One More Chance (Chance, #2)(18)

I nodded again. If persuading Harlow to end this pregnancy was impossible, then I intended to make sure she did all of this. If I had to quit my damn job, I would.

“Around the eighteenth week of pregnancy, we will do a fetal echocardiogram to check and see if the baby has indeed inherited the condition. We need to know this before delivery. It could save the baby’s life.” The doctor glanced down at his clipboard, then back up, looking first at Harlow and then at me. “I’ve arranged for Harlow to meet with a cardiologist biweekly. I’ve sent him her records, and we will meet to discuss Harlow before her first visit next week. It is a key factor in making this a successful pregnancy.”

Harlow nodded beside me, and then her small hand slipped into mine and squeezed. She needed my reassurance, and I was standing here trying to deal with my own fear. I wasn’t considering the fear that she had to be feeling. Yet she was still determined to do this.

“Be aware that you are in the high-risk category, but there are different levels within that. From what we can determine at this point, you’re on the lower end of the scale. That’s a good thing. A very good thing,” he said, and Harlow’s hand squeezed mine again. “As for intercourse, it’s allowed. However, her heart is working overtime right now. Nothing too intense.” He looked at me.

“But we can have, uh, sex? Right? Just nothing too, um, creative?”

The doctor bit back a grin in response to Harlow’s timid question. After clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yes. Normal activity is fine. If you follow the other instructions I gave you, then there should no problem. Pregnancy normally requires more than average activity,” he replied as he moved his gaze back to me. “Now, I’ll see you next week after your visit with Dr. Nelson. He will fax over your results from the visit, and we will move on from there.”

Harlow nodded and stood up, still holding my hand. “Thank you,” she said with such sincerity it broke my heart. She wanted this so bad. How was I supposed to oppose it? How was I supposed to convince her not to do it when she wanted it so desperately? “Let’s go,” she said, looking up at me.

“Thanks,” I told the doctor, and walked with Harlow to the door.

A nurse met us in the hallway. “We have a back exit to take you through. That way, Miss Manning doesn’t have to deal with the crowd in the waiting room.”

The way she said “crowd” snapped me out of my emotional haze. What crowd?

“There have been a few arrivals since you got here. We’ve called the police. It should be cleared up soon,” the nurse explained.

Shit. Damn Melody. Had she alerted the f**king media?

“I’m so sorry,” Harlow said. I turned my attention to her and saw the horrified look on her face. Dammit. Why hadn’t I been better prepared to keep her safe from this?

“Nothing to be sorry for, Miss Manning. We should have brought you in through the back. That was our mistake. From now on, you can enter through this door, and we will send you directly to an exam room. You can have your privacy then.”

“Thank you,” Harlow muttered, but I didn’t miss the frustrated sound in her voice. She didn’t like the attention, and she had flown under the radar for so long. This thing with her parents had taken her privacy away from her.

Harlow

We could have sex. As upset as I was by the media showing up at the doctor’s office, it didn’t take away from the fact that we could have sex. I’d been having vivid fantasies about Grant lately, and I had to fight the urge to climb on top of him when we got to the car.

“How do you feel about this doctor?” Grant asked as he pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road toward home.

“I like him. I feel better talking to him than I did with the last doctor. This one seems to know more about my specific situation,” I replied honestly. This doctor had explained things carefully and was thorough with his exam. He had even set up visits to a cardiologist for me. I had a cardiologist in L.A., but I needed one here. I needed one involved in this pregnancy. The only fear I had now was that our baby might not be healthy. I didn’t want to curse this child with my heart condition.

“He seems positive,” Grant said.

I liked that he seemed positive. It made me feel like I wasn’t the only person on earth who believed I could do this. “I’m low-risk.” I repeated the doctor’s words. I liked being low-risk.

“Yeah,” was all he said, although I could still see the pinched look on his face. He wasn’t going to accept things that easily. I understood that he was scared. The baby was hurting me, in his eyes. He needed to accept that the baby was a gift. I believed he would in time.

“Grant,” I said, staring at his arms flexing as he drove. I wanted to lick his biceps. I was close to begging.

He glanced over at me. His eyes took me in, then went wide before he swung his gaze back to the road. “What you thinking about, baby?”

I was thinking I wanted to lick his biceps. Then his abs and that wonderful muscle that made a V and disappeared into his jeans. That was what I was thinking. “About you,” I said.

“Shit,” he muttered, and he took a deep breath.

“The doctor said it was OK,” I reminded him.

He nodded. “Yeah, I heard him.”

I reached over and ran a finger down his arms and wrapped my hand around the muscle, which flexed as he gripped the steering wheel more tightly.