K. Golland - Attainment

The rhythmic sound of popping filters through my ears, bringing my gaze back up to the screen. It really is such a wonderful tone, a reassuring one.

Hearing our baby’s heartbeat, Alexis lets out the breath she has been holding and tilts her head to flash me one of her earth-shattering smiles.

I lean down to give her a quick kiss. “Everything is fine, my love.”

She nods.

Dr. Rainer records a few measurements on the screen then turns to me and Alexis. “Baby’s heart beat is still strong at 140 beats per minute. And his or her measurements are consistent with gestation—“

“His? Or hers?” I ask, probably a bit too eagerly.

“Do you really want to find out?” she questions with a curious smile, seemingly to know that I do and Alexis does not.

“Yes, although Mummy here,” I gesture to my not so happy looking fiancé, “does not. So you can whisper it in my—“

“Alright! Alright!” Alexis blurts out, clearly frustrated. “I want to know, too.” She crosses her arms over her chest in a show of reluctant surrender.

I can’t help but smile. She looks so damn adorable, and I knew that she would eventually cave in. She hates secrets with a passion, especially when I’m the holder of the secret in question.

Gently grazing my knuckles down the side of her face, I smile at her triumphantly. “You know, you really don’t have to find out. I promise I won’t tell.”

“Screw you, Bryce Edward Clark. I’m finding out the sex of our baby.”

I laugh out loud. “Well, there you go, Dr. Rainer. We both want to find out.”

“Very well. I’m fairly certain I know baby Clark’s gender already. However, I want a better angle just to be sure. Alexis, I’m going to move the ultrasound wand further down and apply a firm pressure. This will help get a better view of baby’s genitals,” she explains.

Dr. Rainer does as she has just informed and pushes into Alexis’ lower abdomen, causing her to wince.

“Are you alright?” I say with concern, glaring at Dr. Rainer.

Alexis squeezes my hand. “Yes, I’m fine. I just need to pee...desperately.”

I let out a sigh of relief and am thankful Dr. Rainer didn’t see my unwarranted look of displeasure.

“I’m sorry, Alexis, I know this is uncomfortable for you.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

“Okay, nearly done. You do know this is not 100% accurate, don’t you?” Dr. Rainer informs us, her eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” we both answer simultaneously.

“Good, okay. There we go.” She presses a few buttons which freezes the image on the screen. “Say hello to your son. You’re having a little boy.”

Alexis gets up on her elbows while I lean in closer to the screen. Fuckin’ oath that’s a boy. Check him out!

“There,” I point to the screen. “He sure is, and he takes after his father.”

“Bryce, that’s your son’s leg,” Dr. Rainer states with a condescending tone.

Bullshit! He doesn’t have three legs... I quickly recount. One leg. Two legs...that’s definitely not a third leg. He most certainly takes after me. I smile proudly with a knowing nod of my head.

“Bryce,” Alexis says, grabbing my attention while choking on her words and trying to push back her tears. “We are having a boy. That’s our son. Look at him.”

I glance back at the screen. My son! That’s my fucking son! That little blurry image is my living, breathing, little baby boy. I turn back to lay eyes on Alexis’ beautiful face and realise that life doesn’t get much better than this.

* * *

On our way back to City Towers, I start to think about all the things I can organise, change, and get ready...like our son’s room. The renovations and re-build of the penthouse are not far from completion, there being probably only a few more weeks before we can move back in. After our ordeal with Gareth, I’d tried to convince Alexis to consider moving into a house by the bay, or in the suburbs—wherever she wanted. But she’d wanted to remain at City Towers, assuring me that it just ‘felt right’, that it was ‘home’; our home. Not wanting to argue with her decision—because let’s face it, it was a fucking brave one—I instigated repairs, renovations and a re-build almost instantly. In the meantime though, we have been residing in the presidential villa.

Sadly, pretty much everything on the first floor of the apartment was ruined by the explosion and subsequent fire. The upstairs bedrooms had sustained water damage but no clear structural impairment. Mainly, the devastation was only cosmetic, although, Charli was absolutely shattered that her 4Life memorabilia was destroyed. Little does she know that I have arranged replacements and plan to surprise her with them when the refurbished apartment is unveiled.

“What are you thinking about?” Alexis says, once again breaking me out of my trip to ‘miles away’.

“Our son. Our home. Our future,” I honestly answer.

“And...?”

I quickly glance at her, curious of her questioning tone.

“And...I have a lot to do. The apartment should be finished in a few weeks and I want it to be perfect before we move back in.”

She reaches over and touches my face. I love her soft touch. “Bryce, it will be. I have no doubt. Please stop worrying about that.”

I release one hand from the steering wheel and take a hold of hers, pressing my lips to her wrist. “I love you.”

“I know you do,” she smiles. “And I love you, too.”

Feeling bold and knowing she is in a very good mood, I broach an off-limits topic. “Are you sure you don’t want to get married sooner? I know you want to wait but—“

“Bryce, we’ve talked about this. You know I can’t wait to be your wife. But after everything that has happened, and with BB on the way, I just think we need to slow down a bit and enjoy the ride.”

“BB?”

“Well...yeah,” she coyly hesitates. Damn, she’s cute. “BB...as in Baby Bryce.” She gently caresses her stomach, filling me with so much fucking love for this woman I can barely breathe.

“Baby Bryce?” I repeat, unable to contain my grin.

“Yes.”

I continue to drive, silence now swirling around us. Every couple of seconds I glance at her, knowing she is watching my reaction.

“You know, Mr Clark...” her tone now lowered, sounding sexy as hell. “When you smile like that it makes me want to climb onto your lap.”

“Hunny, you are a threat to road safety. You really need to get in control of that.”

“Then stop grinning that sex-on-a-stick grin. I just want to lick it.”

“I can’t stop. You have that effect on me.”

“I know. So, it appears we have a predicament.”

“We do.”

She leans over and slides her hand across my thigh, stopping on top of the hard mound in my pants.

“Alexis,” I growl in warning. Bloody hell, she drives me wild.

She gives me a firm squeeze while answering in an innocently sweet voice. “Yes?”

Swallowing heavily, I rein in the serious wood that is forming beneath her hand. “You better start thinking of all the ways you want to be fucked. Because when we get home, we are going to be performing each and every one of them.”

Experiencing confliction with one’s self, when you think about it, is kind of absurd. But despite that absurdity, we all subject ourselves to this illogical torment at more than one point in our lives. Why? Well, I would probably put it down to stubbornness, or the inability to be unyielding, even if that means you then become at war with yourself.

I’m no stranger to being at war—figuratively speaking—having fought and won many battles in my life. Battles in business, against family, and even against morality. But fighting a battle against one’s self is not a battle you intend on losing. The thing is if you are defeated, then you only have yourself to blame.

* * *

“Bryce, I know this is hard for you. But you have to talk about your feelings of guilt if you ever want to get past them.”

I look up from my seated position. Jessica—my psychologist and family friend—is sitting across from me with her notepad rested on her lap. She has her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose and a troubled expression on her face. It’s quite obvious to me that her concern is due to the fact that I am not openly discussing what happened with Gareth like she wishes that I would.

We are both sitting in her office which is situated on Burke Street in the CBD of Melbourne. It’s a quaint office, furnished with soft colours, unobtrusive ornaments and feel-good art work, purposefully placed to make her patients feel comfortable, relaxed and, unbeknown to them, unguarded. I have been here many times before and am aware of my deceptive surroundings—they don’t fool me.

“What if I don’t want to get past my guilt? What if I don’t deserve to?” I respond with determination.

“Guilt is felt by not only the guilty, but more so by those who feel they deserve it when in fact, they don’t. Guilt can be a humble yet deceitful emotion.”

“Jessica,” I sigh, deflated and tired as a result of this session’s conflict. “I know you are trying to help. I know you are trying to make me see that Gareth’s death was not my fault. The truth of the matter is...it was. I abandoned him when he really needed me and, on top of that, I nearly lost Alexis in the process. I deserve this guilt. Please, just let me bear it.”

She places her notepad on the seat next to her and removes her glasses. “Gareth’s death was not your fault. If it were then it would be equally mine. Actions have consequences, consequences have results, and sometimes those results are devastating, as in Gareth’s case.”