Oh, now wasn't this pleasant? Thomas looked around the nicely appointed office, remembering clearly that fateful day. He sat right here in this same leather chair as Nina sat beside him and said to Rollo, "Excuse me, but we are not an infertile couple. I am perfectly normal. He's the one with the defect."

Women. Why was it that the worst moments of his life-and the best-were in the company of women?

Why had he allowed himself to trust a woman?

Why had he loved one?

Was it worth it-the moments he'd spent in Emma's company, in her arms, inside her body, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, feeling what he would have sworn to God above was love?

Maybe it was. Maybe that was the real hell in all this-that he wouldn't have done a thing differently if he'd known in advance that it would turn to shit.

Maybe it was worth it just to know what it felt like. Just once in his life. Maybe it had been worth it to his own father, all those years ago.

With a sigh of disgust, Thomas promised himself not to be so hard on the next fool who wandered his way looking for a hit man, lost and desperate because of a woman.

His beeper went off again, making four calls from Emma in the last half-hour. He'd talk to her when he was good and ready and not a moment sooner.

"What the hell, Tobin? I was with a patient!"

Rollo pushed past him and threw himself into his office chair. He looked as fierce as he did on the rugby pitch, big and nasty and ready to knock heads.

"Emma's pregnant."

Thomas watched the air empty from his best friend's lungs, his face soften.

"Say again?"

Thomas rose from the chair and started to pace. "She's pregnant. I'm about to blow. Punch a wall. Break somebody's arm. I don't know what to do."

"Sit down." Rollo stood up from behind his desk when Thomas continued to pace. "Sit down, dammit!"

Thomas wheeled on him. "She had the nerve to tell me she hadn't been with anyone else! I want to believe her! God, how I want to believe her-"

"Sit down, Thomas."

"Fuck!"

"Sit down."

"But I'm sterile! I'm supposed to be sterile!" Thomas glared at him. "Right?"

Rollo reached over his desk and grabbed Thomas by the tie. "I said sit down. Right now."

He collapsed with a thud.

"Can I get you a soda or a cup of coffee?"

"God, no."

Rollo picked up his phone. "Giselle, I've got a situation here. Please bring me Thomas Tobin's chart."

Rollo ran both his hands through his thick brown hair and took off his small wire-framed glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Finally, he looked up.

"How far along is she?"

"Hell if I know."

"How long have you two been sexually active?"

"Three Saturdays ago. And we've been real active."

"Oh, boy."

"What? What the hell is that supposed to mean-Oh, boy!-like you're on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the fair or something when I'm telling you that the only woman I've ever loved just lied to me! She-"

After a meek knock, the door opened a crack and the receptionist inserted Thomas's file through the gap.

Rollo was up on his feet. "Thanks," he whispered, looking sheepish.

Thomas watched him open the chart and nod to himself. He threw his glasses across the desk.

"What is it you want to ask me?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you here, T? What is it that you want me to tell you?"

"I don't know-"

"That I made a mistake six months ago and you're not really sterile? Because I can't tell you that. You are sterile by all conceivable medical measurements."

"I know that."

"Do you want me to assure you that there is absolutely no chance whatsoever that you could have fathered that child? Because I can't tell you that, either."

Thomas leaned forward in his chair. "What did youjust say tome?"

Rollo laughed and threw up his hands. "I don't have any magic answer for you, T. You took a pounding seven years ago and the swelling and pain eventually went away and it looked like you were in the clear. Then last winter…"

Rollo flipped open the chart again. "Complete rupture of the bloody membrane, recurrent scrotal pain and atrophy-you ignored the pain, buddy, and by the time you got in here, your body had already had several months to fight off what it considered a virus invading your body cavity-your own sperm. The damage was done. You'd built up antibodies to your own sperm."

"You told me this already."

"What I told you, Thomas, is that your semen analysis showed you were far, far below normal ranges and were considered sterile. But I also told you that you had a few healthy sperm left with some motility-not many, but some."

Thomas was up and out of the chair and his voice was so loud it bounced off the wallpaper and zinged over the surface of the windows. "Are you telling me that I could be the actual goddamn father of that baby?"

"Sit down, Thomas," Rollo said calmly, and Thomas slammed down into the chair again. His head felt like it would explode.

"Maybe-just maybe-that's your baby Emma's carrying. She could be telling the truth."

Thomas rubbed his hand across his mouth and stared at the pocket of Rollo's coat-it didn't say anything about the CVS stock boy. This was not another one of his dreams. This was real.

The worst fucking nightmare he'd ever had.

"Oh, dear God."

"Look, T. You are technically, virtually, medically infertile. But you still produce sperm-and a couple of them still have some get-up-and-go. Maybe you had one real champ and he made the clutch play for you, man."

"Oh, dear God."

Rollo shrugged. "As your doctor-and as your friend-I've got to tell you that this isn't about numbers, it's about trust. You can always get an in vitro DNA workup if you have to, but you need to decide right now-you either trust the woman or you don't. Which is it?"

"Dear God in heaven."

Rollo reached over the desk and gave Thomas's cheek several quick, light slaps. "Are you hearing what I'm saying?"

Thomas looked at Rollo and swallowed. "That's my baby, isn't it?"

"I'm a doctor, not an odds maker, T." Rollo closed the file. "I've seen some strange things in my line of work, and I'll be the first person to tell you that bad shit happens all the time. But I think maybe there's room in the universe for really excellent shit to happen, too."

Rollo put his hand on Thomas's arm.

"Maybe this is one of those times-a time for excellent shit. A miracle even."

"Oh, Emma, baby. Oh, no." Thomas rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then looked down at his pager: six calls from her now.

He jumped up and Rollo followed him to the door. "What're you gonna do, man?"

Thomas wasn't sure what to do with his own face-should he be beaming with pride? Crying because he was such a moron? He ended up turning, throwing his arms around his best friend and squeezing as hard as he could.

Rollo stared at him in shock.

"I'll tell you what I'm gonna do, man." Thomas planted a big, smacking kiss on Rollo's cheek. "I'm going to get married-that is, if Emma can ever forgive me for what I just did to her-if she can still love me. Then I'm going to be a husband and a father."

Thomas reached for the doorknob and turned back to Rollo. "Score a few more Cohibas in the meantime, all right? We're gonna need 'em."

He shut the door, leaving Rollo standing in the middle of his office, laughing, shaking his head, rubbing his cheek.

"There goes poker night."