Page 100 of A Little Secret
“Can I stop taking the medication, then?” I ask.
He shakes his head and folds his arms, pressing the iPad to his chest. “I don’t recommend it, no.”
“For my safety or the baby’s?” I challenge.
“Both,” he answers simply. “But don’t stress, Finley. I’ve dealt with plenty of patients who have gone on to have full-term, healthy babies, including your mother. Rarely is there an issue. Honestly, I’m not very worried about you or the baby, but you know me. I’m upfront, and I don’t beat around the bush. You’re young. This is your first pregnancy. And you have epilepsy. The combination makes for a high-risk pregnancy, but the label doesn’t doom you to failure. Have you found your obstetrician yet?”
I shake my head. “It’s been on my to-do list, but I figured I could wait until twelve weeks or…whatever.”
“Not a problem, but I do suggest you find one sooner rather than later. Would you like me to recommend someone?”
I nod, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “Obviously.”
With a warm smile, he replies, “I can do that for you.”
“What precautions can we take?” Griffin asks. “Is there anything we can do to mitigate any potential challenges to make sure they’re both safe and…healthy?”
“Excellent question.” Dr. Reed rocks back on his heels. “Take it easy. Don’t overexert yourself. Listen to your body. Continue taking your medication. Don’t forget your prenatals. And I want to make sure you’re checking in with me or your obstetrician on a regular basis. No missing appointments,” he warns, eyeing me over the thick rims of his glasses.
I look at Griff and hook my thumb toward Dr. Reed, overwhelmed and close to hyperventilating as I paste on a fake smile. “Would you look at this guy? It’s like he doesn’t even trust me.”
“I know you,” Dr. Reed interrupts. “I know you far too well.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, praying he can’t see the way my body shakes or the sheen I can feel hitting my eyes.
High-risk.
My pregnancy is high-risk.
Take it easy. No exertion. So, what? Am I just supposed to sit still and do nothing? Can I even go to classes? What about work? Do I quit? I mean, I can if I need to. I…oof. This just became a lot more…real, and I feel a lot more…alone.
A warm hand encompasses mine, and I look down, finding Griffin’s fingers tangling with my own in my lap. My attention trails up his strong forearm and lands on his kind, reassuring gaze. “We got this,” he murmurs.
I gulp, unable to convince my vocal cords to work no matter how much I want them to. He looks so confident. So…solid. Like a rock. A handsome, optimistic, and dangerously positive rock.
Okay, not literally. He’s still Griff. The boy next door.Myboy next door.
“We got this,” he repeats. “Promise.”
“Now, enough of the gray cloud conversation,” Dr. Reed suggests. “Let’s talk about the fun stuff.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GRIFFIN
Fun stuffis subjective. The doctor has Finley’s blood drawn. A bunch of stats are thrown her way. And the whole time, she’s lost in her own head. I can see it. Feel it. The glazed eyes. The “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” over and over. The way she can’t stop chewing on the inside of her lip or making sarcastic remarks.
She isn’t the only one, though. As soon as she didn’t correct Dr. Reed when he called me the dad, I was lost. Lost in what ifs. Lost in a different world. One where I was the father. Where I was going to be a dad. One where I didn’t have to wonder if I was crossing lines or obliterating boundaries when I have no idea where they are in the first place. Part of me wants to ask her. What she wants. The other part is too afraid of her answer.
Finley’s stubborn.
So damn stubborn.
And I know if push comes to shove, she’ll carry the world on her back if only to prove she can. Even when she shouldn’t. Even when it can hurt her or the baby.
High-risk.
Like a neon sign, the two words flash through my mind as I drive us back to her place.