Changing Forever (29 page)

My ears ring painfully loud. I don’t hear another word as I stare at the sleeping beauty next to me. Someone just tore through my dreams like it was a cheap sheet of paper. Not only that, my life’s been taken from me.

And when the doctor came in, I asked him the prognosis, and he gave it to me straight. There was a chance I’d never walk again. It was all I needed to hear.

My whole identity, everything I worked so hard for is gone. I can no longer be Drake, the star quarterback. I can no longer provide for my family in the way they need. Most importantly
, I have nothing left to offer anyone … including Emery.

For the next two hours, I watched her sleep, weighing my options. It all brought me to one conclusion. I had to let her go. I had to step back because with me in her life, she’d have to give up on some of her dreams. She doesn’t need anyone holding her back … she’s worked for years to make sure that no one does.

My resolve almost slipped as I watched her react to my words. It was harsh; I know that, but it was the only way. I had to make her hate me, but when you take goodness, add fire and gasoline, it fucking burns. I can only pray I didn’t leave too many scars on that beautiful girl. I will never forgive myself for that.

The door opens again, letting in the light from the hallway. I’m half expecting Emery to come through it with her fighting gloves on, but it’s the nurse from this morning. The one who unintentionally sealed my fate with a few words. She’s older, probably my mom’s age, with short blonde hair and small wire glasses.

“Hey, Mr. Chambers, how are you feeling this morning?” she asks, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around my bicep.

“Never been better,” I answer with a little more bite than I intended.

“I hear that a lot around here,” she says with a warm smile. Usually, I’d feel bad, but I’m so numb inside that it doesn’t matter. Nothing’s going to matter without Emery in my life.

After taking my blood pressure, she takes my temperature and asks how I’m doing pain-wise. I’m sure something is physically hurting right now, but it’s nothing compared to the piercing pain in my heart.

“Okay, I’m going to grab one of my aides, and we’ll get you down to radiology for tests.” I turn my attention to the window, watching rain slide down the panes. It brings back the memories of last night when I woke up in the emergency room with medical professionals surrounding me. What I thought w
as just a concussion or a back sprain turned into this.

The room remains quiet for a few minutes before the nurse and her aide come in to wheel me down the hall to an open elevator. I close my eyes and let myself drift off. This has been the worst fucking day, and I don’t need to hear any more of the bad news they want to give me.

I
T
’
S
BEEN
FIVE
WEEKS
SINCE
I walked out of that hospital room. The rest of that Saturday was a daze. I remember Kate coming home and asking why I wasn’t at the hospital. I remember her crawling into bed with
me while I cried until there were no tears left to shed. She tried to get me to eat but wasn’t successful for a couple days. I even skipped class on Monday and Tuesday, something I had never contemplated before.

After that, I put my focus back where it should have been the last few months: my studies. I buried myself in them. I never went anywhere except class and the library, but even that was hard. The classes I had with Drake were now without him. The library he’d frequented with me wasn’t as fun anymore.

Drake never returned. I heard he was transferred to a rehab facility, which works with athletes who have severe injuries.

There were so many times I wanted to call him to see how he was doing, but then his words would play in my head, and the anger would build up again.

You were just another curve in the road. Another thing holding me back from what I should be concentrating on. You’re the reason I’m here, Emery. You.

I came home for Christmas break a little over a week ago. I went through the motions of holiday parties with my dad’s extended family, and then cooked a small ham for the two of us on Christmas day. It was starting to feel like my old life … a sad, miserable life.
How did I ever let myself live like this for so long?

A couple weeks ago, I started feeling really tired, even after a full night’s sleep. I thought it was the stress of everything—Drake, finals, making plans to go home for break—but then a few days ago, I woke up feeling nauseous. It’s the same feeling I’ve had every morning since.

And now, here I am.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think that at nineteen, I’d be sitting on the edge of the old claw foot tub waiting to see if one or two blue lines appear on a white, plastic stick.

It wasn’t part of my dream, but lately my best-laid plans have been ripped to shreds. This is one consequence that lasts forever. It’s one I
never pictured myself facing alone, but I don’t have much of a choice if this test comes out positive.

There’s a part of me that wants to throw it back in the box and pretend like everything is okay. If it’s not confirmed, it can’t be true, right? But deep down, I know I have to face this. This is not something that’s just going to go away. Maybe this is my punishment for letting myself get off track with Drake. The guy’s practically a walking warning sign, and I fell right into his trap. With every minute, every word, every touch I became his.

He’s the one person who’s been able to throw me off my path, and the weird part is, I was my happiest when I wasn’t living by my plan.

My cell phone buzzes, signaling the five-minute wait is up, but I hesitate. I close my eyes tightly and say a silent prayer to God, asking him to forgive me for whatever I did that brought me here. I ask him to give me one more chance to live the type of life I should, to make everything okay so I can move on … past Drake.

Feeling sick to my stomach, I wrap my trembling fingers around the little white handle and lift it up to get a closer look.

My dreams have changed.

This life isn’t just about me anymore.

I decided to make an appointment with my doctor before I say anything to my dad, or anyone for that matter. I need to know I’m not rearranging my whole life for nothing. I’m supposed to go back to school in a week, and I have some big decisions to make.

“Emery White,” the nurse calls as she holds open the door.

I’ve been sitting in the waiting room surrounded by screaming babies and pregnant women for almost thirty minutes. As much as I’ve dreaded this appointment, I’m relieved to make my way to the exam room.

I follow the nurse back down a narrow hall, stopping in front of the scale to get my weight. “One twenty-two,” she announces, making a note on her clipboard.

It’s a few pounds lighter than I was, but my sickness has only increased since I took the test a couple weeks ago.

“Do you think you can use the restroom? I need a urine sample.”

“Yeah, I drank some water before I came,” I reply, trying not to think too hard about what I’m about to do.

“Okay, there is a cup on the sink. Fill it the best you can, and then set it inside the small metal door next to the toilet. We’re going to go back to room three, so I’ll wait for you there.”

I close and lock the door, picking up the small plastic container that reads my name across the side. Being here is making this so real, and when the doctor comes in to tell me the results, I won’t be able to stay in denial any longer.

I quickly fill it, using my shaky hands to place it inside the metal door. I pull my jeans back up and stand in front of the sink to wash my hands, getting a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Either the lighting in here is terrible, or the crap I’ve gone through these past couple months is wearing on me physically as much as it is mentally.

Dark circles surround my eyes.

My hair looks like a nest, mostly because I’ve been too sick and tired in the morning to do anything with it.

My cheeks are sunken. My skin is ashen.

Yet, I think I look the worst on the inside. Everything feels broken in there.

As I walk to room three, I rub my hands together in an attempt to lessen my nerves. It’s not working … I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I can tell by the tingle in my hands and jaw. I wish this could all be over.

The nurse is there waiting, a knowing look on her face. I’m sure I’m not the only teenage girl she’s seen in here. “Take a seat on the exam table. I’m going to get your vitals and ask a few questions, and then I’ll send the doctor in.

I nod, unable to do much more.

She asks me to open my mouth and sticks a thermometer under my tongue. Her only comment is “perfect.” Next, she takes
my blood pressure and jots that down on her paper. After going through my whole family medical history, she finally gets to the real reason I’m here.

“It says here that you took a pregnancy test at home, and it came back positive. How long ago was that?”

“A couple weeks ago.”

“And when was your last period?”

I inhale a deep breath. I hate talking about this stuff. “I don’t remember the exact day because things were busy at school, but it was around the middle of November. Sometime between the tenth and fifteenth maybe.”

She nods, making another
note. “It says in your records that Dr. Brandt had been giving you birth control shots the last few years. Had you gotten them anywhere else but here?”

I shake my head as I try to calculate the last time I’d had one
. My quick conclusion is it’s been too long. Something else to add to the series of mistakes I’ve made lately.

“Okay, Emery, I’m going to get the doctor.”

As I wait, my feet dangle off the side of the exam table, the rubber soles of my shoes hitting the metal drawers over and over again. I wish I didn’t have to do this alone.

A soft knock at the door startles me, and Dr. Brandt walks in dressed in his white lab coat. I’ve seen him since I was a little girl, which made my yearly exams awkward after I became sexually active. Asking for birth control wasn’t easy at all, but I told myself that if I was old enough to have sex, I was old enough to talk to my doctor about it.

He sits in his round leather chair and wheels himself close to where I sit, his expression more sympathetic than usual. “Well, I have your test results, and it confirmed the test you took at home. You’re pregnant.”

The whole room spins as the words, “You’re pregnant,” ring over and over in my ears. It’s one thing to see it, but it’s a whole other game when the words come out of your doctor’s mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

I nod, but tears form in my eyes. Dr. Brandt just took a paintbrush, and crossed a black X over the portrait of my future. Actually, no, I did that by not keeping track of my shots, and not once did Drake use protection with me. I never asked him to.

Taking a few deep breaths, I try my hardest to pull my shit together. “How far along am I?”

He looks down at the clipboard that I recognize as the one the nurse carried around with her. “From your last period, I would say eight weeks or so. The baby would have been conceived around Thanksgiving. We’ll do an ultrasound to confirm at your next appointment.”

My mind flashes back to Thanksgiving. It was the second to last day I had with Drake … the last time we slept together.

“Now, Emery, this might not be the time for this, but I have to ask. Were you using any protection? Looking at your chart, it seems you were about a month behind on your shot, but this still could have been avoided if—”

“No, I didn’t,” I say, pinching my eyes closed tightly.

“If it’s okay, I’d like to take some blood work to run a couple tests. Just as a precaution.”

“It was just one guy,” I whisper, wondering what’s going on in his head. Drake’s only the second guy I’ve been with, and I’m not one of those girls.

“It’s just a precaution.”

I nod, too tired to argue.

After the doctor writes me a prescription for prenatal vitamins, the nurse comes back in to draw my blood and give me a few guidelines on what not to do and what not to eat. I take as much of it in as possible, but my mind is elsewhere.