Page 26 of Nitro
The ultrasound clinic sat in a small strip mall two blocks off the main road -- beige walls, framed prints of wildflowers above the exam table, the faint antiseptic smell underneath the hand lotion the technician wore.I’d filled out the paperwork while Nitro stood behind my chair, one hand resting lightly on my shoulder, his presence the kind of certainty that didn’t need to announce itself to be felt.Now I lay back on the crinkled paper of the exam table, the thin gown cool against my skin, and watched the technician move around the room with the efficiency of someone who’d done this a thousand times.
Nitro had taken the chair pulled close beside me, his attention fixed on the equipment the technician was arranging.He’d been quiet since we’d arrived -- not the careful silence of the early days, but something more focused, the stillness of a man who’d decided this moment mattered and was making absolutely certain he didn’t miss any of it.He rested his hand on the edge of the table, close enough that I could feel the heat from his skin.
“This might be a little cold,” the technician said, squeezing a clear gel onto my exposed belly.Her name tag read Melissa, and she had the calm of someone who’d delivered good news and bad in equal measure and had learned to carry both without letting either change how she did her job.“Just going to move this around a bit until we get a good view.”
The wand made contact with my skin -- cool at first, then warming quickly -- and Nitro leaned forward slightly, his weight shifting from the chair to the edge of the table.The screen beside us lit up with static, then resolved into something grainy and indistinct -- shades of gray and white that meant nothing to me but made the technician nod with quiet satisfaction.
“There we go,” she said, adjusting something on the machine.“Baby A is being cooperative today.Let’s see if we can get a good look at the gender.”
She moved the wand in a slow arc across my belly, the pressure firm but careful, and the image on the screen shifted -- still mostly abstract, but with shapes that were gradually becoming recognizable.A curve that might have been a spine.A shadow that could have been a foot.The outline of a head, turned slightly away from the wand as if the baby inside was deliberately making this difficult.
“Definitely a boy,” the technician said, pointing to a particular spot on the screen.“See that?That’s pretty clear.”
Nitro’s breath caught, and I felt it in the way his body went still beside me.His attention moved from the screen to my face and back again, his expression giving away nothing, but I saw his control slip just enough to reveal what lived beneath it.
“Let’s check Baby B,” the technician continued, moving the wand to a different position.“This one’s being a little shy.Might take a minute to get a good angle.”
The image shifted again -- static, then clarity, then another shape emerging from the gray.The technician moved the wand in a careful circle, her forehead furrowed in concentration, then nodded once, decisively.
“There we go,” she said, pointing to a different spot on the screen.“And that’s a girl.One of each -- you’re having a boy and a girl.”
The words hung in the air between us -- direct, matter-of-fact.I felt my breath catch, my free hand moving instinctively to the curve of my belly where the wand still pressed.One boy.One girl.Two lives that had, until this moment, existed mostly as concepts -- the possibility of a future rather than the specific reality of one.
But it was Nitro I watched -- Nitro whose face had gone completely still.His jaw had loosened.His shoulders had dropped.He was staring at the screen with his elbows still on his knees and his hands hanging open between them, like a man who had just been handed something he didn’t know he was allowed to want.
“I’ll just print some pictures for you,” the technician said, her voice carrying the gentleness of someone who’d seen this reaction before and knew exactly what it meant.“You can take them home, show your family.”
She moved away, giving us privacy, and I reached for Nitro’s hand without thinking about it -- my fingers finding the space between his, curling into the warmth of his palm.He turned his hand over and laced his fingers through mine, his grip careful but certain, his gaze still on the screen where our children had made themselves known.
The technician returned with two printed photos -- grainy black and white images that looked like abstract art to anyone who didn’t know what they were seeing.She handed them to Nitro with a small smile, her movements unhurried but precise, and he took them with both hands -- careful, like they were something that could be damaged.
“Congratulations,” she said.“They both look perfect.Strong heartbeats, good measurements.You’re doing everything right.”
Nitro nodded once, silent and focused on the photos.I found myself watching him instead -- the concentration in his face, the faint hitch in his breathing -- and realized, with sudden clarity, that he mattered to me far more than he should have.
We left the clinic twenty minutes later, after the technician had answered all our questions and scheduled our next appointment.The photos were tucked into the inside pocket of Nitro’s cut -- safe, protected.I walked beside him to the truck, close enough that our arms occasionally brushed, and kept my gaze on his face rather than on the road ahead.
He stayed quiet, opening my door before moving around to the driver’s side and settling into the seat beside me, solid and familiar.
When he started the engine, his hand lingered on the gearshift for a heartbeat before he pulled onto the road, measured and focused in a way that suggested he was always thinking three steps ahead.
I reached into my jacket pocket and felt the edge of the spare photo -- the one I’d asked the technician to print as we were leaving.Not the original, not the one Nitro had taken with such care, but a copy -- something to keep close, to look at when the house was quiet.My fingers traced the outline of it through the fabric.
Nitro’s hand found mine on the center console -- not gripping, not claiming.His palm was warm against mine, his breathing even and unhurried, his body a solid line of heat beside me from shoulder to knee.The drive passed quietly, but the silence between us had softened into something calmer.Something that felt, impossibly, like the beginning of a routine.
Chapter Twelve
Nitro
I set my pen down and rubbed at my eyes, letting my head tip back against the worn leather of my office chair.The strip club was hitting that midnight energy peak -- music thumping through the walls, the bass line from the main floor vibrating the metal desk beneath my forearms.I reached for my water, drank half in one pull, and forced my attention back to the column of expenses that wasn’t going to add itself.
The office had never been much to look at -- twelve-by-twelve with concrete walls painted institutional beige, a single window that faced the parking lot, and a fluorescent light that buzzed faintly overhead.I’d hung a Reckless Kings banner behind the desk when I’d first taken over management, but that was the extent of my personal touches.The place was what it was -- a source of income and information, not somewhere I spent time by choice.
My gaze drifted to the security monitor mounted on the wall.The screen cycled through sixteen different feeds -- front door, back entrance, the main floor from four different angles, the parking lot.A redhead was working the stage, her body moving in rhythm with the music, a twenty-dollar bill tucked into the waistband of her G-string.At the bar, Slider was pouring shots for a table of college boys, his face set in that particular blank expression he used when he was counting to ten instead of breaking someone’s jaw.
The smile faded slowly as reality settled back into place around me.The office smelled like whiskey, cigarette smoke, and old paper.Music pulsed faintly through the floorboards from the club below, bass heavy enough to vibrate through the legs of the desk.Familiar.Normal.
But none of it held my attention for long anymore.
