Page 54 of Angel
“Yeah,” I say. “But we’re doin’ this the right way.”
She nods, breathing shallow. “We should go in.”
“Already called,” I say. “They’re expectin’ us.”
Her shoulders drop a fraction. “You did?”
“Yeah.” I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Remember?”
A small, shaky smile breaks through. “Yeah.”
The clinic feels colder than last time. Brighter, like a very fluorescent light hums too loud, the shuffle of paper scrapes across my nerves. Stevie’s fingers are ice in mine as we sit in the waiting room. I sit there and let her lean into me like that’s myonly job, because it is. Her knee trembles once. I squeeze her hand.
“Still breathing?” I murmur.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
The nurse calls her name. The walk down the hall feels longer than it should. Like the building itself is stretching time. The doctor comes in quickly.
“What happened?” she asks gently.
Stevie explains.
Clear.
Measured.
No spiraling.
I watch her speak and feel something fierce and protective bloom in my chest. This woman is strong. The doctor nods.
“Bleeding in early pregnancy can happen for a few reasons,” she says. “Sometimes it’s nothing. Sometimes it’s something we need to monitor. Let’s take a look.”
The lights dim. The machine hums to life. Stevie’s breath catches as the wand presses against her belly. I keep my eyes on her face at first. The machine clicks softly. The doctor moves slowly. Seconds stretch. The silence gets heavy. I feel it creeping up my spine. And then….
“There,” the doctor says, voice calm. “I see it.”
Stevie gasps. I finally look at the screen. At first, its shapes and shadows I don’t understand.Grainy. Unclear.Then…movement. And a sound fills the room. A heartbeat. My knees go weak.
“That,” the doctor says gently, “is a heartbeat. Strong. And consistent.”
Stevie sobs. Not quiet tears. A sound ripped straight from her chest. I lean over her immediately, forehead pressed to hers, our hands tangled together on her stomach.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Hey. You hear that?”
She nods against me, crying harder.
“How far?” she manages.
The doctor checks the measurements.
“You’re still measuring ahead,” she says. “And the bleed looks small, likely implantation-related. Scary, but not uncommon.”
Word spreads faster than I’d like. I didn’t call anyone. But someone saw us at the clinic. Or maybe it was the way I rode back through town. Either way, by the time we pull into the driveway, bikes are lining the street like a damn honor guard.
Joker’s there. Tank. Wire with Calamity at this side. Carrie with Polly on her hip. Wolf leaning against his bike, eyes soft with something close to reverence. Stevie freezes halfway up the steps.
