That Thing Between Eli and Gwen



Stepping out of the OR two hours later than I would have hoped, I stretched and pulled off my cap to find my mother and Ian both waiting for me. Ignoring them, I went to the sink to wash my hands. “I know what you guys are going to say. No, I didn’t officially come back yet. But I brought him in, and I wasn’t going to just drop him off and go on my way again,” I told them, but neither spoke as I turned around. “Mom, it’s fine. I only stood watch; I didn’t operate in any way, though we are going to have to put him on the donor list.”

“Sweetheart, we aren’t here about that,” my mother whispered, pushing off the wall, her arms folded. “Just listen to me—”

“Is it Guinevere? Is she all right? She said she was coming here, and I haven’t—”

“It’s not Gwen, Eli,” Ian stated as I was already halfway out the door.

“If it’s not Guinevere and it’s not Logan or my mother, why do you all look like someone died?” I snapped at them.

“Hannah came in—”

“If this is about Hannah, Mom, I—”

“Listen to me, Eli!” she yelled.

I went still. “Hannah came in, bleeding…she’s pregnant. She has cervical insufficiency and her water broke. We are trying to slow down her labor, but there is only so much we can do, you know that.”

“You guys can’t possibly think it’s mine. She was having an affair, you know that, right?” They couldn’t be serious. “Shit, did Guinevere hear any of this? She might have gotten—”

“Hannah had a non-invasive prenatal DNA test, twice, from a toothbrush you left at her place, and both times you came out as the father. 99.97% positive,” Ian kept spitting out the nonsense.

My brain couldn’t wrap around it at all, and I felt nothing but panic.

“Eli, I checked her charts. She is going to give birth, and you are going to be the father of a tiny, premature baby, so you need to go—”

“Mother.” I stopped her, shaking my head. “What I need to do is make sure Mr. Wesley doesn’t drink himself to death so I can put him on the donor list. Then I need to call Logan, well, because that little brat isn’t answering his phone, lost it or something. Then I need to unpack, because 24 hours ago we were in Cypress, Alaska. And 24 hours ago, being a father was nowhere on my list of accomplishments. So I don’t know what Hannah told you, or why you are—”

“Eli, I know this is hard for you. I understand you are confused and upset, but right now it can’t be about you. It needs to be about Hannah, and your baby.”

“What baby?” I yelled. “Hannah was here for months. She told me she missed me. She got mad at me for going on dates. But never did she ever tell me about a baby. So either the baby isn’t mine, or she doesn’t want me in her life.”

Ian said nothing, his arms crossed. I realized I preferred him making jokes.

“Was Guinevere here when this all happened?”

He didn’t answer.

“Ian. Was Guinevere here?”

He nodded. “Hannah came in when she was looking for you in the ER.”

Of course. Of fucking course! Heading out of the room, I pulled out my phone and dialed. It felt like the phone rang forever before I got her voicemail.

“Pick up, Guinevere. Pick up,” I said, dialing again, and this time I went straight to her voicemail. Fuck. This was insane. Nothing made sense. I thought back to all the times I'd seen Hannah up to this point. She hadn’t looked any different to me. She should have at least been early in her second trimester when I’d seen her last. She should have been showing.

“Dr. Davenport.”

I looked up to find that I was in the maternity ward, and an intern in pink came up to me.

“Dr. Michaels is in room 617. Dr. Milroy said she may need a C-section, but she is still holding off. Please let us know if you need anything.” He nodded to me and walked around, heading back down the hall.

I didn’t want to see her, but I needed to hear her say it. I needed her to explain. When I slid open the door for 617, I spotted Hannah laying back, her hand on her head.

She looked to me, and then back to the ceiling.

After walking up to her, I took a seat beside her bed.

“It is yours,” she said. “I have proof. I showed it to your mother. The baby is yours. I don’t need money, or—”

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