Vital Sign (27 page)

The index finger of my right hand traces the scrawled letters of the three words tattooed on the inside of my left wrist. It’s become a sort of an absentminded habit, especially when I’m nervous. I’m not nervous, though.

I’m pretty use to all the publicity now. The funny thing about reporters and tabloids is that when you stop giving them interesting shit to write
, they stop coming around. I discovered the quickest way to get rid of them is to call after them; turning the tables works most of the time. I’ll spot one here and there, especially when I’m in Atlanta, and I make it a point to say hi first. I wave and smile wide for the camera and they’re usually left scratching their heads. No chase equals no intrigue. It’s simple.

Three months after I came back to Tybee, came back to Zander,
they had a field day when they spotted me getting my tattoo. Zander stood by with a wicked little grin on his face, reminding me that Daniel McBride was going to frown upon the ink I was having etched onto my skin. Zander liked it. He may not admit it, and he may not purposefully act out anymore, but I know he got a little thrill that
I
was acting out in the public eye. A photographer pressed the lens of his camera to the plate glass window of the tattoo parlor, snapping shots of me in the chair. I told Zander to sit tight and let the jerk take his pictures. When the artist finished up, I jumped up from the chair and took off for the door.

“Hey—hey!” I shouted at the photographer
, my brows knit but a smile tilting up my lips as his eyes bugged out of his head and he froze in place, clearly unsure of what the hell to make of my brazen approach. “Want a picture? Ask for it,” I said kindly, holding out my wrist for him to see.

“Push
ed. Squeezed. Cornered. What’s it mean?” he asked, holding the camera up and peering through the viewfinder.

I
stood still, letting him take a few shots of the tattoo. “It’s a reminder that sometimes the longest route is the most rewarding,” I explained, knowing that he wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t. The only other person that I knew who could possibly grasp what I mean by those words, the words that my mother had used to sum me up, is the man who captured my heart. Zander has been pushed, squeezed, and cornered his fair share too. We both take the long route to wherever we’re going most of the time, but we get there on our own terms, at our own pace, and that’s half of the reward in itself—just knowing that you’re stronger than the forces that bear down, knowing that you refuse to follow the norm, to fit in, to lie down when society dictates that you should just for the sake of following the mold. The ring on my left hand is proof of that taking the long route, even though it gets ugly sometimes, can be equally as beautiful.

I married Alexander McBride
two months ago in a ceremony that was my only concession to the grandiose fancy that is his family. Photos of our wedding and reception were splashed all over the social pages in the newspaper and on the internet. I didn’t mind, though. I felt beautiful, even with a tattoo blazed across my wrist reminding me of where I had come from.  Probably more specifically because of the tattoo on my wrist.

“Don’t be nervous
, baby.” Zander looks over at me and squeezes my hand affectionately.

“You know they’re waiting outside. The cat is going to be out of the bag once they see us walk out of here.”

Zander shrugs his lean muscle capped shoulders. “So. I’m happy. And excited. Nothing could ruin this for me. Not even those assholes.” He smiles wide, showing his pearly whites, and the tension immediately leaves. I lean toward him and prop my head on his shoulder, sighing deeply.

“Mrs. McBride, Mr. Mc
Bride,” the doctor greets us as she steps into the exam room. She shakes both our hands and smiles curtly like doctors always do. “I’ve got all your lab work back. Everything looks great except one thing.”

I draw my bottom lip into my mouth and nip at it anxiously. “Okay
,” I say, trying my best to sound confident.

“Looks like you won’t be trying to conceive in the next few months,” she says
, flicking through the paperwork in her hand.”

I feel color drain from my face. My hand finds Zander’s and I squeeze.

“No need,” the doctor explains with a smile, looking up from what I guess are my lab results. “You’re already pregnant.”

“Oh my
God. Are you sure? I mean—wow!” I feel Zander squeeze my hand and I look over to him. He’s smiling just as big, maybe bigger, than when I met him at the altar.

“
Yes. According to the blood work, you
are
indeed pregnant, but we can make you a believer right now,” she says, pointing to some TV screen thing on wheels with all kinds of buttons all over it. “Ultrasound,” she explains. “It’ll have to be transvaginal due to how early on you are, but we should be able to see your little one.”

Zander and I nod
in unison.

“I’ll be back in just a moment.”

I look to Zander as soon as the door shuts and stare at him with wide eyes. “Holy shit, Scrappy. That didn’t take you long! It hasn’t been
that
long since they took out the IUD, has it?”

“It’s been long enough
, I guess,” he says with a proud smile. God, he’s handsome. I smile right back at him and hold up a hand for him to high-five. He’s feeling all macho. This deserves a high-five for Team McBride.

I follow her instructions to undress
and then put on the gown she gave me. Zander wags his brows up and down, enjoying the show. I kiss him deeply and rub him through his jeans before breaking away to sit up on the exam table. Zander’s lusty eyes narrow on me in disapproval for teasing him. He adjusts his thickening cock and I giggle, knowing that I’ll be on my back the minute we get home.

The doctor is back before we know it, with a nurse in tow. I sit up on the table as she instructs and I catch sight of the look on Zander’s face when she holds up an ultrasound probe that could easily double as a foot long white sex toy. Jenna had told me all about them when we let the cat out of the bag about trying for our first baby
, but I still wasn’t expecting
that
. Zander’s mortified expression is more than worth enduring this awkward situation, though.

The screen flickers to life
, distracting me from the fact that there are three other people in the room with me. The doctor manipulates the ultrasound wand and the screen fills with an unfamiliar, blurry scene. It’s amazing that anyone can make heads or tails of these ultrasounds. My brows furrow, searching for something that looks familiar.

“Okay, see here,” the doctor
instructs, pointing to a dark circle with an oblong white shape inside of it.

“Yeah
…” we both answer, though I’m not sure either of us see anything except black and white blobs.

“There’s
Baby McBride. Strong heartbeat. Looks like you’re about,” she taps some keys on the machine, “a little over six weeks along, I’d say.”

The nurse jots down notes beside the doctor. I look
up to Zander standing beside me, finding his eyes locked on the screen. He’s rapt, watching intently. Studying. His chest rises and falls evenly. I squeeze his hand in mine and he looks down. A sweet smile tilts up the corners of his mouth and I can see his eyes glistening a little, matching the burgeoning tears in my eyes.

“We’re having a baby,” I whisper
, still a little in disbelief.

“Yeah
. Yeah, we are.” He raises my hand, bringing it to his lips. His eyes close as he presses a tender kiss on the inside of my palm, an intimate gesture that leaves me feeling even more cherished than he already makes me feel every time his sapphire blue eyes meet mine.

The End

USA Today Bestselling Author J.L. Mac is twenty-seven years old and currently resides in El Paso, Texas, with her husband and children. She is a native Texan, having been born and raised in Galveston, Texas. J.L. admittedly has had a long and sordid love affair with the written word and has loved every minute of it. She drinks too many glasses of wine on occasion, and says way too many swear words to be considered “ladylike.” J.L. spends her free time reading, writing, playing with her children, and living her happily ever after with her very own Prince Charming, who she affectionately calls Tight Buns McHotness.

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Also by J.L. Mac

Wreck Me (Wrecked #1)

Restore Me (Wrecked #2)

Accept Me (Wrecked #3)

Seven Years of Bad Luck

Upcoming new releases

Seven Years of Bad Luck
Part II

Dropping Dimes

La Dame En Bleu (Rising Sun #1)

Reach Me (Wrecked series companion novel)

Check J.L. Mac’s Goodreads.com page for release date information.

It’s no secret that I listen to music nonstop every day. I listen to music while I c
lean my house, play with my children, cook dinner for my family, and while I write. I seek out amazing music that serves as the backdrop to my life and work. Here are a few of the songs that helped me bring Sadie’s story to life. I hope you enjoy these artists’ music as much as I have.

Mathew Mayfield

Mree

Rachael Yamagata

William Fitzsimmons

Ernie Halter

Alice In Chains

Vitamin String Quartet

M
azzy Star

Jason Reeves

Gavin DeGraw

The Goo
Goo Dolls

The Fray

Tyler Ward

Bobby Long

…and so many more!