THE WRONG KIND OF TROUBLE

Chapter 20

"Thank you so much, Dr. Gillan," I said, shaking hands with the mid-thirties man in a long white coat. His thick-lensed glasses made his eyes look almost too large, like they might pop out. Tom had gone outside for a smoke.

I had been visiting him for the fourth time now, ever since my mother insisted I do. He wasn’t a stranger—my mother said he had been her OB-GYN too.

The first time I came, Tom was with me. When he saw me, his face lit up.

"Ah! Here's little Sammy," the doctor greeted, grinning. I had felt shy back then, thinking of how tiny and fragile I must have seemed, just like my infant days. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been here, but Dr. Gillan remembered me perfectly.

My first concern on this visit was my stomach aches. Why were they happening, and how could I make them stop? I even admitted to Dr. Gillan that the pain sometimes made me panic, imagining the worst. He had just laughed, although not cruelly, but in a way that made my chest loosen and hope creep in.

"You are not dying, Reyes," he said kindly. "What you’re experiencing is normal. In rare cases…"

He explained that some women feel cramp-like pains during early pregnancy. Being around eleven weeks along, my muscles and ligaments were stretching to accommodate the baby. The important part was that I was not in danger, and neither was the baby. That was the best news I could get.

He prescribed vitamins and reinforced the same advice Wes had given me. He also warned me not to take too many painkillers because they could affect the baby’s development. I took mental notes and followed his instructions carefully.

Tom had come with me on the first visit, reluctantly. The second, he stayed behind; the third, I called Liz to accompany me. Today, he had ridden his motorcycle and come along again, though his face showed zero enthusiasm.

Whenever we arrived at Dr. Gillan’s clinic, Tom went quiet, constantly scanning the surroundings, like we were in some secret mission. Today, he even wore sunglasses and a black bonnet with a small fang print on it.

"Relax. No one’s going to see us," I told him. Of course, that led to a small argument until we stepped into Dr. Gillan’s office.

After the checkup, I bid Dr. Gillan goodbye and reached for the door. I almost flinched when I heard my name being called.

"Hey!" Margie, the Student Council president, ran towards me, waving and grinning. Panic shot through me.

Behind her, I glimpsed Tom returning from his smoke. The moment he saw her, he pivoted sharply, dragging his bonnet down over his face. I didn’t think it was necessary since his sunglasses were already hiding his eyes anyway.

"W-what are you doing here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I came with my mom and little brother to see the ENT doctor on the second floor. I just stepped out for a bit," she said, lifting her hand holding a water bottle. "Got thirsty."

I nodded, closed Dr. Gillan’s door fully, and sidestepped past her, waving briefly.

"Wait, what about you? Did you have an appointment? You just came out of Dr. Gillan’s office."

My hand tightened on my purse strap. I didn’t look back. "I… my mom sent me," I stammered, walking quickly.

"Oh... okay. Well, see you Monday? Don’t forget the meeting after class," she called.

I nodded, taking a deep breath. I didn’t answer, keeping my head down. I stomped toward the back of the clinic, where Tom had parked his motorcycle. It was a secluded spot, quiet and out of view.

Tom was already there, smoking. As soon as he saw me, he straightened, cheeks puffed with irritation.

"What the hell, Sam?" he scowled. "She almost saw us!"

I rolled my eyes. "She saw me, not you. Me," I clarified.

He groaned, clenching his hands into his hair. "f**k," he muttered, exhaling sharply.

"Relax. She didn’t see you. And she won’t know anything," I said calmly, though my own chest raced with the tension he carried. Seeing Margie had triggered it, and I could feel it echo in my own anxiety.

"If word gets out at Brentwood, you’re so dead!" He crushed the cigarette under his foot, climbed onto his motorcycle, and started the engine. I hopped on behind him, and we took off.

We got home in one piece, though Tom’s reckless driving made my stomach lurch several times. He slammed the door behind us, muttering incoherently.

"Would you please shut up!" I finally yelled, more surprised at my own boldness than anything else.

"Don’t tell me to shut up!" He grabbed my elbow roughly. I winced, but he released it, stepping back to the sofa.

He sat, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, hands clasped beneath his chin, and eyes fixed on me. "I can’t afford people knowing you’re with me. I can’t afford anyone finding out you have any connection with me," he murmured, frustration layered under control.

I blinked at him, confused. None of what he said made sense. Margie hadn’t seen us together. She didn’t know why I had visited an OB-GYN. I sighed and sat beside him, expecting him to shove me away. He didn’t. He allowed me close. That small gesture felt like a lifeline.

He rubbed a hand over his face, cupping it down to his chin. "I’m serious," he said. My eyes widened. The intensity in his voice matched his expression perfectly.

I placed a hand on his shoulder, stroking it gently, trying to ease his tension. He looked at me, and I found myself unable to look away.

His eyes… they were mesmerizing. A mix of golden brown with faint hints of gray, catching the light in a way I hadn’t noticed before.

Wait. What am I thinking?

I forced my gaze away, but his intensity pinned me. Something unspoken passed between us. I wasn’t sure if it was care, frustration, or something else entirely. The room fell silent, but it no longer felt uncomfortable. It was… tense, but in a way that made my chest tighten in anticipation rather than fear.

His gaze stayed fixed on me for a long moment, and I could feel my heartbeat echoing in my ears. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, and I wondered if he even realized how close we were sitting. Then, almost abruptly, Tom shifted.

He scratched the back of his neck, his sunglasses sliding down slightly, and let out a frustrated sigh. "I… uh… didn’t mean to… sit here like this," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck again as if that would erase the moment.

I blinked, surprised. "You didn’t?" I asked, my voice catching slightly.

He looked away, scuffing the floor with his sneaker. "No. I… I mean, yes, but… not like it’s… you know… anything," he stammered, his usual smug tone completely gone.

I couldn’t help but smirk. "Wow. You’re… really good at explaining yourself, Tom," I teased lightly.

His head snapped back toward me, eyes narrowing behind the shades. "Shut up," he muttered, but I caught the faint curve of a smirk tugging at his lips.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You’re ridiculous."

He groaned dramatically, leaning back and crossing his arms again, but his foot tapped nervously against the floor. "You have no idea how much I hate being… exposed like this," he admitted quietly.

I tilted my head, curiosity piqued. "Exposed?"

I swallowed a laugh and reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. "You sounding human?" I teased.

His eyes widened in horror, and he quickly pulled a hand over his face, pretending to be horrified. "No! Don’t… don’t say that. I’m not human! I’m… dangerous," he muttered dramatically, though I caught a glimpse of genuine amusement in his eyes.

I giggled, feeling some of the tension slip away. "Dangerous, huh? Yeah… sure," I quipped.

He threw me a mock glare, but it didn’t hide the faint grin creeping onto his face. "Shut up," he growled again, quieter this time, like he was more embarrassed than angry.

The awkwardness hung between us, but it was lighter now, almost comfortable. I shifted slightly, my hand still resting lightly on his arm, just enough to let him feel my presence without saying a word.

Tom exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as if trying to reorganize his thoughts. "You know," he began, his voice softer, "T..this.. feels... this feels.... nice."

I felt my chest tighten, but it wasn’t fear this time. It was… something warmer. "I know," I whispered.

He blinked, caught off guard by my calm, honest reply. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he nodded slowly.

"Good," he muttered, finally standing up. "Because I’m not great at… this… caring thing," he added, gesturing vaguely toward himself, embarrassed.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You’re doing fine, Tom. Believe it or not, you’re doing fine."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, and for a moment, we just stood there. Two people who didn’t need to say much, yet understood each other perfectly.

Then, the sound of my phone buzzing cut through the quiet. I glanced at the screen. It was Wes. I smiled faintly. Thank goodness, I thought.

"Go ahead, take your call," Tom said casually, leaning back, letting me have space.

I answered, relief washing over me as Wes’s familiar voice filled my ears. I felt a bubble of calm amidst the lingering tension with Tom.

For the first time all day, I felt… safe.