I spent the better part of the afternoon down in the ER, having been paged for a consult. Dr. Anders and I attended to a few pregnant women who were involved in a car accident.
By the time I make it back to check on Elizabeth, there is a package waiting for her at the nurses’ station.
I pick up her chart, relieved to see no new notes after I’d left her. I grab the package and head to her room.
The lights are back on and when I peek through the window, I see her sitting up and reading. I knock once and open the door.
“Feeling better?” I ask.
“Much,” she says, putting the book on her tray table. “What’s that?” She eyes the box I’m carrying.
“Guess you’ll have to open it to find out.”
She cocks her head to the side in disapproval. “Kyle, I wish you wouldn’t—”
“Just open it, Elizabeth,” I say, putting the package next to her on the bed.
She opens it slowly, thinking it’s from me, no doubt. I’ve never seen a woman so hesitant about getting gifts. I mean, she doesn’t seem to want handouts from anyone, least of all me. It makes me wonder how she’ll react when she finds out about the baby shower.
There’s a card inside the box, sitting on top of some tissue paper. I peek over her shoulder and read it.
Elizabeth – sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet when I stopped by earlier. I hope you are feeling better. – Caden Kessler #8
Her hand comes up to her mouth to muffle a gasp.
“Caden Kessler was here to meet me?”
She looks up at me not in excitement or giddiness; she looks up at me in . . . horror. “Oh, my God, do you know him, Kyle?”
“No, I don’t know him. He’s a friend of a friend. I wanted to surprise you.”
She looks pale. I remember how she was scared to meet Baylor at first, too. Maybe she’s just embarrassed to be seen lying in a bed wearing pajamas.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t meet him.”
“No, it’s okay. Actually, I’m glad. I’m not one of those obsessed fans who wants to meet ball players, you know. I’m sure there are lots of women who’d want that. Not me. I’m happy to watch the games and cheer them on, but I don’t want to meet them. God, no.”
I laugh. “Elizabeth, I hate to break it to you, but you are an obsessed fan. Are you sure about not meeting him? Because I could probably get him back.”
Once again, she gives me that deer in headlights look. “I’m sure, Kyle. Please, don’t try to bring him back.”
“Fine. I was just trying to do something to break up the monotony. Something to make you happy.”
“I don’t need him to make me happy,” she says, looking sad. “I just need . . .” her voice trails off as she looks into my eyes, then she shies away and looks out the window.
“What, Elizabeth? What do you need?”
My words draw her gaze back to me and we share a moment. A moment of what, I’m not sure, but I think it resembles something like a moment of need. Her needing me. Me needing her. Us needing this.
I want nothing more than to sit on her bed and take her in my arms. I already know what it feels like to be in hers. What it feels like to have her touch me, run a hand down my back. Speak soft words into my ear.
Hell, I want more than to just take her in my arms. I want to kiss her. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so badly before in my life.
It’s fucking crazy. She’s pregnant. She’s so pregnant, she’s about to pop. Yet she’s the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever seen.
I have to reel in my emotions. Get control of myself. She’s my patient. The other stuff—if there is any other stuff—will have to wait. I’ve got a million questions to ask her. There aren’t enough flavors of Jell-O to find out everything I want to know about this woman. But damned if I’m not going to try.
Later. After the baby comes. Maybe then she’ll be more amenable to letting me help her.
I nod to the package. “Are you going to open it, or what?”
She carefully removes the tissue paper and pulls out one of those onesie baby outfits. She turns it over and sees the #8 on the back. She traces it with her finger and then brings the onesie to her chest, hugging it.
I get the feeling this might be the first piece of clothing she’s gotten for the baby. I have to hold in my chuckle, knowing she’s having a girl. Then again, knowing Elizabeth and how obsessed she is with baseball, she’ll only be too happy to dress her daughter in such things.
She unpacks the rest of the box, pulling out a ball cap, an adult-sized jersey also with his name and number on it, an autographed picture of Caden, and four box seat tickets to a late-season game.
She looks at the tickets hungrily. Then she hands them to me. “Why don’t you take these,” she says.
“What? No.” I point to the date on the tickets. “You’ll be fully recovered by then,” I say. “Sleep-deprived, but recovered.” I laugh, pushing the tickets back to her.
“I don’t want to go,” she says, clearly lying to me. “I prefer to watch the games on TV.”
“Keep them,” I tell her. “Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
She tucks the tickets back into the box along with the rest of the things he sent over. She puts the lid on it and runs her hand over the box longingly. Then she places it on her side table and looks back at me. “Dr. Lawson came to see me earlier.”
“Gina?” I ask, surprised.
We haven’t crossed paths for days. And I haven’t figured out yet if it’s me who’s avoiding a confrontation, or Gina. I need to have the conversation with her. She knows something’s up. I think she’s known for a while. But I owe it to her to be honest. I need to tell her it’s over.
“She was asking all kinds of personal questions about what I’m going to do after the baby comes. Things like where I’m going to live and how involved the baby’s father is going to be. Non-medical questions. It was strange, she was trying to make it seem like she was doing her job. She even had my chart and looked to be writing stuff down, but Kyle, I got the distinct impression her visit was anything but professional.”
Shit.
“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her.”
“No, don’t. She likes you. I can see that. I think she was just trying to, I don’t know . . .”
“Size up the competition?” I ask.
Her eyes snap to mine. It’s the first time either of us has really acknowledged this, whatever this is. Other than the mutual bite of blue Jell-O we shared last week.
“Am I . . . competition?” she asks.
“Do you want to be, Elizabeth?”
She rubs her hands across her belly in thought. I wish I knew what was going through her head right now. I damn sure know what’s going through mine. I haven’t ever held her in my arms. Haven’t kissed her. Hell, I don’t even know where she lives, or where she grew up, or what the name of her first pet was. But one thing is for sure, I don’t want her leaving the hospital without me.
“It’s a lot to think about, Kyle. Can we just take this one step at a time?” she asks.
I nod in agreement. “Yeah. We can do that,” I say. “Let’s make sure this little one arrives safely. The rest can wait.”
“The rest,” she whispers under her breath.
Then she looks up at me and smiles.