Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“Yes.” The doctor chuckles. That was definitely a chuckle. Smiling, chuckling. He’s happy. But what am I feeling? Dazed. “Ava is still pregnant, Mr. Ward,” he says cheerfully as he works on the machine. “Sit down, I’ll show you.”
Sit down? How do I sit down? I quickly check Ava’s still on the bed. Because where else would she be? “I’ll stand, if you don’t mind,” I mumble, my eyes on the screen, the mass of black fuzz and white blobs a total mess. “I need to feel my legs.” I study the pulsing images, the dusty dots. “I don’t see anything.”
“There, look.” The doctor points to the center to what looks like a really long, really dark tunnel. “Two perfect heartbeats.”
Say what now? “My baby has two hearts?” Am I an absolute moron? Jake makes his presence known and starts laughing hysterically, and I scowl at the sarcastic fucker. Is this a joke? Two heartbeats? Two as in . . . one more than one heartbeat? One plus one equals two?
Two?
Two heartbeats equal two babies, and two babies equals twins.
What the ever-loving fuck?
“No, Mr. Ward.” The doctor chuckles again. Anyone would think something amusing is going down. “Each of your babies has one heart, and both are beating just fine.”
Stunned, my legs move without me telling them to, and I collide with something. I hope it’s a chair because my knees have just given way and I’m freefalling. I grunt when my arse hits the seat. Now, I know I have been hearing things lately. Seeing things. Questioning . . . everything. So, just to be sure, for the avoidance of doubt, to absolutely eliminate any confusion . . . “I’m sorry, say that again,” I order quietly.
“Mr. Ward,” he says assertively. “Let me put this into plain English, if it will help.”
“Please.” It would help a great deal.
“Your wife is expecting twins.”
“Oh fuck.” Twins. “I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Is this the universe telling me to start opening my mouth on a few things?
Yes, you fucker. Tell her about me.
“Watch your damn mouth,” I breathe, looking at Ava, wondering what she’s thinking. By her face, she’s not thinking at all. She looks spaced out. “Baby—”
“About six weeks, I would say,” the doctor muses.
Six weeks? I start mentally counting back through time. My God, all this time? All this fucking time I’ve been stressing, wondering if I’m broken, she’s been pregnant? With fucking twins? And drinking. She’s been drinking. My teeth grit.
“I’m sorry, that can’t be right,” Ava says as I watch her look between the screen and the doctor. “I’ve had a period within that time and was on the pill previous to that.”
Yes, she had a period. Didn’t she? When? My head feels like it could pop. “You had a period?” the doctor asks, getting a very sure, assertive, yes, from Ava. “That’s not unusual. Let me do some measurements.”
Measurements?
Yes, right. Measure the babies.
Plural.
Twins? How the fuck did this happen?
Need me to walk you through that, bro?
Ava’s now lying back, eyes closed as the doctor does his thing. She’s completely relaxed. I can feel her energy, and I honestly don’t know what to make of it. She’s not freaking out, which is ironic, because here’s me freaking the fuck out.
I didn’t bargain for this when I stole her pills.
Is this what they call karma?
I look between the screen and Ava, watching as she stares, rapt by the squirming blobs. And Jake continues to laugh his dead head off in heaven. This seesaw of emotions is too much. I started my day on cloud nine. Passion for breakfast, fury for brunch, terror for lunch, despair for dinner, and now complete and utter wonder for supper.
Twins?
You better be talking about me by the end of the day, brother, or I’ll never talk to you again.
I huff. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Mr. Ward?”
“What?” I blurt, jarred from my moment. The doctor’s smiling at me. Ava is half-smiling, half fascinated.
“Your babies.” He holds a scrap of paper across the bed.
I accept on a mumbled thank you and stare down at the black and white image, hearing the doctor talking to Ava, but what he’s saying I don’t know. I’m . . . mesmerized. I tilt my head one way, then the other, studying the image.
“Are you ready?”
“What?” I murmur, eyes on the picture.
“Are you ready?”
We can go home? “Sure.” I stand. How big should they be at six weeks? Big enough to see, I’m sure. I look at Ava. She’s dressing. Her stomach is definitely a little rounder. Isn’t it any wonder? Twins.
How many times have you got to say it before you believe it?
I don’t think I will until they’re actually here. What will we have? Two boys? Two girls? One of each?
“Let’s go.”
“What?” I tear my eyes from the picture and find Ava. She’s smiling. She’s happy. I’m unable to appreciate that in this moment.