Dirty Grovel: Chapter 6

I am so fucking sick and tired of chasing this woman all over creation.

I’m sure there are extenuating circumstances, but there’s so much steam coming out of my ears that I don’t particularly care about the details.

I’ll punch first and shout later.

Which is precisely what I do.

The “punch first” part of my plan goes perfectly. Once the horny fucker is choking on his own blood, I’m free to grab the source of the problem and get the hell out of this trash joint.

Unfortunately, the “shout later” part of my plan is thrown for a loop when Sutton starts hurling so badly that I’m afraid she’s in danger of losing her intestines.

All the rage that’s been churning around inside me since I saw her run from me back at the harbor evaporates when I see her climb into the back of my car.

She’s dead on her feet.

She stinks of smoke, sweat, and vomit.

She looks miserable.

And I can’t help but think that, in some ways, it’s all my fault.

“Where to, boss?” Ilya asks from the driver’s seat as Sutton’s eyes droop with fatigue.

“The closest hospital,” I bark. “She needs a doctor’s care immediately.”

Ilya swerves right and Sutton slides right into me, her body as listless as a rag doll’s. Her head bounces against my shoulder.

I hook an arm around her and prop her up against my chest.

“You’re going to be alright,” I murmur as her breathing evens out. “Everything is going to be alright.”

I have no idea why I say it.

I have no evidence to support it.

All I know is that I have to give her something to believe in—even if I have to rearrange the whole fucking world to make it so.

“Oleg! Faye had the baby!”

I feel oddly detached from the news. I’m happy for my friend, obviously. But I can’t find it in me to be excited.

Maybe it’s because I’m far off in Nassau.

Maybe because I’m standing in the middle of a hospital ER department.

Maybe it’s because I might be on the brink of fatherhood myself and I have no fucking clue how to feel about any of it.

“Congratulations, man,” I say soberly, hoping that he’s too far gone in happiness to recognize that something isn’t right with me. “Girl or boy?”

“A girl!” Artem cries. “We’ve got ourselves another girl. Six pounds, three ounces, the most gorgeous mop of dark hair you’ve ever seen. I’m telling you, Oleg, she’s a beaut.”

“She takes after her mother then.”

“Asshole,” Artem chuckles. “When are you back?”

I glance at the double doors they’d wheeled Sutton through just a few minutes ago.

“I’m not sure yet,” I mutter distractedly. “I’ll let you know when I make a decision.”

“Don’t take too long. You’ve got to meet your newest goddaughter.”

My chest clenches. Something’s definitely off with me today.

“I’m looking forward to it. Give Faye a kiss for me.”

“Will do, brother.”

The moment I hang up, I walk straight into the ER, ignoring all the signs telling me to stay away, and zero in on the room where Sutton is being kept.

Inside, I find the doctor—a tall woman with braided dreadlocks cascading down her back—examining Sutton’s bruises.

When she turns to look at me, I know with absolute certainty that she thinks I’m the one responsible for them.

As if.

As if I would ever hurt Sutton that way.

I may be a brute and a beast, just like they say, but I’m not the kind of beast that would lay a finger on a woman.

“Mr. Pavlov?” she asks tersely, her slightly accented English dripping with disdain. “May I speak to you in private for a moment?”

She doesn’t wait for me to respond. She just strides to the far edge of the hospital room and stops in front of me, her voice low but still managing to curl with contempt.

Her eyes are dark, close to black. “You are this young woman’s… husband?”

A thread of need tightens in my gut. I ignore it and shake my head. “We’re not married.”

“That’s good,” she snaps. “You brought her in?”

“I did.”

I can see it in her eyes: That doesn’t earn me any points.

“You should have brought her in much sooner,” she scolds. “The girl is exhausted and dehydrated. You are aware that she’s pregnant, yes?”

“I recently became aware of it.”

“Well, then, you should know that putting undue stress on a mother at this stage in her pregnancy is extremely irresponsible.”

“It’s not his fault,” a tired, squeaky voice calls from the bed.

The doctor twists around and regards Sutton with a wry smile. “Is that so?”

Sutton struggles to sit upright. “I got—” Her eyes find mine for a second. “—distracted. And then I got lost. Not the smartest thing to do in a foreign country.”

“He is the father of your baby, yes?” the doctor asks. “Then it is at least partly his fault. He should be much more concerned for your health and safety as it directly relates to your baby’s health and safety.”

I swallow back my ire. “How far along is she?”

She gives me a disparaging glance before turning to Sutton. “Is this man the father of your baby?”

Sutton’s lips tighten.

The doctor seems to read her silence as an answer. “I can remove him from your room, if you like…?”

Sutton avoids my gaze studiously but she shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. He can stay.”

“Are you sure? Because if you feel at all unsafe around this man, I can involve the police. I’m sure they’d be happy to help.”

But before I can step in and tell her to keep her fucking nose out of other people’s business, Sutton bursts into tears.

“My dear…!” the doctor gasps, starting towards Sutton’s bedside.

“No cops, please!” she cries. “I can’t deal with all that. I don’t want to answer a bazillion questions. I just want to go home.” She covers her face with her hands. “Except I don’t even have a home. Not anymore.”

Swallowing my guilt, I go to the other side of her bed. “I have a place right here in Nassau. I’ll be happy to take you there the moment we get you discharged.”

I turn to the doctor, who’s looking mildly confused now. “May I have a moment of your time out in the hallway?”

The doctor nods curtly and retreats into the hallway.

I stay back long enough to look at Sutton. “I’ll be right back.”

Her eyes narrow. “No need to hurry.”

At least her exhaustion and dehydration haven’t affected her snark. Rolling my eyes, I follow Dr. Attitude into the hallway.

But before I can so much as open my mouth, she’s laying into me.

“The girl needs care, sir. Her blood pressure was high, much too high for a mother in her first trimester. If it persists, she stands a chance of losing the baby.”

I will myself to be calm.

After all, she’s only trying to do the same thing I am: keep Sutton safe.

“I have every intention of giving her a stress-free environment,” I assure the doctor. “But first, I need to do something I’m hoping you can help me with.”

Her eyebrows arch. “And what is that?”

“A paternity test. I need to know if the baby is mine.”

You’d think I’d landed a punchline as opposed to asking for a medical test to be performed.

The doctor gives me a sideways smirk. “That can only be done with the consent of both parties.”

“Fine. You’ll get the consent. What do you need?”

“A blood sample from the mother. A DNA swab from the potential father,” she answers. “And of course, a signed consent form.”

I glance towards the door, ready to march in there and demand Sutton do what needs to be done.

But the doctor seems to sense what I have in mind because she grabs my arm before I can storm back into the hospital room.

“You need to take a step and think about what you’re doing,” she says harshly. “The girl is not in a good state of mind. She doesn’t need to be confronted with a paternity test right now.”

“I need to know⁠—”

She holds up her hand. “There is a good chance that this baby is yours, yes?”

I nod reluctantly.

“Then you need to sort out your priorities. What’s more important: your pride? Or your child’s life?”

When she puts it that way…

“Being a good father doesn’t start when the baby is born,” she continues, her dark eyes glittering. “It starts at the moment of conception. It starts with how you treat the mother of your child. Never forget that.”

I don’t like her tone or the assumptions she’s making about me.

But even I have to admit…

It’s good fucking advice.