What We Never Wanted

“Katie, we’ve talked about this.” 

It was true they had. 

“What brought this on? I thought we agreed.” 

Again, true. They did. 

“I don’t know, Beck.” Katie looked across the table at her husband. She had hoped bringing this up on date night would ease the tension. “I just thought, maybe, you’d want to talk about it.” 

Beck took a deep breath and laid his silverware down on the crisp, black tablecloth. A sure sign he’d made up his mind. “What exactly has changed, baby?” 

“Well, honey.” It was a trap, and she knew it. “I don’t work at fire department anymore. The hospital calls are much safer.” 

“Is that how you ended up with a knife in your thigh over the summer?” 

Katie sighed, “That was a unique situation. What are the odds I’ll get called to another schizophrenic suicide attempt?” 

“I’ll give you that,” Beck chuckled. “But what about another car accident.” 

“That was four years ago.” 

“It almost killed you.” Beck set his jaw. 

Katie smiled, “It made you want to marry me.” 

“I already knew that.” He takes a bite of fish. “After watching you in a coma for a week, I didn’t want to risk not getting another chance to ask.” 

“See? Not all bad.”  

 He took her hand and looked into her eyes softly. “After the shit we’ve seen, I don’t understand how you could even bring it up.” 

“You’re right.” She gently shook her blonde curls, or what was left of the curls in her fine hair, and smiled at Beck. 

After a short silence, the conversation turned shallow. How they would handle “the question” this year at Thanksgiving, what they needed from the grocery store, who was coming over for game night next weekend. Katie nodded along, adding suggestions when needed. Her mind wandered back to the agreement they had made five years ago. 

They had only been dating a few months. No one thought it would work between them. They both had chosen equally stressful careers with intense hours and variable schedules. He had just been assigned to the Special Investigations Unit, and she was recovering from an unsuccessful call to a suicide attempt. But at the end of the day, they both had the capacity to handle extreme situations. She could tell him about the motorcyclist that was drug from the bottom of a six-car pileup, and he could talk about the rape case he’d closed involving a fourteen-year-old boy, leaving neither of them worse for the wear. 

It wasn’t easy, but it worked. Stressful days ended in hollow nights. One's successful day was often burdened by a tragedy of the other's. Differing schedules meant weeks apart. Being on-call interrupted Netflix-and-Chill sessions more often than not. 

But it worked. Because they had made two agreements from the beginning. One: date night, once a week, no matter their schedules, and no talk about work. Two: no children. Ever. 

“I don’t think the newlywed excuse is going to work after four years. Our best bet is probably ‘we’re trying.’ What do you think?” 

Katie looked up from her pasta. “You’re right.” And he was. 

She glanced into her purse at the positive pregnancy test, the latest of three she’d taken over the week. She would throw it out at work tomorrow.  

That was two months ago.  

Katie wipes her mouth and climbs back into the passenger seat of her ambulance. 

“Are you ever going to tell him?” 

Katie glares. “Shut up, Ally.” 

Katie never told her. But once the morning sickness set in, it wasn’t hard to figure out. Twelve hours was a long time to hide that every day. Thankfully, most of her time at home was spent sleeping; otherwise, Beck would have noticed too. His last few cases had been doozies, keeping him out all night. That certainly didn’t hurt. 

“It’s an honest question, Kate.” Ally takes a bite of her cheeseburger and rolls down the window when Katie groans. 

“I can’t exactly keep it a secret forever.” Katie curls her legs up and plants her feet on the dashboard. “My pants are already getting tight.” 

“Ah,” Ally answers with her mouth half full, “so you’re just going to wait until he asks about the weight, then yell ‘surprise.’” 

“You know hormones are highest in the first trimester, right?”  

Ally snorts at the vague threat. “You’re blood sugar’s probably low. At least eat some fries.” 

Katie eyes the paper bag between them and takes a deep breath. Might as well give it a shot. She takes a tentative bite of a small, crispy French fry. When her stomach doesn’t immediately send it back up, she finishes the one in her hand and reaches for more. 

Their radios crackle to life as dispatch comes over the line. Possible overdose five miles away. In the lunch rush, it would take ten minutes. 

When they reach the site, Ally enters the apartment first, carrying all the equipment. That was one perk of being pregnant. 

A young woman lies on the living room floor, barely moving. Her breathing is ragged and her expression blank. Katie kneels next to the woman and begins looking her over. 

“She didn’t call this in herself.” Katie calls over her shoulder. 

“Nope.” Glancing into the kitchen, Ally raises her voice. “Who else is here?” 

Silence. The women exchange glances before Ally crosses the living room. “We know you’re here. Are you hurt?” 

Ally cautiously makes her way into the bedroom, spotting a muscular, young man in the bathroom. “Got him. And by the he’s twitching, he’s on it too.” 

As she approaches the bathroom, the man turns around. His face is flushed and his eyes are wide, darting erratically.  

“Who are you?” he yells, advancing toward her with large steps. 

Ally retreats toward the living room. “Paramedics. We’re here to help.” 

“No.” He stumbles sideways, knocking bottles from the nightstand, growing more agitated. “That’s a cop’s uniform.” 

“Easy, big guy.” Ally backs through the bedroom doorway. “We’re not cops. No one’s in trouble here.” 

“What’re you doin’ to Molly?” His eyes lock on Katie, hands still fidgeting. 

“Keeping her alive.” Katie barely throws a glance over her shoulder as she fills a syringe with a sedative. As Katie shifts, Molly’s face comes into the man’s view, the breathing tube perfectly visible. 

He storms toward Katie, screaming, “Get away!” 

Katie shoots to her feet and raises her arm, sedative in hand. The man shoves her back, jolting the syringe out of her grip. He lifts her effortlessly and, despite her pounding on his chest, throws her into the wall. 

Eyes closed, Katie gropes along the floor for her syringe. When she opens her eyes, the world is blurred almost beyond recognition; she can barely make out Ally rushing across the room with her own sedative. Katie rests her throbbing head back on the floor. She can vaguely hear Ally, in the room and over her hip radio, call for assistance. Katie tries to open her eyes, but her eyelids are too heavy. The radio chatter slowly fades. 

She wakes in a hospital bed with Ally sitting in the chair beside her. “Beck is on his way to pick you up.” 

The only light in the room trickles through the window. When Katie turns her head to look at Ally, her head starts spinning. She squeezes her eyes shut. 

“Easy.” Ally lays a hand on Katie’s shoulder, pressing her back into the bed. “You know, you really should tell him before this happens again and a doctor does.” 

Katie’s eyes fly open, and her hand drops to her stomach. “No.”  

The opening door draws their attention. An older doctor walks in with a cheery smile. “Missus Graham?” 

Katie nods. “Please tell me...” Her voice trembles and trails off. 

“Everything is fine. Except for a minor concussion.” He lets out a small chuckle. “I’ll be discharging you shortly. I understand your husband is on his way to get you?” 

Again, Katie nods, relaxing into the numerous pillows wedged behind her. 

“Well, that’s two weeks paid vacation,” Ally grumbles. 

The corners of Katie’s lips twitch up as she rubs her head with one hand and raises the middle finger of the other. Ally lets out a hearty chuckle and turns to the muted television. 

They’re halfway through the next episode of Cops when Beck walks through the door. 

“Hey, baby.” He hurries to the bed side and takes her hand. 

She turns her head weakly to look at him and smiles when he kisses her forehead. 

“How are you feeling?”  

Katie furrows her eyebrows. “You’re s’pose t’be at work.”  

“Funnily enough, when I got a call from the hospital, the chief let me take off early.” He rubs his thumb delicately over the tiny scrapes on her face. “Your doctor said he just signed your discharge paperwork.” 

Katie nods. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He pulls her to a seated position. “Now, let’s go home.” 

“I guess we’ll both be home-” she squints her eyes and brings a hand to her head, struggling through the sentence. “-for New Year’s after all.” 

As Katie leans over the toilet, Ally’s words play through her head. “Before something like this happens again.” He deserves to know. 

She stumbles back to the couch and takes a seat. A concussion was a good excuse for the nausea, but an awful way to watch the ball drop. The clock in the corner of the TV ticks down the final minute.  

Beck pads into the living room softly. He has a glass of champagne in each hand, one full and one half full. He sets the glasses on the coffee table and settles on the cushion beside her. 

She should’ve taken care of this as soon she found out. But she had to get called out to a premature delivery. The young mother had been so devastated. 

He pulls her against his chest and presses a kiss into her hair.

Thirty seconds. 

How did this happen? They were always so careful.  

He makes a joke she doesn’t hear and reaches for his glass.

Twenty seconds. 

He’ll be angry. 

She sits up and takes her water glass.  

Ten. 

Maybe not. She wasn’t. 

Beck tilts his head and glances at her.  

Nine. 

He doesn’t want kids. 

He passes her the half full glass of champagne.  

Eight. 

But neither did she. Until two months ago. 

“I can’t.” She pushes the glass away.  

Seven. 

He spends every day looking at what monsters can do to children. 

“Come on, even I know a half glass of champagne won’t bother your concussion.”  

Six. 

What if he doesn’t want it? 

She swallows hard, glancing at the glass.  

Five. 

Could she end it now? 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” His face is covered in worry lines.  

Four. 

Would he divorce her? 

Her eyes fill with tears. “I love you. So much.”  

Three. 

Could he learn to be happy? 

“You’re starting to scare me.” He takes her free hand.  

Two. 

He deserves to know. 

She locks eyes with him. “Beck, I’m pregnant.” 

One.