Chapter 18: The Clinic Visit
The morning was brittle with a cold, white sun. Ace drove in a silence that was different from any they’d shared before. It wasn’t comfortable or charged with anticipation. It was thin, sharp-edged, filled with words they weren’t saying. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel of the Mustang, the engine’s growl subdued, almost hesitant. Lexi watched his profile, the muscle in his jaw ticking like a silent metronome counting down the minutes.
He hadn’t let her out of his sight since they’d woken up tangled in his sheets, the fear a cold third presence in the bed. He’d made her toast she couldn’t eat, watched her dress with an intensity that felt clinical, and now he was piloting them towards the clinic with the grim focus of a soldier on a mission.
“You don’t have to come in,” she said, for the third time, her voice small against the rumble of the engine.
His answer was the same: a hard, flat glance that shut down the argument. He wasn’t asking.
The Northwood Women’s Health Clinic was a squat, beige brick building on the utilitarian side of town. It shared a parking lot with a plumbing supply warehouse. Ace pulled into a spot at the far end, away from other cars, and cut the engine. The sudden quiet was deafening.
He finally looked at her, his blue eyes scanning her face. “Ready?”
She wasn’t. Not even a little. She nodded anyway.
The inside was exactly as she’d feared: a fluorescent-lit purgatory. Sterile blue walls, scuffed linoleum floors, the faint, astringent smell of antiseptic trying to mask something else. A potted fern by the reception desk was the only attempt at softness, its leaves drooping slightly. A few other women sat in the vinyl chairs, eyes glued to magazines or phones, avoiding each other’s gazes. The air hummed with quiet anxiety.
Ace’s presence was a shockwave in the subdued space. He was too tall, too broad, too vividly there in his leather jacket and dark jeans. He drew looks—curious, wary, judgmental. He ignored them all, his hand finding the small of Lexi’s back, guiding her to the check-in window.
The receptionist, a woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense voice, took Lexi’s information. “And you are?” she asked Ace.
“I’m with her,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
They took two seats in the corner. Ace sat ramrod straight, his arm slung along the back of her chair, his fingers absently twisting a lock of her hair. It was a possessive, soothing gesture. He stared at a poster about cervical health with a frightening intensity, as if he could intimidate it.
“You’re making everyone nervous,” Lexi whispered, trying for a joke. It fell flat.
“Good,” he murmured, his gaze not leaving the poster.
Minutes ticked by, measured by the slow sweep of the clock’s second hand. Lexi’s palms were damp. She thought about the frantic, breathless coupling against his wall, the terrifying, wonderful fullness of him inside her in his bed. She thought about cell division, about possibility, about the pale, plus-shaped ghost on a plastic stick. Her stomach churned.
“Alexis Thompson?”
A nurse in cheerful scrubs stood by an inner door. Lexi stood, her legs unsteady. Ace stood with her, his movement fluid and immediate.
The nurse gave a polite, professional smile. “Just the patient for now, hon. You can wait here.”
Ace’s jaw tightened. “I’m coming with her.”
“It’s procedure to speak with the patient alone first,” the nurse said, her smile not wavering but firming at the edges.
Lexi saw the storm gathering in his eyes—the defensiveness, the need for control. She put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
He looked down at her, the conflict raw on his face. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a fierce, private rasp that vibrated through her. “No matter what happens, I’m with you. You hear me? No matter what.”
The words were an anchor. She clung to them, nodding. He squeezed her hand once, hard enough to bruise, then let go.
The exam room was small, cold. The nurse asked her questions, her pen scratching on the clipboard. Date of last period.Sexual history. Contraceptive use. The clinical terms made it all sound so ordinary, so managed. Lexi’s answers were monosyllabic. The nurse’s demeanor was kind but detached, a practiced neutrality that somehow made Lexi feel more alone.
“We’ll do a urine test first. It’s very early, but it can sometimes detect pregnancy hormones. Given the timing you’ve described, emergency contraception is still a viable option to prevent implantation if conception has occurred.” The nurse handed her a plastic cup. “Bathroom’s right across the hall.”
Lexi took the cup, her fingers cold. In the tiny, sterile bathroom, she followed the instructions, her heart a frantic bird in her throat. She set the cup on the ledge, washed her hands, and avoided her own gaze in the mirror. When she returned to the room, the nurse took it with a gentle, “The doctor will be in shortly.”
The wait was worse than the one in the lobby. She sat on the crinkling paper of the exam table, listening to the muted sounds of the clinic. A door closing. Distant murmur of voices. The hum of the light.
The door opened, and a different woman entered—older, with glasses and a calm, direct manner.Dr. Evans. She shook Lexi’s hand, her grip firm and dry. She reviewed the chart.
“So, you’re here for emergency contraception,” Dr. Evans stated, not unkindly.“Yes. I mean, I think so. We… we didn’t use anything. Twice. This weekend.” The confession tumbled out.
The doctor nodded. “The test is negative, which is what we’d expect at this point. It’s only been a few days. That doesn’t fully rule anything out, but it means we can proceed with the medication. It’s a high dose of hormones that delays ovulation or prevents a fertilized egg from attaching. It’s about 85-90% effective if taken within 72 hours. You’re well within that window.”
Relief, sharp and giddy, flooded Lexi’s veins, followed immediately by a crushing wave of shame. She’d been so stupid.Dr. Evans seemed to read her face. “It happens more than you think. To very smart, very careful people.” She leaned forward slightly. “The medication can cause nausea, fatigue, some irregular bleeding. Your next period might be early or late. Do you have any questions?”
Lexi shook her head.
“And moving forward? I’d strongly recommend a reliable, ongoing form of birth control. We can discuss options today, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” Lexi whispered.
The doctor talked about pills, patches, implants. Lexi heard the words but they blurred together. She agreed to a prescription for the pill, her mind already out in the waiting room, on Ace’s face.Dr. Evans handed her a small, foil-wrapped packet—the morning-after pill—and a paper cup of water.
“You can take it now. And your young man out there… he can come back now, if you want.”
Lexi swallowed the pill. It felt like swallowing a stone. She nodded.
When Ace walked in, the room seemed to shrink. He took in everything in a single, sweeping glance: the doctor, the medical tools, Lexi on the table. His eyes locked on hers, a silent question screaming in them.
“We’re all set,” Dr.Evans said. “Lexi has taken the emergency contraception. She has a prescription for ongoing birth control. She should follow up if her period is more than a week late, or if she has severe pain.”
Ace just nodded, his gaze never leaving Lexi. The doctor left with a final word about the receptionist having paperwork.
The door clicked shut.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other. The tension that had wired him tight since yesterday seemed to crack, not dissipating, but melting into something else—a profound, weary relief. He crossed the room in two strides. Instead of hugging her, he braced his hands on the exam table on either side of her hips, caging her in, and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. She felt the huge, shuddering breath he took.
“Negative?” he mumbled into her sweater.“For now. The pill should… it should work.”
He lifted his head. His eyes were bright, almost fierce. “Okay,” he said, the word a solid, grounding thing. “Okay.”
He helped her down from the table, his hands gentle on her waist. He picked up her jacket, held it out for her. The simple, old-fashioned gesture made her throat tight.
Out at the reception desk, as Lexi finalized paperwork, Ace stood sentinel. He paid the copay in cash before she could even reach for her wallet, his large hand closing over hers to stop her. “Let me,” was all he said.
Back in the Mustang, the world outside looked the same, but everything felt different. The fear was receding, leaving a strange, hollowed-out calm in its wake. Ace didn’t start the car immediately. He sat with his hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead.
“I saw my mom in places like that,” he said, his voice low. “Always scared.Always alone. I swore I’d never…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I fucked up. I got lost in you and I fucked up.”
“We both did,” she said again, but it felt more true now.
“Yeah.” He finally looked at her. “But it ends today. This… this panic shit. It ends.” He reached into the backseat, grabbed his leather jacket, and fished something out of an inner pocket. He dropped a small, square box into her lap.
It was a box of condoms. Ultra thin. Lubricated.
Lexi stared at it, heat flooding her cheeks.
“I bought them this morning, after you were in the shower,” he said, matter-of-fact. “They’re going in my nightstand. And we’re using them. Every single time. No exceptions. Not even if you’re on the pill. Not even if I’m so deep in you I can’t think straight.” His voice was rough, uncompromising. “That’s the rule.”
It wasn’t romantic. It was the furthest thing from it. It was a brutal, practical vow. And it made her feel more cared for than any bouquet of flowers ever could. He was building a fortress of responsibility around them, stone by stone.
“Okay,” she said, echoing his word from the exam room. She picked up the box, her fingers tracing its edges. “The rule.”
He nodded, satisfied. He started the car. As he backed out of the spot, his hand found her knee, squeezing it. “Where to?Home?”
Home. The word conjured images of her father’s tense silences and Dede’s overly bright chatter. She couldn’t face it, not yet. “Can we just drive?”
“Yeah.” He turned the wheel, heading not towards town, but away from it, towards the winding back roads that led to the cliffs. “We can drive.”
They ended up at a lookout point overlooking the river, a different spot from their cliff. It was quieter, less exposed. He parked and killed the engine. The only sounds were the wind and the distant rush of water far below.
The adrenaline crash hit her then, a sudden, bone-deep exhaustion. She shivered.
Without a word, Ace got out, came around, and opened her door. He took her hand and led her to the hood of the Mustang, warm from the engine. He sat, leaning back against the windshield, and pulled her between his legs, her back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, his jacket enveloping them both. He rested his chin on top of her head.
They sat like that for a long time, watching the gray river churn below.
“My sister called this morning,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble in his chest against her back. “Asked if I wanted to come for dinner next Sunday. She’s making a pot roast.”
Lexi knew what it cost him to offer this piece of his fractured world. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I told her I might bring someone.” He paused. “If you want.”
The simple question held galaxies of meaning. Meeting his family. Stepping into the other part of his life, the one he protected so fiercely. She twisted in his arms to look at him. The afternoon light caught the blue of his eyes, turning them clear and startling. The intensity was still there, but the storm had passed, leaving a quieter, more determined calm.
“I want,” she said.
He kissed her then, not with the desperate hunger of the weekend, but with a slow, deep certainty that tasted like a new beginning. When he pulled away, he kept her close, his forehead resting against hers.
“Monday,” he said. “At school. You and me. No hiding.”
She thought of the hallways, the stares, the whispers. She thought of Rylee and Bree, of the gossip that would snap at their heels like little dogs. Then she looked at him—at the careful, guarded hope in his eyes, at the strong hands that held her with such possession and such tenderness.
“No hiding,” she agreed.
He smiled, a real one, the kind that transformed his whole face, making him look younger, lighter. He brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “Good. Now let’s get you that prescription filled, mouse. And then I’m buying you the greasiest burger in Northwood. You look like you haven’t eaten in a week.”
As they drove back towards town, the late afternoon sun breaking through the clouds, Lexi felt the last of the cold dread melt away. The problem wasn’t solved, not really. There were still days of waiting, of what-ifs. But the fear was no longer a wild beast between them. It was a shared, managed thing. A rule in a box on a nightstand. A pact sealed in a sterile room and affirmed on the warm hood of a car.
For the first time since the door of his bedroom had clicked shut behind them, she breathed easy. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding hers, his thumb stroking slow, steady circles on her skin. The road ahead was just a road, leading not to a cliff’s edge, but simply forward.
The Mustang’s tires hummed against the asphalt, a steady rhythm that finally smoothed the last jagged edges from Lexi’s nerves. Ace’s thumb kept tracing those slow circles on her hand, a silent, persistent reassurance. He flicked on the radio, some classic rock station playing low, and the normalcy of it felt like a gift.
“Greasiest burger in Northwood, you said,” Lexi murmured, leaning her head against the seat.
“A man of my word,” he replied, the ghost of a smile in his voice. He glanced at her. “Actually, that’s The Grill Shack. Rylee’s always there after four on Mondays for the double-patty special. Bree usually drags herself along.”
He said it casually, but Lexi heard the unspoken offer.A public place. With friends. A first, soft launch of ‘them’ into the world. “Would they mind?” she asked.
“Rylee’s been betting me twenty bucks I’d scare you off within a week.” Ace snorted. “He’s gonna be pissed he lost. Let’s go collect.”
The Grill Shack was a dented aluminum box of a building with neon signs flickering in the fading afternoon light. The air inside was thick with the smell of frying onions, seared beef, and cleaning solution. Red vinyl booths were cracked, and the jukebox in the corner played a twangy country song.
And there they were, crammed in a corner booth. Rylee, lanky and already working on a mountain of fries, and Bree, petite and doodling absently on a paper placemat with a stolen pen. Rylee spotted them first, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. He nudged Bree.
Ace didn’t pause. He guided Lexi through the scattered tables, his hand a firm presence on the small of her back. They stopped at the edge of the booth.
“This seat taken?” Ace asked, his tone deceptively mild.
Rylee recovered, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. And he brought a friend.” He slid over, making room. “Squish in, new girl. Fries are a communal offering here.”
Lexi slid in next to Bree, who gave her a warm, if curious, smile. Ace crowded in beside Rylee, their shoulders bumping.
“So,” Rylee drawled, dragging a fry through a puddle of ketchup. “To what do we owe the honor? Finally decide to show your face somewhere civilized, Ryder?”
“Lexi was hungry,” Ace said, lifting a shoulder. He grabbed a menu from behind the napkin dispenser and handed it to her. His knee found hers under the table, a solid point of contact. “And I owed her a burger that doesn’t taste like hospital food.”
Bree’s eyes, sharp and observant, flicked between them, catching the subtle intimacy. “Everything okay?” she asked Lexi, her voice lower.
“Yeah,” Lexi said, and for the first time today, it felt entirely true. “Just a long morning. This is better.”
A waitress came, and Ace ordered for both of them without fanfare—a double bacon cheeseburger for him, a classic with extra pickles for her, two chocolate shakes. It was confidently domestic.
When the waitress left, Rylee leaned forward, his elbows on the sticky table. “Alright, cut the crap.Spill. You two are doing that weird, silent communicating thing. It’s freaking Bree out.”
“I am not freaked out,” Bree said, elbowing him. “I’m observant. There’s a vibe.”
Ace took a long drink of his water. He set the glass down with a deliberate click. He looked at Rylee, then at Bree, his gaze straightforward. “We’re dating.”
The words hung in the greasy air.Simple.Final.
Rylee stared. He blinked. Then he let out a sharp, loud laugh and slapped the table. “I knew it! Pay up, Bree! Told you he was gone for her the second he nearly brained Tyler Jacobs for bumping into her in the hall.”
Bree rolled her eyes but smiled. “You did not say that. You said, and I quote, ‘Ace’ll just brood at her until she runs screaming.’” She turned her smile to Lexi.“Ignore him. I’m happy for you guys. Really.”
“Officially, huh?” Rylee needled, though his grin was genuine. “So what’s the protocol? Do we have to like, be nice to her now? Not make fun of you within her earshot?”
Ace’s mouth quirked. “You can try. But she’s seen my house, so your material’s already weak.”
The banter was easy, light. It wrapped around Lexi, pulling her into a warmth she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. This was what normal might feel like. The burgers arrived, monstrous and gleaming, and the conversation dissolved into the messy, satisfying business of eating.
Lexi discovered Ace was right—the burgers were perfectly, gloriously greasy. For a while, the only sounds were chewing and Rylee’s animated story about his boss at the auto shop misordering a truckload of spark plugs.
Halfway through her shake, Lexi felt her phone buzz in her pocket.A text. Then another. She ignored it, savoring the moment—the laughter, the way Ace’s arm rested along the back of the booth behind her, his fingers occasionally toying with a strand of her hair.
The buzz came again, persistent. With a small sigh, she wiped her hands and pulled it out.
Three messages from her dad.
Dinner at 7. Dede’s making lasagna.
Will you be home?
We’d like to talk.
The warmth from the food and the company congealed slightly in her stomach. ‘We’d like to talk.’ Never a good sign. She felt Ace’s eyes on her, noticing her shifted posture.
“Trouble?” he asked quietly, his voice barely carrying over Rylee’s chatter.
“My dad,” she murmured, putting the phone face down on the table. “Summoning me for a ‘talk’.”
Bree grimaced in sympathy. “Parent talks are the worst. Good luck.”
Ace’s fingers stilled in her hair. His gaze was understanding, but a shadow of his old protective intensity flickered there. “You want me to come? I can just… be there. Sit on the porch. Whatever.”
The offer was so fiercely loyal it made her chest ache. She imagined him on her front step, a brooding guardian silhouette, and almost smiled. “I think that might make the ‘talk’ more of an interrogation,” she said. “But thank you.”
He nodded, accepting her decision, but his knee pressed more firmly against hers. A solid anchor.
Rylee, picking up on the shift, expertly steered the conversation back to shallow waters, complaining about the upcoming calculus test. The meal wound down with the easy rhythm of friendship, the booth a temporary shield from the outside world.
As they stepped out into the cool evening air, the parking lot lights flickering on, Rylee clapped Ace on the shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger, loverboy. And Lexi,” he added, his tone uncharacteristically sincere for a moment, “you’re good for him. He’s less… murdery.”
“Thanks,” Lexi laughed. “I think.”
Bree hugged her goodbye, a quick, tight squeeze. “Call me if you need an escape during the parental summit,” she whispered.
In the car, the familiar scent of leather and Ace enveloped her. He started the engine but didn’t pull out. “You ready?” he asked, looking not at the road, but at her.
She thought of the clinic, his vow in the waiting room. She thought of the condom box in his nightstand, a stark new rule born from fear. She thought of his sister’s pot roast invitation, and of him telling his friends, plainly, that they were together.
“No,” Lexi said honestly, leaning over to kiss the tense line of his jaw. “But I will be.”
He caught her lips with his, a brief, sealing kiss that tasted of salt and chocolate and promise. Then he put the car in gear, heading toward her house, toward the waiting conversation, driving them forward together into the gathering dark.