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  Kevin Dreiger was tall, black, and absolutely shredded. As was expected, given the fact that he had been a champion boxer in his not-so-distant youth, but had since resigned himself to run his own boxing school. Arielle knew little of sports, and less of boxing, but she had been intrigued by Kevin’s story when he had first let small details about it leak to her.

  It had started innocuously enough: after one of their sessions—much like the current one—she had passed by his office and had asked about the belt that was encased in a worn wooden and glass box in his small office.

  “What’s that?”

  Nothing could have been more innocuous than those two words.

  And, to Kevin’s credit, he had been reluctant to talk about it. Not in an artificially bashful sort of way, but because it appeared as if he truly missed the sport. It pained him to talk about it.

  But there were no secrets in the Internet era, and it had revealed all to Arielle.

  At the height of his career, just as he was coming into the big money fights, Kevin endured a twelve-round brawl with Kenny ‘Big Toe’ Bard. Kevin had won by unanimous decision, but he had spent nearly a month in the hospital trying to remember how to do the most rudimentary of things: brush his teeth, feed himself…he even had to remember how to sleep.

  Not surprisingly, Kevin didn’t want to talk about this, save for mentioning that he could have kept competing. And, based on his physique, she didn’t doubt that part. But the risks had been too great for him, so he had resolved himself to be here—to run a boxing gym that he opened. It mustn’t have been an easy decision, as she had read some ridiculous rumors about how much the promoters had thrown at him to fight again.

  Or so the story went.

  “Arielle? You ready? You look lost.”

  Arielle shook her head and let the motion travel all the way down to her taped hands.

  She cleared her throat, and took her eyes off of Kevin’s handsome face.

  One time. A mistake. Only one time.

  Kevin smiled as if he knew what she was thinking.

  “Left, right, left.”

  Arielle drove her fists into the punching bag. She finished with the left hook even before the instruction came out of Kevin’s mouth. Her final punch had so much power behind it that it surprised Kevin, and he had to take a large step backward to avoid staggering. His smile grew.

  She looked down at her right hand, her fist still tightly clenched. Even though it had been expertly taped, she could see a dot of blood soaking into the tape on the middle knuckle, exactly where she had struck Dr. Barnes’ face.

  Kevin took a step back and started to step out from behind the heavy bag, but Arielle shook her head. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his ebony skin glistened in the poor lighting like polished glass.

  “More,” she said, again averting her eyes.

  One time only.

  “It’s been over an hour, Arielle. I think—”

  Again she shook her head.

  “More.”

  Kevin shrugged and retreated behind the heavy bag again, bracing himself against it. He knew when she got this way that the punches were going to come hard and fast.

  “You’re the boss,” he said, his voice muffled again. “Left, right…”

  Arielle drove her fists into the bag, grunting heavily with each punch.

  One time only.

  Chapter 9

  “You nervous?”

  “No—why would you ask that? Do I look nervous?”

  Martin shrugged.

  “Not really.” He paused. “Maybe. I’m nervous.”

  He looked over at her and smiled. Arielle smiled back.

  “Hey, what do you think about this whole sympathy weight thing? Think I’ll look good with an extra twenty or thirty pounds around my gut?”

  He pushed his stomach out, straining it against the seatbelt. Then he puffed his cheeks.

  “Shut up,” she replied, punching him playfully on the shoulder.

  The truth was, Arielle wasn’t nervous, even though she knew she probably should have been, given what they had been through.

  And then there was Dr. Barnes.

  Martin had insisted that they see another OB/GYN, but Arielle had put her foot down. It was important to her that it was Dr. Barnes that saw her, not only because an apology was definitely in order, but a little part of her—a small, teeny-tiny piece of her brain—was proud of the fact that she had conceived without the tests he had been so insistent on.

  I didn’t need your tests.

  Gloating about this was petty and childish, which she was acutely aware of, but she was pregnant, and weren’t pregnant women allowed to be a little irrational sometimes?

  Just the thought of being pregnant made her hands subconsciously fall to her belly in a protective fashion. For the past few weeks, she had caught herself rubbing at the small pouch of excess skin without even knowing it. She had tried to convince herself that it was to soothe her sore abdominal muscles—a consequence of puking nearly every morning for the past three weeks—but this was a lie.

  After seven years of trying to get pregnant, she felt the need to protect the tiny cluster of cells growing in her womb.

  Protect them, then it, and then him or her. That was her goal now.

  Nothing else mattered, least of all a little abdominal soreness.

  “Air?”

  She turned back to Martin.

  “Hmm?”

  “I said, ‘Are you gonna play nice’?”

  Arielle made a face.

  “With Dr. Barnes,” Martin clarified. “No more right hooks?”

  Arielle smiled and resisted the urge to look down at the knuckles of her right hand. The bruising had long since healed, but just the sight of the ridges of her pale hand reminded her of what she had done.

  “No, no right hooks. Promise.”

  Martin raised an eyebrow, clearly doubting her. Arielle chuckled.

  “No, for real, no punching this time. I swear.”

  “And you’re really sure you want to see him? You don’t want to see a different doctor?”

  Arielle turned her gaze back to the window. It was another incredibly sunny day out as summer slowly came into full bloom.

  July… that means I’ll be giving birth in spring.

  To Arielle, it seemed like the perfect timing: giving birth in the spring meant summer walks with the stroller.

  “Dr. Barnes is fine,” she replied. “Besides, I owe him an apology.”

  Martin laughed as they pulled into the doctor office parking lot.

  “Yep, you sure do.”

  Arielle considered punching him on the shoulder again, but decided against it.

  Her punching days were over.

  * * *

  The good news was that there was nothing on Dr. Barnes’s face suggesting that about a month ago he had suffered from a vicious right hook.

  The bad news was that the doctor wasn’t smiling, which, in Arielle’s estimation, was never a good thing.

  “So,” the doctor began. The man was looking down at a chart in his hands, presenting the top of his shiny bald head to her and Martin.

  “Wait, Doc, before you begin, I need to say something.”

  The doctor raised his eyes but kept his head cocked downward. Martin leaned forward in his chair, propping himself up as if he might need to spring up at any moment to prevent her from pummeling the doctor. The scene was so bizarre that Arielle almost laughed, but she managed to stifle the sound at the last moment. Hormonal or not, laughing at a time like this probably wouldn’t go over well. She had, after all, popped Dr. Barnes a good one the last time she was there.

  “I feel very badly about what happened last time I was here… and I’m incredibly embarrassed. It obviously wasn’t your fault that I couldn’t get pregnant, but I think—”

  Her desire to laugh suddenly transitioned into a deep sadness and a need to cry. But, like the chuckle, she forced this away too.

  “—it�
��s just… it took so damn long to get pregnant, you know? And I always wanted children, and I mean always.”

  She realized that she was rambling and decided to end the awkwardness before she talked herself into a corner.

  “But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” she finished with a broad smile.

  Dr. Barnes didn’t return the expression. Instead, the man methodically flipped through the file in his hands as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

  Arielle made a face.

  Did he not hear me?

  But then the doctor laid the file on his desk and turned to her, staring directly into her eyes.

  “Thank you,” he said. “And I’m very happy to hear that you and Martin managed to conceive.”

  His response was curt, direct, to the point. Evidently, it would take some time for the doctor to become friendly with her again.

  That’s okay, Doc, I have nine months to make it up to you.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Martin settle back into his chair.

  Good, at least he is loosening up.

  “But I feel compelled to let you know that my wife was none too happy about my bruised jaw.” He brought a slender hand to his face and rubbed the left side of his chin. “And if it happens again, well…”

  Arielle shook her head.

  “No way… Like I said, I am so sorry. Won’t happen again. Ever.”

  Dr. Barnes nodded.

  “Alrighty,” Martin piped in. “Now that we’ve gotten that awkwardness out of the way, what’s next, Doc?”

  Arielle answered before the doctor had a chance.

  “Blood test,” she said simply.

  Both men in the room turned to look at her. She shrugged.

  “What? I’ve been trying to get pregnant for seven years, you didn’t think I would do some research?”

  Martin’s gaze moved from her to the doctor and he shrugged.

  It was his ‘What do you want me to do?’ expression.

  “You’re right, Mrs. Reigns—”

  “Please, Arielle.”

  “Blood test first, Arielle. We need to confirm that you’re pregnant. But I also want to talk to you about your habits, and how things might change, including your emotional state, your body, and…”

  Confirm that I’m pregnant?

  None of the other words registered with her.

  “Oh, I’m pregnant, Dr. Barnes. There’s no question about that.”

  Her hands subconsciously fell to her stomach and started kneading the area gently.

  Dr. Barnes raised one of his gray eyebrows.

  “Morning sickness?”

  Arielle inhaled sharply.

  “Oh yeah.”

  The man looked to Martin for confirmation, who made a face and nodded vigorously.

  “How often?”

  “Once a day, maybe twice.”

  “Is it food or just bile coming up?”

  Martin scrunched his nose.

  Well, if you think this is gross, you have another thing coming…

  “Mostly bile.”

  The doctor reached back onto his desk and quickly filled out a prescription.

  “Promathezine,” he informed her, holding out the sheet of paper. “Take every four hours as necessary.”

  Arielle hesitated before taking the paper.

  “It’s been seven years, Doc; I’ve actually been looking forward to this part.”

  She offered what she thought was a convincing smile. The doctor didn’t retract his hand.

  “That’s a first. But it’s good to have on hand, just in case. As I said, ‘as needed’.”

  Arielle shrugged and politely acquiesced, taking the paper and jamming it into her purse.

  “Come sit in this chair and we’ll get blood drawn, and then follow up with a pap smear. Usually we don’t do the pap this early, but because you are here, and given your—” He paused again, eying her as he selected his words carefully. “—aversion to tests, I figured we’d get it over with?”

  Arielle wasn’t sure if it was a question or an instruction, but she nodded anyway.

  Now, it didn’t matter. Now, she would allow aliens to finger every orifice to make sure everything was fine with the baby.

  Arielle rolled up her sleeves and pulled down her pants as instructed, and after filling three vials of blood and having her insides scraped, she returned to her seat beside Martin.

  “As you’ve obviously done your research, I don’t think I need to tell you that you shouldn’t drink or smoke or do any drugs at this point.”

  Arielle rolled her eyes.

  Martin reached over and shook her arm.

  “You hear that, honey? No more doobie aperitifs.”

  Arielle shrugged him off, her eyes intent on Dr. Barnes. The bald man, clearly not amused, shook his head.

  “I’m not just talking about street drugs, but cold and headache medicines, too. You need to be careful, Arielle, especially given your advanced—”

  The man hesitated as if he had just realized that he was about to swear.

  Advanced age. Say it, Doc. I won’t hurt you.

  Again.

  Dr. Barnes cleared his throat.

  “—given your advanced condition.”

  Arielle almost laughed again.

  Hormones; it’s my hormones.

  “No Advil, only Tylenol. Do you guys want to wait around for the blood test results, or would you prefer to wait for my call? It should only be an hour or two.”

  Martin turned to Arielle.

  “Up to you.”

  “No, that’s fine, Doc.” She patted her stomach and laughed. “Anyways, it’s a friend’s Fourth of July party, and we’re gonna be late as it is.”

  Martin nodded.

  “Gonna miss the tequila shots.”

  Dr. Barnes’s thin lips pressed together tightly.

  “Well, listen, someone will give you a call if anything strange pops up on the blood test or pap. Other than that, I’ll see you back here in two weeks to do a preliminary ultrasound—just book an appointment with the secretary on the way out.”

  Arielle thanked the man and apologized again for what had happened last time.

  “You just take care of yourself, now, okay? Being pregnant can have a dramatic effect on your mood and emotions.”

  Martin piped in before she had a chance to say anything.

  “What, Arielle? Emotional? No way, not my wife…”

  Arielle leaned over and punched him playfully on the shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Dr. Barnes leaning away from her, a frown plastered on his clean-shaven face.

  Chapter 10

  “Do we tell them?”

  They were almost at the Woodward’s place, running only about an hour late for their friends’ annual, if a few days premature, Fourth of July party.

  The mood inside the car was one of elation, what with both of them glad that the encounter with Dr. Barnes had gone so, well, uneventfully. Still, the heightened mood was not going to stop Martin from making jokes about the middle-aged man.

  “They say we should wait until the three-month ultrasound before we tell people,” Arielle answered. “What do you think? Tony and Charlene know we have been trying for so long. And besides, Charlene is a hawk. She will know right away if I’m not drinking.”

  Martin bit his lip as he mulled this over. A moment later, they pulled into the driveway of the Woodward’s modest ranch-style home.

  “I could make you virgin drinks, pretend like I’m putting alcohol in there.”

  “Too sneaky. Too tricky.”

  “Well, I’ll leave it up to you, then, Mrs. Mayweather. I don’t want to make the wrong decision and get punched out.”

  Arielle laughed.

  “Are you going to hold this over on me forever?”

  Martin jammed the car into park and opened his door.

  “Nope, not forever. Just until you are too old and decrepit to punch me.” He shadowboxed in the summer air. “Or
until you lose your title.”

  Arielle said nothing; she knew Martin well enough to know that if she commented, it would only egg him on. Instead, she slowly pulled herself out of the car and into the bright sun.

  The iconic vocals of Brad Nowell belting out ‘What I Got’ led them directly to the backyard. As they got closer, Arielle thought she heard the equally recognizable sound of sausages sizzling on a barbecue over the music. And even if she couldn’t hear them—if she was just imagining the sound—she definitely smelled them. And she was ravenous.

  Eating for two.

  She felt a little bit like Daredevil, what with her pregnancy enhancing her senses. Which probably wasn’t always a good thing. Case and point, Martin’s Talisker 18.

  “We’ll play it by ear,” she whispered to Martin as he swung the gate open.

  The Woodward’s backyard was small, roughly ten by twenty feet, but like most proud homeowners in Batesburg, South Carolina, even the small patch of grass between the flagstones and the back fence was fastidiously manicured and a vibrant, almost inorganic shade of green.

  Arielle barely had time to take it all in before someone spotted them.

  “Hey! Martin! Arielle!”

  Tony Woodward waved a beefy arm high in the air, as if he were signaling to them over the immense crowd… of six or seven other partygoers. Eight if you counted little Thomas, who was not yet two.

  Tony was a large man, even by Carolina standards. With crossly cropped hair, the style of which bordered on military, and small, beady eyes and matching mouth, he always reminded Arielle of a small man trapped in a fat suit. He was wearing a grease-smeared apron with the words ‘Kiss the ‘Cue’, which were only just legible amidst a spattering of mustard and ketchup stains. He was standing in front of an open barbecue with tendrils of grease-saturated smoke drifting up in front of his face.

  Martin made it to Tony first. Without hesitation, he grabbed the big man in a bear hug. Martin was not a small man by any means, but even he had a hard time getting his arms even halfway around Tony’s broad back.

  “Smells good, my man,” Martin said as they disengaged.

  “Glad you could make it.”

  Tony leaned over and kissed Arielle on the cheek.