Pregnant With The Boss's Baby

On autopilot she spooned coffee into one mug, dropped a tea bag into another, added sugar and boiling water to both. Stirred. It’s too late to do a runner. Time to face the facts.

‘Ready? Good.’ Conor swooped back into the small space, picked up both full mugs in one hand and took her elbow in the other. ‘Let’s go.’

And then they were there, Conor’s office door clicking shut behind her, and the air all hot and heavy. Tamara sank onto the closest chair, gripped her hands between her knees and stared at the floor. She should’ve dug into the back of her wardrobe and found something half-decent to wear for this, instead of looking like the frump she hid behind. But then he’d have known something was up.

She heard the mugs being placed on the desk, Conor’s chair being pulled out, his knee clicking as he sat down. She felt his eyes on her, his bewilderment boring into her. Her skin chilled, and the moisture evaporated from her mouth.

Slowly lifting her head, she nearly leapt up and ran. There was so much concern radiating out at her from across the desk it undermined all the lessons on men she’d learned from her ex. Could Conor care about her that much?

‘Start at the beginning.’ Conor’s soft voice flowed over her, tightening already tight muscles and jangling nerve endings.

There was no beginning. No ending. Only the facts. Her spine couldn’t straighten to ramrod straight. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Her heart squeezed in on itself so hard pain shot out in all directions. ‘I’m pregnant.’

He rocked backwards in his chair, those beautiful eyes widening with disbelief. Or was it shock? She couldn’t read him clearly. Gone was the open-faced, cheerful, friendly man everyone adored.

Might as well go for broke, put it all out there. In a strangled whisper, she told him, ‘You’re the baby’s father.’

Then she waited for the axe to fall. And waited and waited. The silence was stifling. The walls came closer, squeezing the heavy air around her, suffocating her.

Say something, Conor.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I’M PREGNANT.’ The words ricocheted from wall to wall.

Conor slammed back in his seat as all the air in his lungs spewed into the room. The silence was deafening. As if everyone in the hospital was holding their collective breath.

‘You’re the baby’s father.’

Tell me this isn’t true. But Tamara looked certain. Apprehensive, but definitely sure. There was no colour in her cheeks, no warmth in her eyes, and her hands were rubbing her arms like they were cold. ‘You can’t be. I used condoms.’ Rule number one: when indulging in sex, use protection. No exceptions.

‘I am, and you did.’

No, no, no. He leapt to his feet, an oath spilling across his lips. ‘You’re saying one was faulty?’ He saw his disbelief drill into her, wanted to regret his words, but couldn’t quite. She mustn’t be pregnant. Not with his child.

Tamara pulled back, her eyes locked on him. ‘Faulty, torn in use, I have no idea. I only know that I haven’t had a period since that weekend, and there was a blue line on the test stick.’ She gulped. ‘On both sticks.’

‘Making certain, were you? Crossing the “t”s and dotting the “i”s?’ So like Tamara, he’d laugh if there was anything humorous about this. A chill was spreading through him. She wasn’t lying. It wasn’t a sick joke. Not that she’d ever do that. It was just that... It was impossible to believe.

Because he didn’t want to. He’d been running from getting involved for the last fourteen years. Hell, he’d come all the way down to New Zealand to keep the yearning for love and family at bay. To stand alone, not get close to anyone. Showed how much he knew. Seemed life had always been going to catch up with him, regardless of what he did.

‘There’s a lot at stake.’ There was a quiver in Tamara’s voice that rattled him.

And pricked his heart. Don’t go there. He wasn’t available. Conor opened up to the chill ramping through him, let it into his voice box. ‘Sure is. When did you do the tests?’

‘Friday. Then Saturday.’

Conor felt his face tighten, worked at softening his facial muscles. Failed. ‘You could’ve said something sooner. You’ve got my phone number.’ Genuine anger was moving in, heating his cheeks, deflecting the chill.

‘I could have, yes.’ Tamara swallowed, started again. ‘But I didn’t want to believe it. Telling you makes it irrefutably real.’

‘You were in denial.’ That he could understand. About where he was right now.

‘Totally. I have—’ Gasp. Her hands clenched tight on her elbows. ‘I had plans, and being pregnant is upending everything. Again. I’ve worked so hard to be in charge of my future.’

What did she mean by again? And being in charge of herself? Wasn’t everybody? ‘You don’t want the baby?’ he snapped. How did that make him feel? Relieved? Not at all. Really? Who the hell knew? Not him. He charged for the door, reached for the handle to haul it open. Stopped. Spun around to face her, rose up and down on his toes as he waited for her reply to his telling question.

‘I never said that,’ she said sharply. ‘Or implied it.’

‘Just checking.’ Sounding like a heel, boyo. Now, there was a surprise. His head was full to the brim with questions, denials, longings, anger—every blasted emotion under the sun. Name it, it was there. ‘I don’t know you well enough to read your mind.’

Tamara fixed him with a glare. ‘Then take this on board. I won’t be going to university next year after all, and I so wanted to become a doctor. Instead I’m having a baby. Then I’m going to be a mother, something I know next to nothing about.’ She stared at him, imploring him to understand. ‘I don’t want to be like my mother. She believed nannies were put on earth so she could go to charity meetings and play mediocre golf.’

The bitterness colouring those words was almost tangible and Conor wanted to wipe it away, make her feel better. So he remained by the door. Start doing that and who knew what would happen next. They had a lot to get through over the coming weeks and any out-of-the-ordinary moves like that would only turn everything murky. He had to be aloof, separate. ‘I’d have said she did a great job with you.’ There, honest but uninvolved.

Tamara snarled, ‘Don’t talk about something you know nothing about.’

Ouch. He’d hit a painful point, for sure. ‘Fair enough.’ He strode back to his chair, dropped into it and banged his feet on the desktop. His hands gripped together under his chin as he studied Tamara. Looking for what? He wasn’t sure.

‘There’s nothing fair about any of this,’ she retorted.

He couldn’t agree more. But what he said was, ‘You have no idea.’

‘About what?’ she asked in a rare belligerent tone.

‘I can’t have children.’

‘Wrong. You are having one next year. In April, I reckon. It’s no one else’s.’

‘I am not accusing you of lying to me, Tamara.’

She lurched, as though stabbed by pain. Her hands clenched even tighter. But she kept her head high and those cocoa-coloured eyes fixed on him. ‘Then I don’t understand.’

‘I can’t have children. It’s as simple as that.’

Someone knocking on the door had Conor hauling his feet off the table quick fast. ‘Go away. I’m busy,’ he yelled in frustration.

They both held their breaths until it became apparent whoever was out there had taken his advice.

Tamara asked quietly, ‘You can’t? Or won’t?’

Back to the elephant. She knew next to nothing about him, and he wasn’t about to let his tongue go crazy filling in the gaps. Though there was one detail he’d have to reveal. His feet hit the floor in an instant, and his head spun as he came upright. Not now. Not today.

‘Conor?’ Not so quiet.

‘Either way, it makes no difference.’

Tamara’s eyes narrowed. ‘If there are things I need to know for my baby’s sake then tell me.’

He moved away from the desk abruptly, his chair flung back against the wall. His hands went to his hips, held tight. ‘All my adult life I’ve actively avoided this exact moment. Yet here it is, staring me down.’ Commitment with a capital C.

‘Don’t you like children? You’re always amazing with them in the department, teasing and fun, easing their distress. I wouldn’t have believed you were faking it.’ She paused, and when he didn’t answer she continued. ‘We need to talk, about a lot of things. Seems you’ve got issues. Which means I do too. I need to know what they are, Conor. For our child’s sake, if nothing else.’

‘What I need right now is some air. This office is stuffy. I’ll see you back at work shortly.’ Pulling the door open, he stepped right up against Michael’s extended hand.

‘I was about to knock,’ the registrar muttered, dropping his hand quickly. ‘We’ve got a situation and you’re both needed. Urgently.’

‘I’m on my break.’ Conor hauled the brakes on his motor mouth, breathed deep. ‘Sorry, start again. What situation?’

I need to get away from here, from Tamara and the distress in those serious eyes. I need to work out what’s just happened. Have I spent fourteen years being deliberately solo for nothing?

He felt movement beside him, heard Tamara ask, in a voice that didn’t sound a lot stronger than his, ‘What is it, Michael?’

‘I’ve just got off the phone from Ambulance Headquarters. All hell’s about to break out. There’s been an accident involving a busload of children.’

Saved by the phone. Conor started down the corridor towards the centre of the department, and swore. He didn’t really wish harm on those kids so he could avoid facing up to Tamara’s news. News that at the moment had to go on hold. ‘Continue.’

‘A school bus has rolled off the motorway on-ramp in Newmarket. There are many serious casualties.’ The registrar’s voice slowed, dropped an octave. ‘And some fatalities.’

Conor saw the precise moment the reality of what he’d reported to them hit Michael. The guy’s eyes widened, and his body sagged a little. Something like his own reaction to Tamara’s news. Laying a hand on his shoulder, he said, ‘Okay, get everyone together and I’ll outline how we go about this.’

‘They’re all waiting for you and Tamara at the desk.’ Michael’s voice cracked. ‘This is huge.’

‘We’ll manage by breaking it down into components.’ Conor was already busy drawing up a mental list of people to call, jobs to do, equipment to check over. The moment he stood in front of his team he wasted no time. ‘Firstly, no one’s going home at three.’ The clock showed two thirty-five. He glanced at Tamara, who’d moved in beside Kelli.

Horror and despair for what they would shortly be dealing with filled her eyes. All of the previous distress about their own personal situation had been shoved aside. He nodded at her. Very impressive. She’d been ahead of him.

A tall, blond-haired man stepped into the area. ‘What’s up?’

‘Mac.’ Conor nodded at the head of the evening shift as he joined them. ‘We’re about to receive multiple stat one junior patients from a bus accident.’ He quickly added the few details he had. ‘You should take over right from the start. It’s going to be your roster.’

Mac shook his head. ‘No, you carry on, get things rolling. Your team’s all here, mine is yet to arrive.’

It made sense, and in some ways Conor was pleased. He preferred leading from the front, but that also meant there was a very long night ahead. He turned to Michael. ‘When can we expect the first patient?’ Patient, not child. It helped him keep his distance a little bit. But only until the first victim arrived. Then his heart would break for the child and his or her family. Every time he had to tell a parent bad news he saw his mother, distraught, inconsolable as she kissed his brother goodbye before the funeral.

Michael’s voice came through. ‘Coms couldn’t tell me times or numbers. She said it’s absolute chaos out there. Because we’re closest we get the first, most urgent cases, then they’ll start feeding out to other hospitals.’

‘First we need to clear as many beds as we can. Michael, what’ve we got?’

‘One lad about to have his arm put in plaster. A woman with unidentified head pain awaiting lab results. There are also two stat five patients in the waiting room.’

‘Kelli, take the boy, get him fixed up and on his way home. Michael, see if the general ward can accommodate the head-pain patient and let them follow up on her blood results as they come in.’

‘Onto it.’

‘Tamara.’ When had she come to stand next to him? Like she was offering support? He should’ve felt her there, but he wasn’t used to looking to someone else for comfort or sharing. He looked into that steady dark gaze and knew he was glad she was with him. For now they were on the same page, despite the chasm yawning between them. A baby. Longing unfurled slowly deep inside. Family. The thing he’d denied himself for life. Even when he’d desperately wanted one. Was this the universe’s way of saying he was wrong?

An elbow nudging his arm reminded him of what he was meant to be thinking about. Nothing to do with babies. ‘Right, Tamara.’

‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, clearly weighing up all that had to be done before their first little patient came through those wide doors from the ambulance bays.

‘In the waiting room, those stat fives. Send the man with the possible sprained ankle straight to Radiology. I’ll let them know he’s coming and why the hurry.’

‘Right.’ She made to move away.

She was obviously not as distracted as he was, then. This woman was the ultimate professional, hiding behind that impenetrable façade, letting nothing personal affect her work. He’d only once seen her mask come down completely. Whoa. Do not go there. ‘Wait. The man with a constant bleeding nose can go over the way to the emergency doctors’ clinic.’

‘He’s going to love that,’ Tamara muttered as she reached to pick up the patient notes.

‘Explain the situation. He’ll get just as good care there, and certainly a lot quicker. Tell Reception to send people to medical centres where possible after the triage nurse has assessed them. Once those kids start arriving no one else is going to get a look in unless they’re stat one.’

‘Give me the easy job, why don’t you?’ There was no acid in her retort. Maybe it wasn’t a retort, considering the lift of those full lips into something resembling a tentative smile. A Tamara smile—rarely given, and never over-eager—was something to hold onto.

Warmth flooded him because of that smile. Warmth that only Tamara seemed capable of giving him at a deeper level than just fun and enjoyment. He found her a smile in return, and drank in her surprise. Hopefully she didn’t know how she affected him when he wasn’t being careful, which around her was becoming more and more difficult. Hence why he’d applied for a job in Sydney, hopefully starting next month.

Staff from the next shift were wandering in one at a time. A low hum of whispers told the newcomers what they were about to deal with. Conor looked at Mac, who said, ‘Pretty much everyone’s here so carry on. You’ve started the process.’

Facing the eager faces, Conor told the nurses and registrars, ‘All of you, double check we’re ready and prepared for every eventuality. You know what to do. Treat this as you would any stat one coming through the door, but know there’s going to be a seemingly endless stream. It will come to an end, I assure you, but there’ll be moments when you doubt that.’ He paused to let his words sink in, then said, ‘I’ll be on the phone, putting people around the hospital on standby, but interrupt me if you find there’s a problem anywhere. There are going to be double ups amongst you but, believe me, you will all be required.’

Mac took over allocating jobs while Conor punched in the direct dial number for the theatre manager. ‘Sister, we have a situation.’ He quickly brought her up to speed and then left her to get on with cancelling surgeries and getting theatres prepared for the influx due any moment.

Theatres, done. Running through a mental list of who he had to notify, he punched in the next number. Radiology, then surgeons and other specialists, blood bank.

‘Everyone’s busy so I can take some of those calls.’ Mac stood in front of him, phone in hand. ‘Who’s next?’

‘Orthopaedics.’

Together they worked systematically through the list, the whole time Conor watching the minutes ticking by, feeling the tension building in himself and the department as the doors from the ambulance bay remained firmly shut. He slammed the phone down on his final call. ‘Come on. Where are these kids? The odds aren’t great if they don’t get here now.’

Mac shook his head. ‘We’re organised, ready and waiting. But, yeah, where the hell are those children?’

The buzzer screamed, cutting through the air, sounding louder and more urgent than normal. Instant silence fell across the department and every head turned towards those doors.

Conor drew a breath. ‘Okay, everyone, good luck. I know you’ll do your damnedest.’ And then some.

As he took a step his gaze slid from the doors to Tamara. She was pale, but ramrod straight, and her nod in his direction was assured. Then she was moving to let in their first patient, and Conor was right beside her.

‘Jamie Johnson, eight years old, severe concussion.’

Then the flood started.

‘Carole Miller, facial injuries, nine years old.’

‘Toby Crawford, eight years old, unconscious, suspected skull fracture, internal injuries.’

Once it began the line of trauma victims was continuous and the severity of the cases presenting mind-numbing. A brief gap ninety minutes in gave everyone time to nearly catch up before the second wave of children arrived. These kids were in worse condition than the initial ones because they’d taken longer to be extricated from the wreckage that had once been a bus.

‘We need blood here.’ Tamara was beckoning to the lab technician to take a sample for cross-match from her patient prior to his surgery for a severed foot.

‘And here,’ Kelli called from the next resus unit, where a tiny lad with a broken kneecap and torn artery lay whimpering in a fog of morphine.

Conor called to Tamara, ‘Get the orthopaedic surgeon in here.’

The phone was at her ear immediately as she hadn’t put it down from her last urgent call. For a brief moment they locked eyes and he felt a surge of adrenalin. It was like she was his other half. The calm, self-assured nurse who now had him under control and as calm as she was. The woman carrying his baby. Conor’s gut clenched. Baby. Child. Accidents. Death and destruction. Forget calm. What if something like this happened to their child? What—?

‘Here.’ Tamara shoved the phone at him and instantly replaced his hands with hers on their small patient’s leg to continue pressing on a pad staunching the blood flow that had restarted while they’d been investigating his injuries.

Conor swallowed down the fear and said into the phone, ‘Kay, we’ve got a lad whose left foot has been severed.’ As he rattled off details he refused to think about how the loss of a foot would affect a young child. Instead he concentrated on Tamara as she bent over the boy, whispering sweet nothings to him even when there wasn’t a chance in hell the boy heard a word. This was Tamara at her best. Calming.

That night in his bed she’d been the antithesis of calm.

Conor slammed the phone back on the hook. Concentrate, man. He called, ‘Orderly,’ and returned to the lad’s side. ‘Obs? How’s that oxygen flow?’

Mam, how did you survive watching Sebastian die?

Conor’s heart stopped. Slashing his forearm across his eyes, he stared at the boy before him. Life was so unfair. But he wasn’t going to let this kid die.

Bright lights flashed in the department, temporarily blinding Conor. ‘What the...?’

‘Get out of here,’ Tamara snarled. ‘Conor,’ she yelled. ‘We need Security. Yesterday.’

Conor blinked, saw rage fill Tamara’s face, her eyes, as she stalked past him towards a man pointing a camera in the direction of their patient.

‘The media?’ Tell me I’m wrong. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’ he demanded of the man, anger now running in his veins too.

‘Like they always do, by pushing people aside as if they have a right to.’ Tamara was shaking.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Ignore him. Our patient needs us.’ Where were those security guys?

The camera flashed again, and Tamara stepped away from it, her face contorted with a mix of anger and hopelessness. Then two guys in uniform were hauling the cameraman away none too gently.

Conor turned Tamara back to their case. ‘Don’t think about it. Save it for later. You’re needed with our lad at the moment.’

Her body shuddered as she drew a breath, and she slapped the back of her glove-covered hand across her cheeks. ‘They have no respect for anyone.’

‘Tam, focus now.’

‘Don’t call me Tam,’ she snapped, but at least her spine straightened and all her focus returned to where it was meant to be.

He worked with Tamara, stabilising and checking blood flow, oxygen, getting the boy ready for surgery. Then his patient was gone, onto the next phase of being put back together, though for the boy that would be a long process.

Tamara’s eyes were chilly and giving nothing away as she stretched her back, pushing her breasts up. His mouth dried. Then he recalled some comments made about her when he’d first started here. Something about how the media were always waiting to pounce if she so much as breathed out of order. She had history with them, but he’d never asked what it was about, figuring it was none of his business.

Now he wanted to take them all down in a bloody thrashing for upsetting Tamara.

A little girl arrived before them.

‘Nine years old, suspected fractures to both arms and legs, and possibly ribs.’ A nurse from the nightshift read the details as Conor nodded to the X-ray tech.

The thrashing would have to wait.

As would thinking about that baby.

* * *

The hours disappeared in a haze of anguish and despair. Children came through ED, some staying longer than others before moving on to Theatre, or, for the lucky ones, to the children’s ward with plaster casts or multitudes of stitches.

Finally, ‘We’re all done.’ Mac appeared from the adjoining resus unit, looking like he’d been living a nightmare for hours. Which he had. They all had.

It was over. Air leaked from Conor like a puncture as the tension that had been with him from the moment Michael had told them what they were in for softened. ‘I didn’t know they could fit so many children on one bus.’ The exhaustion that’d been beating him up earlier in the afternoon returned at full throttle. ‘Glad that’s done.’ Except there were parents throughout the hospital dealing with their worst nightmares.

Parents. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his thumbs, and was confronted with an image of Mam letting herself in through the front door, shoulders drooped, knees buckling. Those laughing eyes he’d looked for on waking every morning of his four short years had been dulled with pain and anguish. Her arms had shaken as she’d clung to him. He hadn’t recognised her voice as she’d croaked, ‘Sebastian and Daddy are in heaven, my love.’ And there had begun the rest of his life.

‘I’ve never dealt with anything like it.’ Mac rolled his neck left then right.

‘What?’

‘Go home, Conor. Get a beer in you and hit the sack.’

Looking around, Conor couldn’t find Tamara. He stumbled. ‘Where is everyone?’

Tam, did you cope? Really? Behind that mask, are you okay?

Mac was muttering, ‘I sent day shift home half an hour ago. They were shattered after already working a shift, and I figured my team could handle the remainder of cases. Not that they’re in much better shape.’

‘It’s going to be a long night for them.’ What was left of it.

Mac gave him a rueful smile. ‘You sure knew how to cope with the situation.’

‘For all the wrong reasons, unfortunately.’ The wall clock read nine twenty. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was after midnight. As it was, he’d be back on duty all too soon. With that thought his mind filled with the urgent need to get out of there while he could still walk. ‘I’m gone.’