One More Chance

“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.”

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.