“Thanks for real. And I’ll check my oxygen levels,” I say.
She walks over to the supply tray and grabs a handful of IV dressings. I stand, grab the pulse oximeter, and place it on my finger. The small electronic clip will read my SpO2, heart rate, and oxygen saturation level. It only takes seconds and I see my level is ninety-five. It’s normal but too close to baseline for me. I’m normally one hundred so I definitely want an x-ray.
The door opens again and Lawanda walks in pushing a phlebotomy cart. She hands me a urine specimen cup. I frown at it.
“Don’t act like you don’t know the rules. We have to rule out pregnancy before all x-rays. No exceptions. Kevin will be in as soon as we have a negative test,” she says while waving that damn cup at me. “Better hurry. I’ll draw when you get back.”
“I don’t think I even have to pee,” I admit.
“Try,” she says while holding the cup. out
I stand, grab the cup, then head to the restroom. I know it’s just protocol, especially for me. Tyriq is the only man I’ve been with these past nine months and we are careful. He’s always strapped and I take my birth control pills. I’m not perfect with it but Slynd provides a twenty-four-hour catch-up window for continued protection. If I miss a day, I’m still good. Mind you, some days I might miss more than one, but Tyriq always wears a condom.
Either way, urine samples are annoying as hell because I never have to pee when I need to pee. Luckily, this time though, I manage to get out enough for the sample. When I walk back into the room, I place it in the bag and on the counter then sit down. Lawanda draws three vials of blood then takes them and my sample to the lab. I remain in the examination room with the lights off while I wait on the results. I don’t want to be discovered and pulled back on the floor before my x-ray.
About fifteen minutes later, Lawanda walks in instead of Kevin. She flips the light switch then closes the door. She walks over then sits in the chair next to me. With a peculiar look on her face, she turns to me.
“What’s up? Where’s Kevin?” I ask, trying to decipher her face as I speak.
“He isn’t coming. He can’t. You’re pregnant, Teaira,” she says but I’m a thousand percent sure she didn’t just say what the hell I think she did.
Losing all professionalism, I ask, “Bitch, what?”
“You’re pregnant. Both your urine and blood have hCG present.”
“My shit? Are you sure you were looking at my results?” I ask because this cannot be happening.
I can’t be pregnant.
I just can’t.
Nothing is how it should be.
My life plans are simple, transfer out of the ER, marry my one, then, and only then, have a baby. What in the entire fuck! Shit!
“I’m sure,” she saysand shit!
What am I going to do?
The tension in the arena is thick as hell. It’s the second half with ten minutes and fifteen seconds remaining. I just brought the ball up the court, dribbling just over the mid-court line. We lead sixty-five to sixty-three and that’s slim as fuck, too slim. My eyes are focused on the clock and my team.
As I dribble, I eye Kove and Mav. With nods and hand motions, I set them up, even though Ruston’s lanky ass is trying to pressure. He’s too fucking tight though, with his sweaty ass hand in my face. I pivot on his ass and move to my left to create some space but this nigga stays with me, talking mad shit.
This nigga has been talking reckless all fucking night and I’m over him and his shit. Coach already benched me for the first five minutes of the game for missing curfew. Then, Quay arrived at the game alone. Apparently, my bitch-ass father is sick and my moms had to stay home and take care of his ass. I know that nigga ain’t sick. Hell, Quay knows he ain’t sick; the only person who doesn’t know is my moms. When I dribble to the right, I quickly glance at Quay and the empty seat.
“Try again, muthafucka,” Ruston taunts.
“Don’t worry, bitch; I will,” I assure him as I glance at the clock. The shot clock is winding down and there’s ten minutes and five seconds remaining in the half. I switch hands, dribbling and pivoting again but the nigga is still on me.
“The only bitch is your momma,” he says like a simp ass bitch.
“For my momma, nigga,” I grit as I push off him, throw my elbow back as hard as I fucking can, and drive toward the top of the key. When I quickly look over my shoulder, I see Ruston on the floor and smirk.Who momma, bitch!As soon as I pass the ball to Kove, the official blows the whistle and signals an intentional foul. “Fuck!”
The play and the clock are stopped. Coach calls us over to him. As the officials convene at the table to review the monitor, Coach is on my ass. He’s yelling and gripping his beard like he always does when he’s pissed but I ignore him. Shit, I’m ignoring every-fuckin’-body: the upset crowd, my teammates, hell, even my bruh, Kove. I’ve zoned the fuck out and can’t concentrate on shit but that damn empty seat. Besides, this game has been bullshit from the start and I’m over it.All of this shit!
The announcers say some shit then the next thing I know, the lead official walks out, signals a Flagrant 2 for excessive and unnecessary contact. His short stubby fingers point toward me and he makes the ejection motion, signaling for me to immediately get off the court. The Lions fans in the arena and my teammates erupt in anger. Before Coach can say shit, I just shake my head and walk off, heading to the locker room for the rest of the fucking game.
As soon as I’m inside, the magnitude of what the fuck just happened hits me like a fucking freight train.I just got ejected from the championship game. Paxton and Mick were out there! Shit! I fucked up…bad. The game. The championship. The draft.
