“Oh, I guess when you and Milan were doing your OB rotations in med school, they must have taught you differently than when I did mine,” I retorted.

He paused and narrowed his eyes at me. “Stop acting like such a bitch, Blaire.” And with that lovely parting shot… he was gone.

42. Blaire

Blaire

I barely slept Monday night as I kept listening for Axel to return home, but he never did. I awoke early on Tuesday morning feeling like shit because something was obviously wrong with Milan’s baby if they were still at the hospital. As much as I disliked that woman, I would never wish any harm on an innocent baby, and I prayed that he or she was okay. I was making coffee when I heard Ax’s key in the front door. I poured him a cup and walked out to find him wearily settling on the couch.

Handing him the coffee, I sat beside him. “What happened?” I asked gently, sliding my fingers into his hair and scratching his scalp.

He didn’t speak for a long time, and a knot of fear settled into my stomach. “Nothing. She was fine, and they sent us home. You were right,” he said, almost as if he hated to admit it. The fear dissipated, replaced once again with annoyance. He took a sip of coffee and said, “I’m sorry I called you a bitch.”

“I know you were just scared. But don’t make a habit of it,” I said shortly, digging my fingernails into his scalp a little harder than necessary.

“I won’t. You offered to help, and I just… I’m sorry.”

“I’m at the hospital today. The ER must have been packed if they just released her.”

Hesitation again. “No, it wasn’t bad; they actually let us go after just an hour.”

I did the calculation in my head. “That was seven hours ago, Axel. Where have you been?”

He gave me a quick look and then stared into his cup of coffee. “Milan was shaken up, so I stayed with her,” he said quietly.

“You stayed with her? In her hotel room?” I could feel the flush of rage and shock creeping up my chest and over my face.

“It wasn’t like that, Blaire. I slept in one of the other bedrooms.”

“How many bedrooms are there?” And why the fuck am I focusing on that?

“Three, I think,” he replied, shrugging.

“Does… did she bring some family to stay with her or something?” I asked, genuinely confused.

He rolled his fucking eyes at me and said, “No, Blaire. It’s just her.”

“Why the hell does she need a three-bedroom suite just for her?” I asked, my voice rising. Again, why is this where I’m directing my concern? Avoidance of what I really needed to know?

He seemed exasperated with me. “I don’t know. She booked the room. I just… paid for it.