Chapter 5

Whitney

"What brings you here today?" the female Doc Miller asks me. I purposely requested her when I called for an emergency appointment. The receptionist went to high school with me and knew by the shock in my voice I needed to see someone today, although I didn't tell her about my positive pregnancy tests. I'm just lucky the clinic is open until seven at night.

I try to fight back the tears that are threatening. "I thought I was depressed," I whisper as I think back to the thoughts that were so clear hours ago. Back when I'd tried to convince myself it was seasonal.

"Okay, what's going on?" she asks, opening up the chart in front of her.

"I'm tired all the time, some days I don't want to get out of bed. You and I both know that's not like me. Running my own business is all I ever wanted to do. Now that Whitney's Weddings has taken off, I'm busier than ever but some days it's a struggle. I'm crying very easily, like at the drop of a hat, I feel nauseated some mornings, and sometimes it's a struggle to eat. I just feel off," I tell her, listing my symptoms. "And this afternoon I took five positive pregnancy tests," I swallow against the lump in my throat. "But they can't be right because I can't have kids."

Her eyes are wide as I tell her about the five positive pregnancy tests. She lets out a breath and gives me a small smile. "Okay, then let's get the basic info first. When was your last period?" she asks.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I glance at the app, giving her the date. "It's never been regular, and I've never been able to get pregnant before. Maybe I'm going through early menopause?" I'm grasping at straws because thinking I'm pregnant and then finding out that I'm not will obliterate me.

"We can test for that. It's simple and just a blood test. We'll do the lab in-office that way we'll know quicker. At least we'll have a starting point. How's that sound?" she asks.

"Great," I tell her. I honestly just want answers. I'm sick of being so tired, and I need to know an official answer before I get my hopes up too far.

I sit there through getting pricked with the needle, having the blood withdrawn, and wait while the results come back. The whole time a million things are playing over and over again in my brain. I'm exhausted and drifting off when the door opens and Doc Miller comes in, papers in her hand.

"Whitney, let me ask you a question."

I'm trying very hard to give her my full attention, to not drift off in the middle of this doctor's appointment. That's all I need. "Sure."

"Who told you that you couldn't have children?" She asks carefully, almost as if she's trying to gauge my reaction.

I run my hand through my blonde hair thinking back to all the things that had gone on. All the months that we'd tried. Every month a negative pregnancy test. "Stephen and I tried for four out of the five years that we were married. I could never get pregnant."

"Did you ever get tested?" She asks carefully.

Shame burns my face as I try valiantly to push back the tears threatening to spill over. My voice is strangled, my breath gusting faster as I explain. "We were going to, but he told me there wasn't a reason to because it was all my fault. And if I was any kind of woman, I'd be giving her man an heir to carry on the family name. I was so upset that we never went to the appointment. You have to understand about him…" I go back to my old MO of trying to make excuses for the man that I was once married to.

"Don't excuse him, Whitney. I see men like him every day."

She stops for a minute and levels me with a stare. It's equal parts dis-believing and what looks like happiness. It scares me.

"So were the tests true then? Was it him who had the problem and not me?" I put on a brave face, but inside, I'm coming apart.

She comes over and grabs my hand, and that's when I know it. Something is majorly wrong, I'm probably dying. Or maybe she's going to tell me exactly what I want to hear.

"Congratulations, Whitney! You're pregnant."

The world tilts as I pass out against the examination table.

Renegade

Betty is pushing papers at myself and Trevor. "I need you to sign this so we can send it to the worker's comp company since this was a work injury," she's telling Trevor who looks at her like she's grown another head.

"With what hand? Fucker got my dominant one," he gestures at the thick padding and ace bandage that now covers the ten stitches in his skin.

"Here," I laugh. "Let me sign your name, sweetheart."

"Thanks, baby," he winks, puckering his lips to give me an air kiss and causing her to laugh at us.

"You two are too much. Here," she hands us a packet. "You'll need to give this to Holden, because it is worker's comp, and here's your next appointment to get the stitches out," she hands Trevor an appointment card.

"Thanks," he tells her. "If I have trouble, should I call here or go to the ER?" Doc Miller told us that there was a high risk of infection considering where the he'd been sliced, as well as the condition of the blade.

She looks down. "Notes say go straight to the ER."

"Great," he says, quirking a brow. "Let's hope that doesn't happen."

I start to say something, but the door beside us opens and someone else comes out of the examination rooms. We're holding up progress, so I quickly sign Trevor's name and grab the paperwork we need. I'm trying not to listen in on what's going on behind us, but we're so close that I can't help it.

"Here's your first round of prenatals. Let's see how you handle these, and then we'll get more. Stop by Betty and make your first follow-up. At your age, we'll have to monitor you closely."

Curiosity gets the better of me, and both Trevor and I turn around at the same time, our eyes meeting Whitney's.

"You're pregnant?" we both ask at the same time.

Her face is a mask of panic, and once more, she looks like she wants to escape.

I'll be damned.

Whitney

"Seems like it," I do my best to smile at both my brother and the father of my unborn child. God I never thought I'd say those words. For so many years I had hoped that I would, but with Stephen nothing ever happened and it had always been my fault. For five seconds, I have the urge to call him, tell him that some other man got the job done, and then hang up.

But the sensible side to my brain tells me that he'll find some way to make it a mistake. He'll find a way for me to doubt myself, my words, and my life, and I've worked too hard to put all that behind me, to put him behind me. Glancing into Ryan's clear, brown eyes, I can see that he has questions, but I can't go into it right here, right now. Not with Trevor looking at me like he can see into my soul.

"I didn't even know that you were seeing anyone," Trevor pins me with his gaze.

I might be ten years older than him, but he has always seen himself as my protector, and damn whoever gets in the way. From the time he was old enough to put up his fists and fight, he's been my fiercest ally. "It's new and completely unexpected." That's not a lie at all.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. "You look a little pale."

I laugh almost in a crazy way. It's the only thing keeping me from crying, and right now I'm not sure if they're tears of happiness or tears of oh-my-God-what-am-I-doing? "I passed out when she told me. I couldn't believe it."

Trevor gestures to his hand. "We gotta get back, but I'm calling you later on and we're having a talk."

For the first time, I notice that it's wrapped in thick gauze and he's holding it gingerly. "Oh my gosh, what happened to you?"

"We were serving a summons and a seventy-year-old man took offense to us dismantling his still," Trevor shook his head. "Still can't believe he had a knife."

He reaches in and hugs me. "I'm glad you're okay."

I realize now more than ever how dangerous what they do is, and one of them is now the father of my unborn child. It's enough to cause tears to spring to my eyes. Damn these hormones to hell.

"Don't cry," he pulls me in for another hug, wrapping his good hand around my neck. "I'm good, Whit."

I valiantly try to still the trembling of my chin. "I know, just emotional," I clear my throat and try to get myself together.

"I gotta go," he tells me. "Love you."

"Love you, too. Be very careful. You have a niece or nephew to worry about now," I shakily smile at him.

He and Ryan go to leave the office, but Ryan grabs my hand.

"Congratulations, Whit," he says loud enough for everyone to hear, but then he lowers his voice. "I'll be by your house after I square up things with Trevor. We need to talk."

I nod, because I know he's right. I know he has questions but I don't have any answers.

Renegade

"You're quiet," Trevor speaks twenty minutes after we get into the truck. I've said all of two words to him. I want to press the gas, go one hundred miles an hour, drop him off, and then get to Whitney's. I have a million thoughts running through my head, but I am in no way ready to tell Trevor that I'm the father of his soon-to-be niece or nephew. I haven't discussed it with Whitney, I don't know how we're going to play this, and above all, I'm in fucking shock.

"Got a lot on my mind, man."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Trevor is the best friend I've ever had, and it doesn't feel good not being completely honest with him. It really fucking sucks.

"Nothing I can talk about right now, but when I can, you'll be the first to know."

God, I'm a dick. No matter what I do though, it's going to piss off one of the Trumbolts, and I'd rather not do that now. I sigh in relief as I see headquarters over the hill. I can drop Trevor off, go to Whitney's, and finally get some answers.

It feels like an eternity as I answer the questions for Holden about what the doctor said so he's in the loop about Trevor's injury. Holden, thank God, is going to drive him home, leaving me free to do what I need to do. Since I've been on this team, I've never ran out so fast, ready to get to another facet of my life. This crew, this team, has been my life.

A few traffic laws are broken as I make my way to Whitney's house. I try to play the potential conversation in my brain, before I even get there, because I want to be prepared for what she might say to me. I want to make sure I sound like an adult, not her little brother's best friend. I have a feeling, a very strong feeling, that this is going to take a lot of sweet-talking on my part. She's not been shy about the fact that I'm younger than her.

What should have taken me thirty minutes has taken me fifteen. I park my truck in her driveway and stop for a few moments, collecting myself, my thoughts, fuck my manhood, as I step down from the running board and go up her walkway. I feel like a man with a plan, nothing is going to derail or deter me.

Until I knock, and knock, and knock on her front door and she doesn't answer.

"Whitney, your SUV is parked out front, I know you're in there," I tell her through the heavy thickness of wood that separates us.

I knock a few more minutes, still she doesn't answer. "Don't think I can't get in there, Whit," I laugh. "You do realize that I did special ops, right?"

When she doesn't answer, I realize that she doesn't know who she's dealing with. "Fuck it," I mumble as I make my way to the back of the house. If I'm going to be breaking and entering, I don't want to do it in full view of her neighbors.

I'm amused as I open her unlocked gate and jog up her back porch. What she doesn't realize is breaking the law and getting paid to do it is kinda my thing. "Game on, baby doll," I whisper as I grab my tool kit out of my back pocket. Never leave home without it.