The Carrero Effect Trilogy - Chapter #11 - Free To Read

I wake up to Nora placing a tray of homemade soup on a table beside the bed and realize I fell asleep again, another sign that I have a virus. The movie is still playing, so I mustn't have been out for too long. I move to sit up as Jake's hands come from beside me, lifting the cushions and helping me to sit.

He's on the bed next to me on top of the covers in sweats and a T-shirt with a mountain of files scattered beside him. It almost feels normal, like before any of this mess came between us. I guess while I slept, he's been keeping me company and working. Jake is doing what he does while he lets me relax and enjoy the peace.

"Thank you, Nora." I smile, looking down at the bowl of soup and plate of crusty bread served with a glass of fresh orange juice. The woman is a saint. She knows how to melt her way into my heart.

"How're you feeling?" Jake smooths back my hair as I pull the tray toward me. His fingers grazing my cheek as though checking my temperature, I can feel his eyes on me.

"Too fuzzy from sleeping to know." I smile at him over my shoulder quickly, halted by how gorgeous he looks. It makes my insides clench, part of me longing for a time before any of this happened when I could turn and curl into him without any of this emotional turmoil inside.

"How long was I out?" I turn my attention back to the bowl, leaning out of bed and taking a spoonful. The soup tastes amazing like I've been starved for a week.

"About an hour and a half." He picks up the files on his lap and shuffles them around. "The doctor said she'd be here about two hours after my call. So, eat up. She should be here soon."

He shifts and chucks a bunch of files onto the floor from his side of the bed. I hear them scatter as some slide across the surface. I have zero inclination to ask about work right now. If anything, this separation has highlighted how detached and non-interested in the Carrero Corporation I've become, and I know deep down I'll never go back to that job.

"I don't think I need to see a doctor, you know." I try to start reasoning with him, but the dark look on his face quietens me. He has that no-nonsense verging on yelling kind of scary look that I have no energy to handle right now.

Oh, hello, Boss Carrero; nice to see you still exist.

"Emma, whether you want to see her or not, she's coming." He watches me eat with his penetrating gaze, causing me to lose my confidence. "You're looking pale again." He leans over to feel my cheek and frowns. I don't feel hot, just tired and hungry, in fact, more than hungry. This soup is the best I've eaten in my life. Jake sighs and leans back, pulling his warm hands away; a mixed tingling of relief and disappointment runs through me.

* * *

Jake is right. Less than half an hour later, the lovely Doctor Rachael Brown is shown into the room to examine me. I tell her there's no point evicting Jake as he'll only linger, asking questions at the closed door every two minutes distracting her from her job. He has an air of command oozing from him, and he's in a no-nonsense mood. He's already hanging at the side of the bed with a grim expression as though he wants to beat someone.

"Doctor." He nods her way and watches her like a hawk.

She smiles indulgently and gives me a sympathetic look. I guess she's met a few overprotective men in her career, and it looks like she can handle the Carreros of this world.

"So, now, how can I help here?" She smiles sweetly, her voice as smooth as honey; with one perfectly manicured hand, she runs a stray copper hair back into her neat French roll. She looks more like one of Jake's top executives than a doctor.

"She's passed out more than once recently, this morning being the latest, and she vomited when we were out earlier. Something is just off with her. I can feel it. She never gets sick." Jake's husky tone and narrowed gaze are almost impaling her hands. He's watching intently as she moves a stethoscope toward me.

"You know she's not going to stab me with it, right?" I giggle at him and watch his facial expression soften slightly. He gives me half a smile, and the doctor smirks from the corner of her mouth as she encourages me to pull down the sheets so she can get to my chest and abdomen.

Jake walks over to his wardrobe and comes back with a T-shirt. I'm just wearing underwear right now, so he holds it out to me as the doctor moves behind me to listen to my back, and I slide it on over my head awkwardly.

"Do you have any other symptoms or concerns?" She's gazing at me intensely, checking my throat and glands, generally fluttering around my body while she listens to me. Despite being all over me, her hands are surprisingly soft, warm, and completely non-intrusive.

"I want to sleep an awful lot, constantly feel exhausted, a little weak, I guess, and I've noticed I'm hungrier than normal." I sigh and catch Jake's eyes narrowing even further. I know he's accusing me of not telling him something important. It's not like wanting more food, and being crazy tired is a symptom of anything but emotional exhaustion and insomnia. So he can take that glare elsewhere! I narrow my eyes back at him, and I'm met with that stubborn furrow on his brow.

"Hmm, mmm, hmmm." The doctor pulls something from her bag and a book and jots some things down.

"Anything else? Tender anywhere? Unusual behaviors or cravings?" She's not looking at me but rummaging in her bag, pulling out some bottles and vials, then moving to stand.

"Um … not that I can think of." I hate being put on the spot when I haven't been paying attention to my own body. "I've been distracted with other things lately, so I've not taken much notice of anything like that," I explain, smiling. But then I catch Jake's glare dissipating. He looks completely guilt-ridden and hangs his head a little. The effect is devastating, and a surge of aches hits me hard. I want to reach out and cuddle him and make it go away. He looks so forlorn.

"I think some urine and bloods might be a good idea. Then, some more questions and a more thorough workup. Are you okay with that?" She blinks at me with a professional smile, and I nod. I catch Jake in the corner of my eye, hands in pockets, leaning back against the flat gray paintwork with the air of a guy who has no will to do anything but wait and watch. He's obviously mulling things over in his head, lost in his regrets and guilt. I want to pull him out of it and wrap myself around him. But the doctor's hands jolt me back to what she needs to do right now.

During the next half hour, she examines me thoroughly, questioning me endlessly about my daily routines and other things that don't seem to have much relation to tiredness and extreme hunger. She takes blood and asks me to urinate in a cup which is awkward, given that the act of standing makes me feel too lightheaded. Jake tries to come to my rescue, but there's no way I want him to watch me peeing in a cup. I hold him back with a raised palm, hating the look of pain that flashes across his face. He must think I'm refusing his help because of what has happened this last week. He moves back to his deflated posturing against the wall, sinking into a quiet, somber mood; I hate him this way.

The doctor takes away everything she has collected, all cups and samples, and moves to the oak unit that sits against the bedroom wall. She spends a long time pouring, dipping, and using other chemicals and powders in her chemistry kit. Watching her is fascinating, and it reminds me of the scientists in CSI.

She has a very serious expression while she dips and tests and writes down notes, then picks it up and takes things to the bathroom to clear them up. No one has said a word in what feels like an eternity, there are long, tense silences, and the apartment is eerily quiet, despite Nora being out there somewhere. We wait patiently while she disposes of things in the trash and washes her hands in the sink for at least five agonizing minutes.

Jake pushes off the wall and sits on the bedside, helping me fix his T-shirt so I can remove my uncomfortable bra from underneath. He pulls up my sheets, kissing me lightly on the forehead as though I am a simple sick child who needs mothering. He plumps the cushions for me wordlessly, guarding his emotions, his face is set in a blank expression, but his body language betrays his worried demeanor.

"What's the verdict, doc?" He watches the doctor as she strolls back into view. She writes something studiously on a medical pad left on the side unit and turns to look at us with a smile. He tenses, then take a long deep breath very slowly, emanating all kinds of fear. It makes me want to wrap my arms around his neck to make him feel better. He's the boyish young version of himself right now, and I'm incapable of withstanding that side of him.

"Emma, are you okay with discussing a diagnosis in front of Mr. Carrero?" She eyes me kindly, with a no-nonsense attitude and raised brow that tells me she intends to evict him if necessary. Jake stiffens. He either doesn't like her question, and it's grating on his infamous ego, most likely bristling with an attitude ready to take her on, or he's worried that the diagnosis is something to be truly scared about.

"It's fine. You can tell Jake anything you have to tell me." I graciously smile, knowing full well the drama that would ensue if I dared to make him leave. It would be horrific.

Jake cuts in instantly.

"So, what is it? What's wrong with her?" His low growl indicates he's stressed over the diagnosis, his caveman aggressive demeanor a show of the scared Jake, who her attitude has riled. I know him too well. He's clasping my hands, playing with my fingers in his I'm nervous as hell way, but to anyone else, he looks terrifyingly pumped and ready to beat someone down.

The doctor isn't fazed at all. She starts sliding her tools back into her open case, smoothing down her jacket, in a show of control and poise that PA Emma would have admired, and smiles widely, turning her full attention to my face.

"Nothing eight months of TLC won't cure, and I'll have your blood tests checked for low iron." She smiles, seemingly pleased with herself. She doesn't falter at her hidden joke and moves to close the front part of her case.

"Eight … Months …?" Jake's face blanks. He repeats it almost numbly, something registering in his head that I'm not getting, but his whole demeanor is stunned. His voice is suddenly breathy, and all the aggression evaporates.

"Give or take … Here." She hands me a slip of paper. "It's a prescription for some folic acid and some vitamins." Another bright smile, an air of confidence at thinking I know what she means, but I truly don't.

"Doctor Brown … Why eight months? What's wrong?" I blink up at her, confused by her manner and answers. Perplexed at Jake's instant zombie-like state. It's like I've entered the twilight zone.

Why do I need vitamins? What's wrong with me? Shit … I really am sick. I don't feel sick, and eight months to recover is not good at all.

She smiles at us and sits on the edge of the bed. Jake is being scarily silent, staring blankly at her and her apparent two heads. His hands have clamped on mine firmly, and there's a good chance he's stopped breathing. My stomach is tightening in fear, my senses are going haywire, and my fingers are turning a little blue at Jake's deathly grip.

What the hell?

"I'm guessing I should be more direct, Emma. I'm saying you're pregnant. Given the answers to my questions, I would say you're roughly under a month gone. Your contraception failed, I'm afraid." She beams at me as though this is the most wonderful news in the world, but my throat tightens, and my stomach flips out. The room tips as the bubbling surge of panic hits me hard.

What?

Jake doesn't move. I'm not sure he even heard her. He's acting like he's in a trance. The complete opposite of what my inner mind is doing.

"Pregnant?" He finally says before his shoulders flex, and his fingers loosen the death grip on mine. He seems to sag a little, still staring but now down at his lap. His mind must be running through the possibility and the realization of what is happening, but I'm just freaking out. My mind is racing, my palms are sweating, and my throat is closing.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

"You're going to be a father." She smiles at him and pats his arm gently before getting up. "I should leave you two to it, let it sink in. Congratulations to you both." She pulls her bag up onto her shoulder. "You have my number. Call when you want to discuss details about having her transferred to a specialist, Mr. Carrero. I can recommend a few. Emma, good luck." She gets up to go, and the panic surges over me in a terrifying wave of ice, loosening my tongue at last.

"Wait. I can't be. I mean, I really can't. I'm on the pill, and we, I mean, I … haven't missed one. It's not possible. This isn't what was supposed to happen. I mean, I should know. I would have known, wouldn't I? Oh, my God. I can't … I can't be pregnant; how can you be sure? You can make a mistake, right?" I'm rambling, voice bubbling out in sheer freak-out mode and about two tones higher than normal. My hands are flapping crazily in front of me. She pauses and gently lays a calming hand on my shoulder, leaning in close enough to make me sit still with bated breath.

"They pay me the big bucks because I'm never wrong, sweetie. Contraception isn't one hundred percent, and you're probably a little in shock right now. Take time to think it through and contact me with any questions until I sort you out a referral." She pats me gently. Then without any sign of me responding due to being completely speechless, she gets up with a goodbye to Jake, who is, quite frankly, freaking me out with his unearthly quietness. She moves off, smiling gently and waving, then walks out without another word as we both sit silent, still staring at the spot she vacated.

I turn my head to look to him for some help, willing him to say something … Anything … To make this better, take it away, or help me stop floundering and freaking out. My body is ready to self-combust with the sheer amount of panic coursing through my veins, and I want to shake him hard.

Fucking snap out of it.

A strange sense of disbelief washes over me, some inner voice trying to get me to calm down. I don't think I'm awake. If I stay still, then I almost feel like I'm dreaming. I can try not to think about what she's just said as the cold fear washes over me, over and over, like an all-consuming black hole. I'm sure doctors get it wrong all the time.

Even the $10,000 a pop variety that Jake employs?

"Emma?" Jake's gravelly tone cuts into my thoughts, his grip on my hand has almost fallen away, and now he's looking at me with an odd expression, a faraway spooky look in his eyes. He breaks into a slow, steady smile as though realization has crept up from somewhere low down, and he jerks forward in a flash, kissing me on the mouth ungracefully, hauling me into his arms for a hug. His reaction completely shakes me, the wind is knocked out of me, and I'm still reeling from this new development. Jake's face radiates sheer joy, from zombie to hyperactive crazy man in one swift move, and it only makes me want to throat punch him even more right now.

"Jake, she has to be wrong. I'm on the pill! I haven't missed any." The tears in my eyes are threatening to spill down my face, my body is like Jell-O, and I'm shaking. The shock is changing into some sort of soul-gnawing reality that this is not a dream. Jake holds me close, wrapping me in his arms slowly and carefully, as though he's expecting me to turn hellcat and fight him, his eyes on me warily.

"It's going to be okay, Bambina." His soothing tone holds my panic in place and stops it from escalating into the full-blown hysteria that has been simmering inside me. His embrace unleashes the overwhelming emotion hiding behind the fear in the recesses of my confuddled brain, and it comes springing out, causing me to burst into tears.

I can't be … I'm not ready for this. I don't even know if I want to be a mother. Ever. I have no plan in place for this, no real expectation of ever doing this.

"Hey, baby, it's not what we expected, but it's not awful. Don't cry. I know you're scared, Emma, but I'll always look after you. I'm right here." His tone almost sounds … pleased! I sit back, glaring at him in complete disbelief, wiping my hand across my sodden face, blinking at him as though he's lost the plot. I'm sure he's had some mental breakdown. Am I the only one seeing complete sense of how ridiculous this is?

"How is this not awful? How is this not fucking craziness personified? This is a life, a real human life between us that we never even talked about, let alone planned." I choke on the tears forcing their way out, and Jake wipes them away, receiving a hand slap in the process. It seems anger was close behind my emotional outburst, and I'm suddenly ragingly aggressive and want to smash things.

Barely five minutes ago, we were contemplating a life apart and whether I can ever let you kiss me again, and now we're having a … Oh, my God, I can't even say it.

Anger gives way to choking fear. My head is a mass of confusing emotions and feelings swirling dangerously close to consuming me. I think I'm having some sort of heart attack.

"I know you're scared, Miele. I know this is a shock, but Emma, we're going to be okay. It changes nothing about how much I will fight to make you trust me. It just gives me more reason to pull out all the stops." He looks down at my abdomen and smiles. I have a serious urge to punch him in the face. Jake Carrero has left the building, and some doppelgänger crazy weirdo is sitting in his place. There's no way in goddamn hell he can seriously think this is a good thing.

What the hell is wrong with him?

"Jake, it's easy for you to say … You don't have to be pregnant, or give birth, or do whatever a mother does! Or be a mother!" I flap my hands at him, and he has the sense to lean back, so his face is out of range, but he looks just the same. Happiness is bubbling under the straight and serious expression he's trying to keep up for my sake only. "How the fuck can I be a mother?! I don't know how a mother is supposed to be! I haven't even touched a baby; I've never met one up close. Do you have any idea how stupid this is? How messed up we are, and how bad would bringing a life into this situation be?! Oh, my God, I think I'm going to be sick."

I flail my arms around, trying to grasp the sheets of the bed to get out, but Jake is quick. He scoops me up and hauls ass to the bathroom just in time to get my head aimed at the toilet bowl.

I give up my chicken soup in an unladylike projectile manner before slumping back into his arms and start crying again. Emotional train wreck Emma is making a grand comeback in remarkable fashion. I literally have no control over the emotions I possess. I can't even begin to dissect them or get them into any real order or control.

So much for a timeout!

"And how many more months of this?" I yell at him. I cry, hopelessly waving my hands at the toilet, grabbing the flusher in repulsion, and sniffing back new tears. "And the fucking crying … I'm so done with all this crying!"

"Listen to me." He pulls me into his lap on the floor and cradles my face close to his, trying to calm down the freak-out I'm in the middle of having. He battles with my hands so I'm not quite so viciously poised for attack and smooths his fingertips across my mouth, softly and slowly. He knows how to bring my focus to him. It slows down my crazy, my temper taking a moment to pause, drawn into his touch. Despite the whirlwind inside of me, he's grounding me as effortlessly as he always does.

Breathe, Emma, and get control. Watch those endless eyes and take some calm from him.

"Take a breath slowly with me … Try to calm down. Breathe with me, Bambina." Jake moves so our noses are touching and inhales slowly, those wicked fingers tenderly stroking my bottom lip, encouraging me to do it too. I follow his steady breathing in and out as those captivating green eyes keep me locked in place. Slow, even, steady deep breathing and exhaling until I feel less psychotic. He's bringing some sense of control back to my body, even if my emotions are still out of whack.

"You need to let this sink in, okay? If you really don't want to do this, Emma, there are other options. I wouldn't ever force this upon you." The heartbreak on his face makes me feel physically sick, and I think back to when he told me about asking Marissa to terminate her baby. I doubt he looked at her the same way he does me at the idea of a termination. The look on his face has the same gut-wrenching effect on me as seeing him cry did.

No, I couldn't do that to him … to us.

I shake my head, catching the sweep of instant relief washing over him, removing any doubt about whether he wants this. I wish I could feel the same way, but at least I know part of me, somewhere inside, refuses to consider termination. I've never been someone to have an opinion over pro-choice. I've always believed everyone should have their own choice in life and follow a path that makes them happy in all things.

"I'm not going to get rid of our baby, Jake. I wouldn't hurt you that way." I sob as the words hit me.

Our baby.

It's like a slap. Saying the words without even thinking about them somehow makes this more real.

We're going to have a child together, our own little bundle of Jake and Emma mixed up together for eternity, a creation inside of me that we put there.