Hot Single Docs: Giving In To Temptation: NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile / NYC Angels: An Explosive Reunion / St Piran's: The Wedding of The Year. Lynne Marshall
into his chest and wrenching out his heart “...I’m keeping this baby.”
His baby. She was keeping his baby. He’d never thought he’d have a chance at a family again. A nugget of hope planted itself in his heart, filling a long-forgotten hole. He almost smiled at the absurdity of how he’d become a father at thirty-nine—from one amazing night in on-call.
Not since his wife had told him she was pregnant had he felt such a flash of joy.
A baby. A family.
But that had been long ago, and six weeks before 9/11. When he’d loved and lost both his wife and unborn child. When he would have gladly given his own life in exchange for theirs.
A jet of fear shot through his chest and strangled the breath out of him. He couldn’t speak as a flashback of the hopeless feeling that had nearly ended his life—and had surely ended his wife and future child’s life—played out in his head. The horror of that day. The frantic need to find her in the rubble. The sinking feeling as reality had put one foot in front of the other and stepped ever closer to ripping his life apart, as it had for so many others. The desperation when hope against all the odds had lost out and he’d found out she’d been killed. That he’d never kiss Lisa again, never hold her, never welcome their baby into his arms.
Oh, God, he couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t bear the pain if anything happened to this baby...or Polly. He’d used up an entire life’s worth of pain and sadness already. He couldn’t spare one more...
“Are you all right?”
Polly’s gentle voice broke through his thoughts. Even when confessing her predicament, she’d put him first. Was he all right? What about her? Was she all right with him getting her pregnant? Of course not! Yet, trouper that she was, she’d come to tell him she was keeping their baby, whether he liked it or not.
He tried to unclench his fists, to act as if he hadn’t just relived the worst day of his life. Unfortunately, his expression must have been a snapshot of his true feelings, and Polly was a solid people-reader. Perspiration moistened his upper lip. He rubbed it away.
“Yes, I’m all right.” He took a deep breath, knowing it would be impossible to invest emotionally in this pregnancy. At least he could be a civilized man and offer financial support. Surely she couldn’t do this on her own without his monetary help. He ground his molars and lifted his eyes to meet her steady and earnest gaze. “How much do you think you’ll need?”
His hands shook so badly he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to hold a pen if she agreed to let him write her a check. He held onto the desk rim to hide his shaking.
He may as well have slapped her face by the way she flinched at his words. “Pardon?” Anger, like an offshore squall, gathered in those luminescent blue eyes. Her face tensed, incensed. “You think I came here to ask for money?” Her voice quivered with barely controlled rage. “You want to pay me because you knocked me up?”
Of course she’d take it the wrong way. She didn’t have a clue what he’d been through, and he sure as hell didn’t have the strength to tell her now. He had to hold it together, to be the worst kind of bastard on earth in order to make it through this meeting. No matter what she thought of him, she at least deserved to be well taken care of.
He tugged his earlobe. “That’s right.” His jaw was so tightly locked the words had to squeeze themselves out.
Her obviously escalating fury forced her to stand. Her cheeks blushed red, her eyes looked wild. “You bastard!”
It was her turn to verbally slap him. “This pregnancy isn’t some little problem you can clean up with cash. For me it’s sacred!” She stormed out of the room and slammed the door, leaving the glass and walls shaking as much as his hands.
Ah, hell. He picked up his pen and tossed it across the desk. Could he have handled the situation any worse?
* * *
Almost a week later Polly helped her favorite LVN, Darren, start an IV he’d accidentally dislodged. She sat at the hospital bedside with her IV kit prepared and in reach. Children were always a challenge, and the little boy had started screaming the moment he’d realized what the “lady nurse” was going to do to him. Darren firmly held the six-year-old’s arm to the bed, his other arm safely secured in a cast and sling. With Darren’s free hand he pressed against the boy’s knees to control the fidgeting legs.
Starting an IV on a child that was freaking out was bad enough, but hitting a moving target was nearly impossible.
She wiped the skin with disinfectant and slipped on gloves. His wails escalated.
“Mikey, if you hold still for just a couple of seconds, this will go a lot quicker,” Darren said. “Then I’ll play Battle Star with you, I promise.”
Fortunately, that morning the high school of performing arts had sent a troupe of street performers to their ward. A lanky kid in a fluorescent green shirt and a bright red beret appeared at the doorway, juggling neon yellow and blue bowling pins. He edged to the side of the bed, capturing the boy’s attention.
The moment the child became distracted Polly slid the needle into the vein and anchored it with tape before Mikey’s delayed protest made him squirm again. His mouth gaped as the juggler pretended, in an exaggerated way, to almost drop a pin.
“It’s all over,” Polly said. “Just need to tape it, Mikey.” She wasn’t even sure he was listening. “Then you can kick Darren’s patootie in Battle Star, okay?”
The relieved child looked at his arm to make sure Polly hadn’t lied, just as the juggler migrated to the next room.
Darren glanced at Polly, winked and smiled. She smiled back, then patted Mikey’s shoulder. Teamwork. It was the only way to survive in a hospital.
Teamwork in a pregnancy was pretty darned important, too.
Leaving the room, she almost ran into John, who was holding a tiny patient and watching the juggler as he switched to multicolored balls. It had been a week since she’d told him she was pregnant and had stormed out of his office after he’d insulted her, and he hadn’t lifted a finger to contact her since. She yanked herself back before they made physical contact, as her heart nearly hurtled out of her chest. “Oh, sorry,” she said, by rote.
He handed the tiny patient to the nearby nurse then steadied Polly by holding her arms. “My fault. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”
She stared at his feet, rather than look at him, furious with him, the feel of his warm hands on her skin almost her undoing. What could she say that she hadn’t already confessed in his office, and he’d frozen her out, tried to pay her off, leaving her hurt beyond comprehension? She’d calmed down since then for her baby’s sake, and from now on her baby would be the only thing she cared about.
She stepped back, removing her arms from his grasp. The last thing she needed was for anyone on staff to become suspicious about them, or find out about their predicament. Her predicament, as he’d have nothing to do with it. The pregnancy would be apparent to everyone soon enough.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, under his breath.
“Fine. Thank you.” She walked away, pretending her legs didn’t feel like noodles, holding her head high. She felt his eyes on her, but refused to turn round.
“Dr. Griffin! Dr. Griffin!” a child’s voice cried out. “Will you make me an elephant?”
“I’ll make you two elephants, if you’ll quit giving your physical therapist such a hard time, Nate.”
Did he even give a damn about her?
The boy laughed, and Polly could practically see John messing his hair and pretending to punch him in the arm with the cast. The man was a natural with kids, yet he’d chosen to ignore his own child.
* * *
Later that day, when the opportunity came up to