all american | lance tucker

ch. 39 • losses

Over the next few days, I became more and more nervous about my appointment with the baby. I was running a high fever, and felt good zero percent of the time.

Throwing up constantly, nausea and cramps non-stop, the whole deal. Plus, I still had to work and be a parent too. On the night before then appointment, it was the worst. I was lying in bed, unable to get up due to the sickness. Lance was next to me, just lying with me and getting me water every once in a while. It was around 2 am and neither of us were sleeping any time soon.

"Do you think you caught it from the kids? Or one of the girls?" Lance asked, stroking my hair as I laid on his chest. I shook my head.

"No one has been sick. Lance, I think we should call the doctor."

"Like, just the hospital?"

"No, like the baby doctor. These aren't good signs." I mumbled, repositioning my pounding head.

"What are you saying?" He asked, his tone concerned.

"There could be something wrong with the baby." I whispered. Lance immediately grabbed his phone after hearing this, dialing the number. Someone picked up, and he began to explain the situation.

"High fever, throwing up all hours of the day, cramps-" he then paused to listen- "yeah. Should we come in now?" He then paused again. "Okay. Well, we'll see you tomorrow morning then." He then hung up, sighing.

"What did they say?"

"Symptoms raise some concerns, but they're not going to drag you in until tomorrow at 8, so the best thing you can do is to try and get some sleep." He explained. I huffed.

"Well tell me something I don't know." I sat up slowly, trying and failing to avoid the room spinning in front of me. "I can't sleep in this stupid bed." I went to get up, but Lance grabbed my arm.

"Let me carry you. You're not exactly in pristine condition." He got up, grabbing a blanket and pillow of the bed before handing them to me to hold and picking me up. I rested my head on his bare shoulder, pushing the door shut as we headed into the living room. He laid me down on the couch, taking the blanket and throwing it over me. He then sat down on the floor next to me as I got comfortable.

"Why do I get pregnant? Why?" I complained, shaking my head. He rolled his eyes.

"Because you're not smart." He muttered, leaning his head on the arm of the couch.

"Hey, if getting pregnant makes me dumb, then you're pretty fucking stupid too." I ran a hand loosely through his hair, noticing only now the dark circles under his eyes and the weariness in his eyes.

Not only did I have to worry about the baby, I had been worrying about him lately too. Taking naps constantly, barely talking, sleeping 16 hours at a time, especially harsh at work. He wasn't acting like himself at all. "Hey, are you okay? You've been acting really weird lately." I asked, taking my turn at being concerned. He closed his eyes, readjusting himself.

"Fine."

"Bullshit. If we're going to get married next weekend, you have to talk to me about things like this. You can't just hold it all in until you forget about it and start acting like a sex-crazed animal." I lectured. There was a theory stuck in the back of my mind, but it was a last resort. There was no way.

"What makes you so worried about me all of a sudden?" Oh, buddy. You have no idea.

"Sleeping all the time, being a pissy, difficult bitch, you look like shit. Would you like me to name some more?" I asked sarcastically, crossing my arms. He rolled his eyes.