One More Chance (Chance, #2)(17)
Grant turned around with the clipboard, and his gaze instantly found mine. For a moment, I felt better. Then the blonde’s voice stopped him.
“Grant Carter?” she cooed in a sultry voice that couldn’t have been her real voice. Grant stopped and glanced back at the woman who had fixed herself up for his attention. He paused and then smiled. My stomach felt sick.
“Melody?” he replied, as if he wasn’t sure if that was her name or not.
She beamed up at him like he had said the most wonderful thing in the world. I was officially nauseated. And I was jealous. Completely jealous. Because he was smiling at her. “What are you doing here? Never expected to see Grant Carter at my gyno’s office.” As if she hadn’t seen him walk in with me.
Grant turned to me, and his grin grew. “I’m here with my . . .” He paused. It was only a brief pause, but in that moment, it felt like he had sliced me with a knife. He didn’t even know what I was to him. He hadn’t thought about it. “Girlfriend,” he finished, before winking at me and turning back to Blondie with the big boobs.
Blondie barely glanced my way, and then she did a double take. When I walked next to Grant in a room full of women, no one paid attention to me, so I hadn’t been recognized. I hated that my face was so well known now.
“Is that . . . oh, my God, it is,” she said in a surprised voice.
Grant moved fast. He was in front of me, taking my hand and pulling me up against him in seconds, moving me toward the door leading out of the waiting room. “She needs privacy,” he informed the lady at the desk, and she seemed to understand completely and nodded as he closed the door behind us.
A nurse met us in the empty hallway. “This way,” she said as she opened a door to an exam room and waved for us to go inside. “Have Miss Manning fill out the paperwork, and I’ll be back shortly to get it.” I was a little dizzy from how quickly that had happened. Grant had moved fast. He hadn’t taken time to say good-bye to Melody or make any explanations.
“Sorry. I should have known she’d recognize you. She’s the fangirl sort. I brought her around Rush once, and she acted like an idiot,” Grant said, looking frustrated.
“So you dated her?” I asked, unable to help the jealous tone in my voice. I normally wasn’t so transparent with my emotions, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
Grant frowned, and then a small smile tugged on the corners of his lips. He closed the space between us and backed me up against the exam table as he towered over me, looking extremely pleased. “Yeah, I dated her a few times years ago. You jealous, sweet girl?” he asked with a sugary, warm drawl.
I could have lied, but instead, I shrugged. I would try for nonchalance.
Grant threw his head back and laughed before caging me in with both of his arms as he leaned down over me. “Oh, no, you don’t get to do that. I am enjoying this moment. I like that you got jealous of me. Not that you have anything to be jealous of ever, but I like it. I’m yours, baby, but knowing you want me makes it pretty damn sweet.”
I tried to frown, but a giggle escaped.
Grant
“We’ll need to take this one step at a time. Harlow has been made aware of the risks. I see women with her condition deliver babies several times a year. But then, I also see other things happen. While maternal mortality has decreased in the last decade, that’s still our number one concern here. Then there’s the possibility that the fetus won’t make it past the first trimester. A spontaneous abortion or miscarriage could occur, which we can’t control—it happens even in normal pregnancies. But it could cause complications. Alternatively, the baby could come early. And if the birth is successful, the baby could inherit Harlow’s condition.”
The doctor was talking, and I was hearing him, but I was losing focus. The term “maternal mortality” had seized my lungs and caused my heart to slam against my rib cage. I couldn’t accept those two words. Ever.
The doctor directed his next words at Harlow. “Weekly visits are a must. I have to monitor your heart rate, and as we progress, we will need to keep an eye on the fetus as it matures.”
Fucking complications. I hated this. I f**king hated it, knowing that Harlow was facing these dangers because I didn’t use a damn condom a couple of times. This was my fault. If I lost her, it would all be on me. I did this to her. I put that . . . that baby in there that she was so determined to protect. That she loved.
I loved her. I loved her so damn much.
“I went over your records this morning as soon as the fax came in. I’m pleased to say that you’re in much better health than most women with this condition. You had successful surgeries as a child, and you have been healthy. No problems or issues. You are high-risk, but all the signs tell me we can do this. You’re a fighter. That much is obvious, from what I’ve seen.” The doctor looked from Harlow to me. “And she will need support. She doesn’t need negativity. She needs a team. You are the most important part of that team.”
I swallowed against the tight grip my fear had on my throat. I needed her. Fuck this. I needed her to live. To be safe. I managed a nod. It was the best I could do.
“Hypertension is a major concern at this point. Her blood pressure should be checked morning and night. She needs to get moderate exercise. Maybe stroll down the beach for a mile but no more than that. Swimming is also good. If you have a pool, that would be ideal. Just something easy. Resting throughout the day and elevating her feet are important. She will need someone there to remind her and make sure she does this.”