The Nurse's Newborn Gift (6 page)

“So work it is.” She returned to the table, clearing Spencer's delicious entrée. “What's the final diagnosis on Alfonso? Concussion?” She took the plastic wrap from a drawer.

“You know I can't discuss my patients with you,” he said.

Right. The rules of confidentiality applied to all health care professionals, not just doctors and nurses. “So what
can
you tell me?” She wrapped up the leftovers and put them in the refrigerator, kind of liking this bit of shared domesticity and having someone to talk to. “Describe a typical work day.”

“First thing we do is get the water together to keep the athletes hydrated during practices and games.” He continued washing the dishes while he talked. Krissy picked up a towel and started to dry. “We stock the med kits with appropriate medical supplies. Then the athletes start coming in for pre-practice or pre-game treatments consisting of modalities such as therapeutic ultrasound or electrical stimulation—for pain control or edema reduction, manual therapy, anything from stretching to spinal and/or joint mobilization. In soccer we tape a lot of ankles as a preventative measure to avoid injuries. We attend all practices and games to handle any medical emergencies.”

“What types of medical emergencies have you dealt with?”

“You name it, I've probably seen it. Everything from orthopedic injuries, sprains, strains and fractures, to head injuries, to lacerations and contusions. Heat stroke, hypoglycemic shock. Cardiac emergencies like commotio cordis.”

“Commotio what?”

“A disruption of the heart rhythm as a result of a strong blow to the chest directly over the heart.”

“Yikes. What do you do for that?”

“Apply an AED—automated external defibrillator—as soon as possible and activate emergency medical services to get the player to the hospital. The one time I had to deal with it, the player lived. Not all of them do.”

The kitchen clean and their conversation winding down, Krissy realized she'd been enjoying their visit and didn't want him to leave. “If you don't have plans tonight, would you want to hang out and watch a movie?” she asked, turning on the light in her sparsely furnished living room then retrieving the remote from the coffee table. “We could rent something On Demand.” In the fully lit room, Krissy noticed the crib, or more precisely, the missing pile of leftover pieces she'd stacked beneath it. “Hey. Did you work on the crib while I was sleeping?”

“Yeah,” he called from the kitchen.

“You know I had every intention of going back over the directions to see where I went wrong. I wouldn't put J.J. in an unsafe crib.”

Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, Spencer said, “I know you wouldn't put J.J. in an unsafe crib.”

At least that was something.

“But I wanted to help and you were sleeping so I helped.”

Thank goodness. Even though she had, in fact, planned to retrace her assembly steps, she wasn't looking forward to it.

“I put together the changing table too.”

Krissy lifted the box to find it empty.

“I moved it into your bedroom, but I can put it anywhere you'd like.”

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “Bedroom's fine.”

“I'll put the crib in there too if that's where you want it.”

“I can wheel it in there.”

“So ice cream and a movie?” he asked.

Sounded great to her, she clicked on the television. But when she turned around to set the remote back down on the coffee table, her eyes slid over her small couch, the only place to sit in the living room, other than the floor. A niggling worry in the back of her mind had her thinking maybe being alone with Spencer, on the same couch, wasn't such a great idea.

“What?” he asked, still able to read her better than most.

“Uh.” How to explain? She pointed to the couch. “That's the only thing I have to sit on.”

“So?”

She pointed back and forth between them. “There seems to be some latent sexual chemistry between us that's, I don't know, come back to life or something.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway, looking amused.

“Stop it,” she snapped.

“Worried you won't be able to resist me?”

So cocky. “Worried I won't be able to resist smacking you is more like it.” She stormed past him into the kitchen and yanked open her freezer.

“Krissy,” he said.

“Don't.” She found the sundae he'd brought for her, set it on the counter and reached into an upper cabinet for a bowl. Then she pulled out the silverware drawer and took out a sharp knife and a spoon.

“Krissy,” he said again, standing closer this time.

She ignored him, ripping a banana from one of the two big bunches on her counter, peeling it, slicing it and placing the pieces into the bottom of the bowl. Then she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a container of fresh strawberries. “I'm kind of tired,” she lied as she washed and sliced a few, placing them in the bowl too. “You should probably go.” She scooped half of the ice cream and fudge topping into the bowl then put the rest back into the freezer.

That's when she noticed Spencer staring at her with an odd expression on his face.

“What?”

“Strawberries and bananas.”

Jarrod's favorite fruits.

“Back in high school you wouldn't eat strawberries because you didn't like it when the tiny seeds got stuck in your teeth.”

Still didn't like it.

“And you hated bananas, used to give Jarrod such a hard time whenever he ate one in front of you, said you couldn't even stand the smell.”

Or the way they got so mushy. “Yeah. In some sick turn of events, since my morning sickness ended I crave them, can't get enough of them.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I bet Jarrod's up in heaven laughing himself sick about it.”

Spencer smiled. “Probably.”

Krissy took a spoonful of ice cream, making sure to include some banana, some strawberry and some fudge. The flavors converged on her taste buds. Amazingly fantastic. Better than sex. Not really. Not even close. She turned to Spencer. “Why are you still here?”

“What's wrong?”

She shoved another perfectly composed spoonful of ice cream into her mouth to put off having to answer.

All too soon her mouth was empty. But when she tried to fill it again, Spencer put a hand on her forearm to stop her. “Talk to me.”

Lord help her. Talking was the last thing she wanted to do with him.

Needing to say something, she looked down at her melting ice cream and shrugged. “Since Lamaze class I'm...” How to put it... “I feel...” Tense and horny and frustratingly unsatisfied.

“How do you feel?” Spencer asked quietly.

She shrugged again. “It doesn't matter.” She wouldn't let it matter. “You should go.”

He didn't go. “Tell me,” he said, like he already knew, like he understood.

But she wouldn't be fooled. “So you can tease me?” So he could reject her again?

He shook his head, so serious.

Oh, how she wished Jarrod were here. She used to be able to tell him anything, everything. But Jarrod wasn't here. Only Spencer was, as was a lingering attraction from her youth.

An attraction she couldn't act on. He needed to go. And the best way to ensure he'd leave? Tell him the truth. In Krissy's experience, nothing made a man leave quicker than when a woman shared her innermost feelings. So she stood tall, looked him straight in the eyes, and told him the truth. “I feel tense and horny and frustratingly unsatisfied.” There. Done.

She braced herself for the sting of his comeback, totally unprepared when he pulled her into his arms and said, “Me too,” milliseconds before he lowered his mouth to hers.

Oh. My. God.

His lips felt warm and soft, his arms big and strong as he held her close, while being careful not to squeeze her pregnant belly.

He tightened his hold on her, moved his mouth and deepened the kiss. Pleasure took over. Need. Krissy reached up, clasped her hands around his neck and held on for the ride. This kiss had everything her kiss with Jarrod had lacked. This kiss...this soul-scorching, life-changing, earth-shattering kiss bombarded her senses like no other kiss ever had, made her feel so many things, too many things. An overwhelming intensity. An excited thrill. Affection. Lust. Anticipation. Desire. And fear.

It was too intense, too...perfect. It felt too...right, when it couldn't be right. Not with Spencer, not after all they'd been through, not after finding out what he thought of her.

She pushed him away, both of them breathing heavily.

“We shouldn't,” she said. No matter how much she may have wanted to, and she
really
wanted to, taking things one step further would make an already complicated relationship significantly more complicated.

Spencer must have thought so too because he responded with an, “I know.” Then, without another word, he turned away, walked to the door, and left her apartment.

CHAPTER SIX

T
HE
NEXT
DAY
, it took a monumental effort, but Spencer pushed his stupidity from the prior evening out of his mind to focus on his work. The current player on his exam table, Sergio, one of their top defenders, was suffering from an adductor strain, two weeks post injury, almost ready to return to play. Dressed in a pair of black shorts he laid on his back with his right leg bent and externally rotated, his knee propped on a balled-up towel for comfort. “How's it been feeling?” Spencer lifted the heat pack from his patient's groin.

“Better.”

Most of the guys rarely complained, didn't want to spend too much time out of the lineup. Spencer would be sure to pay special attention to the patient's range of motion tolerance at the end of their session.

“Time for some therapeutic ultrasound.” He reached for the transducer. “With one finger, point to where you have the most pain.”

“I don't have much pain anymore,” Sergio said. “But when I do, it's here.” He pointed.

Spencer spread gel on the flat transducer head and on the area Sergio had identified as most painful. Then he placed the transducer on his patient's skin, turned on the machine and set the ultrasound parameters. Keeping the transducer moving, he maintained constant contact with the skin over the localized area.

“You still taking ibuprofen?” Spencer asked.

“Every morning before coming in.”

“Good.”

Andres, their top scorer, recovering from a grade one inversion ankle sprain, stuck his head into the training room. “I'm finished with my exercises.”

Earlier Spencer had progressed him to resistance band training. “How'd it go?”

“Still sore.”

Busy with the ultrasound, Spencer told him to, “Make yourself an ice bag and ice it for fifteen minutes.”

Andres did as instructed, taking the treatment table beside Sergio.

The timer dinged and the ultrasound machine shut off. Spencer wiped off the transducer head then handed the player the towel to wipe the gel from his leg. That done, he repositioned Sergio's leg and began passive stretching. “Tell me when you feel a stretch. You shouldn't feel pain.”

As he applied tension, he counted off fifteen seconds then ten seconds for each rest before starting again. He pushed hard today, testing flexibility. “How's that feel?”

“Fine.”

“No pain?”

“None at all.”

“Good. I think tomorrow we'll head out to the field and do some work with the ball.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Spencer finished up then went to the sink to wash his hands. “Head on over to the weight room and get started on your exercise plan. I'll be in to check on you in a few minutes.”

Around two o'clock that afternoon, Spencer had just started to clean up the athletic training room, when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Seeing Krissy's name and number on the screen, he hesitated. He'd acted like a jerk last night, walking out on her without taking the time to explain...again. He debated not answering, needed more time to figure out how to apologize, how to put everything he was feeling into words, if that was even possible.

But she rarely called him. What if...? He accepted the call. “Hello?”

“Spencer Penn?”

A woman spoke. It wasn't Krissy.

“Who is this?”

“I'm calling from White Plains Hospital.”

Spencer froze. “Is Krissy okay?”

Hearing a pained yell in the background, he dug into his pocket to grab his office keys and headed out the door.

“She wants to talk to you. Please hold on. A contraction took her by surprise.”

Phone to his ear, Spencer hurried down the long hallway to the large lunch/meeting room, listening to Krissy's pained groans along the way. Why wasn't the nurse coaching her in Lamaze breathing?

Three of the players he'd just finished working with stood at the far table autographing shirts and soccer balls for fans. The strength and conditioning coach sat reading the newspaper.

“Al,” Spencer called to him. “I've got to take off. You'll lock up?”

“Is it time?” he asked with a smile.

A good friend, Spencer had filled him in on the situation with Krissy. “Think so.”

“Good luck, man. Don't worry. I got you covered here.”

“Thanks.”

Brandon, the athletic training intern scheduled to work with him, sat eating a sandwich. “Everything okay?” he asked.

Phone still to his ear, trying to make out what Krissy was saying in the background, Spencer shifted the mouthpiece to answer. “Have to run.” He tossed the college student his keys. “Please clean up and restock the A.T. room. Just like I've showed you.” The kid had been there for six weeks. He knew what to do. “You okay on your own?”

“Yeah.”

“Lock up when you're done,” he said loud enough for Al to hear. Lots of expensive rehab equipment in the A.T. room.

Al gave him a thumb's up.

“Spencer?” Krissy's voice cracked.

“I'm here.”

“I know you don't want anything to do with me.”

“That's not—”

She cut him off. “Déjà vu, right? Junior year of high school all over again.”

“Krissy—”

“It's just, I know you're at work, but if you could spare some time. I need...” She started to cry and Spencer's heart broke. “I need...” She sniffled. “I thought I could do it on my own but...” She sniffled again in between hiccupping breaths. “Maybe you could talk to me for a few minutes, tell some jokes or something.”

“Honey, it's not that I don't want anything to do with you.” It was so much more complicated than that. Kissing Krissy had felt strangely dishonorable, even with Jarrod dead, same as it had so many years ago. His head and his body were not in agreement on how to proceed. He needed time to figure things out.

Time he didn't have apparently.

He turned and headed for the stairs. “How far apart are the contractions?”

“A few minutes. Oh, God. Here comes another one.”

“Already?” He took the stairs two at a time. “When did you get to the hospital?”

“A few hours ago.”

“A few hours? Christ, Krissy.” He reached the main floor, pushed out the door, and broke into a run toward the parking lot. “Why didn't you call me?”

“Ow, ow, ow. Spencer!”

“Breathe, honey. Like this.” He demonstrated, not an easy thing considering he was running as fast as he could at the same time.

“I can't,” she cried out.

“You can.” He reached his car, jimmed his key into the lock and opened the door. “Just like this. Do it with me.” He demonstrated again.

Krissy breathed with him, her breaths strained and mixed with pained moans.

“Did you find a focal point?”

“Yes. A picture. Brought it from home.”

“Good.” Spencer turned on his car and hooked up his phone so he could talk hands-free. That done, he shifted his car into drive, slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, and peeled out of his parking spot. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.” If he drove through yellow lights, yielded at stop signs and ignored the posted speed limits, which he was fully prepared to do.

“Don't,” she panted. “Come.”

“I'm coming.” He breathed with her again. “That's good. You're doing great.”

“I am
not
doing great, Spencer,” she yelled.

Maybe she didn't think so, but her fighting spirit told him she was doing just fine.

“It hurts.” She groaned loudly.

He coached her through the pain as he pulled onto the main road. “You can do it.”

“I'm so tired,” she said, starting to cry again.

He hated hearing her so upset, hating knowing she had no family or friends there to offer their support. “What about pain medication? Or an epidural?”

“Natural childbirth is best for the baby,” she snapped. “You know that.”

Atta girl. He smiled. “So all that stuff about the unconscious birth plan?”

“Stupid coping mechanism,” she said. “It's less stressful to think about taking the easy way out. But in the end, it's more important to do the right thing, which, in this case, is what's best for J.J.”

Old Krissy would have taken the easy way out, regardless. “Contraction over?”

“Yes. But another one will be coming soon. My back hurts so bad.”

“As soon as I get there I'll rub it.”

“No, Spencer. Really. Don't come. It's too... Just talk to me. That's enough.”

No it wasn't. Looking both ways, he coasted through a stop sign. “I'm coming.” And that's that.

He listened on the phone, hearing only the rapid beat of the fetal heart monitor. He knew she needed to rest between contractions but couldn't stop himself from asking, “You there?”

“Of course I'm here. Where else would I be? I'm having a baby.”

Spencer smiled again. “Why didn't you call me when the contractions started?”

“Because things got weird last night. Then I woke up in pain around four in the morning.”

Spencer glanced at the clock on his dashboard. She'd been in labor for almost ten hours.

“How did you get to the hospital?”

“I took a taxi.”

A taxi. Spencer wanted to scream. But what good would that do now? So he kept the conversation light. “Has the doctor been in?”

“I met his partner. Oh, no. Oh, God. Here comes another one.”

Spencer slammed on his brakes and laid on his horn as a car came to short stop in front of him. “Idiot,” he yelled.

“What?”

“Not you, honey. Bad driver.” He steered around the car, sped up then stopped again, absolutely hating city traffic, even though White Plains traffic was much better than New York City traffic. “A few more minutes.”

The sound of Krissy breathing through the contraction, exactly as he'd demonstrated earlier, came through his car speakers, making him so proud of her. Would this red light ever turn green? When it did he peeled out again, driving up the hill, weaving in and out of traffic. “I can see the hospital.”

“Something's happening,” Krissy yelled. “I have to push.”

“Don't push,” Spencer said at the same time a female voice, he assumed the nurse in the room with her, said the same thing. He made a sharp right then sped to the parking garage. “Breathe.” He got his ticket then screeched into the structure to look for a spot. “Hang on, honey. I'm almost there.”

“I'm. Not. Waiting,” she said, her voice strained.

Spencer heard a male voice.

“I have to—” A loud thud cut off Krissy's words.

“Krissy? Krissy! What happened?”

All he heard were muted sounds.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of stressful, heart pounding activity. Somehow Spencer managed to make it to Krissy's room before J.J. entered the world, an event he felt obligated to attend, for Krissy as much as for Jarrod.

“That's it.” A male doctor, mid-fifties or early sixties, dressed in blue hospital scrubs, stood at the foot of the bed, looking down between Krissy's legs. “Keep pushing. I see the head. Push, push, push, push.”

Spencer's heart started to pound for a different reason. This was really happening. Krissy was about to give birth to Jarrod's son, to Spencer's godson. The magnitude of this moment stopped him in his tracks.

“Come on, Dad,” one of the nurses said. “Wash your hands then come hold her leg.”

Spencer rushed to the sink without taking the time to clarify his role in all this.

He noticed Krissy didn't correct her either. Considering she was mid-contraction, she no doubt had a lot of other stuff on her mind. An intravenous ran into Krissy's right arm and an oxygen mask hung loosely around her neck. A nurse blotted sweat from her brow, something Spencer should be doing so he dried his hands, hurried to the bed, and took over for the nurse closest to him.

“Push, push, push, push,” the nurse holding the other leg said.

“Come on, Krissy. You can do this,” Spencer said, noticing a high school picture of him and Jarrod on the rolling table beside the bed. Had that been the item she'd chosen as her focal point?

Krissy strained and pushed.

“The head is out,” the doctor said. “Stop pushing.”

Spencer fought the urge to look, it just didn't feel right to be looking down there.

“I need to be done,” Krissy said.

“Hey. Eyes on me,” Spencer said. When her eyes met his, he said, “You're almost done. Breathe like this.” He demonstrated.

She stared at his mouth and followed his lead. So focused. Absolutely amazing.

“Oh, God,” she looked away. “Here comes another one.”

“Give me a good push,” the doctor said. “Hard as you can.”

Krissy looked exhausted, but determined as she pushed harder than he'd ever seen a woman push in his life.

“You're doing it.” The doctor tilted the baby and his little face came into Spencer's view, followed by his tiny body.

Unbelievable.

“It's a boy,” the doctor said, placing little J.J. on paper toweling the nurse had spread on Krissy's belly.

“It's a boy,” Krissy repeated, still breathing heavily, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I did it.” She reached out protectively to hold J.J. steady as he cried.

“You did it.” Spencer bent down to kiss her forehead. “Jarrod would have been so proud.” Jarrod. The best friend he'd ever had. Jarrod, who should be here experiencing the birth of his son. This was Jarrod's dream, not Spencer's.

But Jarrod was dead.

“Want to cut the cord?” The doctor held out a pair of scissors.

With an uncomfortable hollow feeling in his gut, Spencer did what was expected of him.

An hour later, after giving Krissy privacy to clean up and breastfeed J.J. for the first time, Spencer returned to her room to find the curtain drawn around her bed.