Forever with You

Marcus leaned back in his chair, hooking one leg over the other. “I’m going to be honest with you, Stephanie. I understand why you said nothing. You’re new here, but I hope that none of us have given you the impression that we’d tolerate that kind of behavior.”

“You haven’t,” I replied quickly.

Marcus smiled, but it didn’t reach his dark eyes. “But I do wish you would’ve come forward. None of us want any of our employees or their families to feel unsafe here. If something like this ever happens again, I want you to come to Dea

“Yes. I do.”

I was dismissed after that, but the yuck feeling lingered. Part of me wanted to find Rick and kick him in the balls. The other part of me wanted to smack myself for not reporting him when he crossed the line with me. I had handled it, but my head had to have been stuck up my own rear not to realize that if he treated me like I existed purely for his entertainment, he had to treat other women the same way.

I just hoped that my initial suspicions with Jillian weren’t accurate, but I did have the feeling that Rick would probably have to relocate. Not only was Andrew going to be pissed, but once Brock found out, I was betting Rick was a dead man.

On the way home, I stopped at a hamburger joint and picked up a fast di

I didn’t tell him about what happened with Rick earlier. Even though I had handled my own issues with Rick, knowing Nick, he was not going to be happy to hear about Rick’s pervy behavior.

After pulling on my pajama bottoms and a loose shirt, I walked into my bathroom and stood sideways in front of the mirror. Pulling my top up, I checked myself out in the mirror. No visible bump. Not really, but I tried to imagine myself with a soccer ball.

I doubted I’d be as adorable as Avery, but my lips curved up in a smile as I slid my hands to my belly. Just the last couple of days, I’d been thinking about how I would broach the topic of my pregnancy with Marcus. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I would need to say something soon.

Twisting, I tilted my head to the side as a niggle of doubt crept into my thoughts. Shouldn’t I be able to see some sort of bump? Something at nearly fourteen weeks? According to the five million mother-to-be pictures I’d seen, the answer was yes, but . . .

I dropped my shirt and resisted the urge to Google more rare pregnancy issues that I could go the rest of my life never knowing about.

Walking out to the living room, I turned the Christmas tree lights off and then grabbed a glass of orange juice from the fridge and started back toward the bedroom, my sock-covered feet silent on the wood floors. It was early, but after a bearlike yawn, I was so ready for bed. I had set the glass down and reached for the remote when a sharp, stabbing pain cut across my lower stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs.

“Ouch,” I whispered, placing my hand against my stomach near my left hip. “Whoa.”

The pain burned as it faded off. I stood, staring at the glass of juice. My mouth dried as a horrible thought popped into my head. Is something wrong? Heart pounding, I waited several minutes, and when the pain didn’t return, forced out an uneven breath. I was fine. The pain probably had nothing to do with the pregnancy and more to do with the fast food I’d eaten for di

Climbing into bed, I shoved my legs under the comforter and picked up the remote. I clicked on the TV, flipping to the HGTV cha

When I jerked awake hours later, sitting straight up in bed, I wasn’t sure what woke me. My throat was incredibly dry and my skin felt damp with sweat. The TV was still on, volume turned down low. I pressed the back of my hand against my forehead, but I was cool. Had I had a nightmare? Leaning toward the nightstand, I reached for the remote when the pain sliced through my stomach again. I sucked in a gasp as I froze. The pain was like period cramping, but a bit stronger. It slowly eased, but was immediately followed by a strange pressure that sat low in my stomach.

I flipped on the light with a shaky hand. Not a minute later, the pain struck again. The cramp was severe, causing my body to jerk in reflex, and before it eased off, there was a sudden wet feeling.

This wasn’t normal.

My stomach dropped as I jerked the comforter off the bed and stumbled to my feet. The cramping hit again. It was like my entire stomach was inside of a fist that was squeezing and squeezing, and as soon as it lessened, it fisted again.

Turning around, I reached for my phone as my gaze fell along the bed. My heart stuttered. Panic exploded as I stared down at the mattress. “Oh my God.”

There was blood on the sheets.

Chapter 27

The bright lights of the emergency room were harsh, leaving no space to hide from the reality of the situation. All I could do was stare up at those lights until halos formed around them.

Lying on the uncomfortable mattress while the nurse fixed the hospital gown and the thin, heated blanket, I didn’t say anything as the doctor wheeled away from the end of the bed, the snapping elastic sound of her tugging off latex gloves cracking like thunder. Water was turned on. I wasn’t waiting for her to speak, because I already knew what she was going to say.

I didn’t remember driving to the hospital, which probably meant I shouldn’t have driven myself, but I did remember all the bright red blood that had soaked my pajama bottoms, and the bright red blood that started to bleed through the sweats I’d changed into. I remembered the clots when I sat down on the toilet, and I remembered . . .

I bit down on my lip as the cramping returned. My hand curled along the top of the blanket. The nurse’s shadow fell over me and her cool hand covered mine. I wanted to pull my hand away. I didn’t want her or anyone touching me right now, but I didn’t move.

“Ms. Keith?”

My gaze drifted to the doctor. She looked young. Like she could be my age. Her brow creased as she pushed the stool over to the bed, near my waist, and sat down. Her serious gaze met mine. Her gaze reminded me of the ultrasound technician who’d been in the tiny curtained off room before the doctor. That nurse had introduced himself, but once he started moving the handle around, he stopped looking at me. When he left the room, I hadn’t even known if he had spoken. I thought he did. And I thought those words might’ve been meaningless.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said.

I inhaled through my nose as I shifted my attention to the ceiling again. My jaw ached from how tight I was clenching it, but I couldn’t force it to let up. The doctor—what was her name? Williams? Williamson?—was talking again, and I missed some of it.

“ . . . the ultrasound confirmed what we suspected with the symptoms you’re presenting right now,” she was saying, and I heard paper moving, as if she were flipping through a chart. “When you came in, you said you were nearing your thirteenth week?”

My mouth was dry as I spoke. “Friday is . . . would be thirteen weeks.”

The nurse squeezed my hand.

“And you’ve just had your initial appointment with your OB/GYN?”

“About a month ago,” I said.

The papers ruffled again, and when she spoke this time, her words were slow and careful. “Based on the ultrasound and the blood tests we ordered, it appears that the fetus has already been miscarried and what is happening right now, with the bleeding—”