know whether to be flattered or think he’s totally nuts for knowing what all of my underthings look like.
“I’ll do that,” is the only thing I can think to say.
“The doctor will be here in ten minutes,” he adds.
His voice is back to being formal, and it makes me want to ask if he will ever feel comfortable around me. But before I get a chance, he disappears down the hallway.
I dress in a pair of yoga pants and an off the shoulder sweatshirt and braid my hair. It isn’t until I look in the mirror that I realize that though Ronan may not be comfortable with me, I am with him. He’s seen me in pretty sorry shape a few times now. I don’t feel the need to dress up to impress him. But a part of me does wonder how his hands would feel roaming over the tight material of my leggings and up beneath the loose material of the sweatshirt.
When I hear the front door shut, I walk down the hall and wonder if the doctor can prescribe me something for my obvious insanity. Because I seem to be forgetting that this situation is only temporary, and I don’t have the luxury of fantasizing about Ronan like that.
In the parlor, I stop and cover my mouth to stifle a laugh when I catch Ronan carting the Corgi up the stairs beneath his arm while she tries to lick at his face.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He sets her down at the top landing and smooths out his suit.
“Her legs are too wee for the stairs,” he explains as he points at the offending limbs. “She can’t get down them to go outside.”
I laugh and he stares at me in confusion.
“She’s got you wrapped around her little paws,” I tell him.
A knock sounds at the door, and Ronan is grateful for the interruption. On the other side is a female doctor which surprises and relieves me. I half expected the same guy that tended to Ronan after the fights to show up here.
“Sasha, I presume?” the doctor walks up the steps and holds out her hand.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” she asks.
I look at Ronan, and he’s already edging towards the door. “Conor’s just outside,” he says. “I’ll be back after.”
After what, he doesn’t say, but I presume it’s probably mafia business.
The doctor takes a seat on the sofa and pulls out a notepad with the name of birth control I requested scribbled on it. She goes through a whole host of routine questions about my health and dates of last exams and I’m suddenly grateful Ronan did leave. I don’t think he could have handled this part.
“Have you taken this medication before?” she asks.
“Yes,” I tell her.
“Okay and did you have any issues with it?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“Great, well unless you have any other questions for me, I’d be happy to write you a prescription.”
“Perfect.” I smile and wait for her to write the prescription. But instead, she reaches inside of her bag and pulls out a cup.
“We just need to do a routine pregnancy test first,” she says.
“Oh.” I swallow down my nerves and take the cup with trembling fingers. “Right.”
I’d forgotten about this part. The last time I was on birth control was when I was with Blaine. I don’t know how many times Ronan has finished inside of me now, completely unprotected. But I won’t soon forget the panic on his face when I mentioned the possibility of getting pregnant.
As I walk down the hall to the bathroom and go through the process, I tell myself it’s not even possible. I mean, it was only a few times. And he did use a condom once. But then I try to count the dates in my head, and I start having a mini panic attack.
I haven’t been eating properly, and I’ve been a jittery stress head. I think I did miss my period last month, but now I’m not really sure. By the time I get back to the doctor, I’m a nervous wreck and she reads it on my face.
“I’ll do it right here,” she says, going about the process.
I don’t watch. I sit down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. I was supposed to be leaving. If things had gone to plan, I’d already have been gone. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Because I had a plan. A light at the end of the tunnel. But before the doctor even says the words, I know it’s coming. And then she confirms it with her words, and everything swirls around me.
I’m pregnant.
With Ronan’s child. And if he finds out there’s a good chance he’ll either freak the fuck out or imprison me in this life forever. I don’t like either side of that coin toss.
The doctor reaches out and gently squeezes my shoulder.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I reply with a jerky nod. “But this stays between us, right?”
“Of course,” she says. “I’d be happy to schedule you an appointment in my office if…”
“That’s okay.” I rush to stand up and almost fall over in the process. “I’ll make one later. I can do that, right?”
“Of course,” she says. “But I wouldn’t put it off too long. You’ll need a blood test and…”
“Okay,” I cut her off.
I know I’m being rude, but I just want that pregnancy test gone. She walks to the kitchen and cleans up and I pace the length of the dining room, staring out the window. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Oh God, what the hell am I going to do?
I don’t even wait for the doctor to leave before I shuffle down the hall to my room and scramble through my purse for my cell phone. But it isn’t there. And after digging through the rest of the boxes, I can’t find it anywhere.
A throat clears behind me, and I spin around to find Ronan in the door frame.
“All good?” he asks.
His gaze is probing, his voice tense. And it almost makes me want to tell him. Almost. But then there’s that boyish innocence in his eyes. God, how can one man be so contradictory? He’s a killer, a cold-blooded murderer for the mafia, and yet he can be so innocent sometimes.
“Where’s my phone?” I ask.
My question makes his eyes turn down, which puts me on guard.
“I had to get rid of it,” he answers. “It wasn’t safe.”
I don’t even have the energy for that argument, so instead I ask for his. When he hesitates again, I get irritated.
“I need to call Mack,” I snap. “Is that alright? Or can you have her come over? I want to see her.”
He still isn’t moving, or responding, and I feel as though I need to explain further for some reason. Like he can see right through me.
“I didn’t get to see her after the wedding,” I tell him. “She’ll think I just left town without saying goodbye.”
Finally, my words seem to find a crack in his armor. “I’ll sort something out,” he says.