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“Yes.”
“Have you taken any drugs or had any alcohol in the last twenty-four hours?”
“She had a cocktail about forty minutes ago,” Adrian said.
“No,” I clarified. “I had amocktail.”
His brows knitted together as he looked at me.
“Any history of heart problems?”
“No, none,” I sighed.
“Are you pregnant or is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. The woman looked at me expectantly, her eyes glancing at Adrian, but I could feel his gaze locked on me, could feel it tearing me apart with every second that passed that I didn’t answer the question.
“Can Ipleasejust have a minute?”
Chapter 30
Adrian
This tux was too fucking tight. The lights were too bright. The room was too small, and the sounds were too loud.
If I was anywhere other than a hospital, I might have been concerned that I’d go into cardiac arrest and die on the fucking spot.
The woman who’d entered the little square of space Ava had been given turned on her heel. “I’ll, uh, be back in a minute.”
She disappeared.
“Adrian,” Ava whispered.
“You’re pregnant.” The words felt hollow, like they didn’t exist even though I’d spoken them. They felt cheap. They felt baseless, absurd —she was on birth control. I’d checked.
“I wanted…I wanted to figure out how to tell you,” she said, her voice breaking. I watched her like a hawk, watched as the tears welled up in her eyes. Anxiety brewed in me, swelled, broke, crashed. I couldn’t for one second tell if I was elated or disturbed. “You’ve been dealing with so much and I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“How did this happen?” I asked. It felt as if I was being piloted on a course I didn’t select. I couldn’t even remember deciding to ask that.
“I have no idea,” she said, her knees pulling up to her chest beneath the thin blanket. “I’m never late with the pill.”
“How far along?”
“Eleven weeks.”
Eleven weeks.So…almost three months.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again, her hand squeezing mine. But I didn’t know what to say to that.
This felt like a blessing and a curse, like a violation of trust and a shot in the fucking head. “How long have you known?”
“Three weeks,” she croaked. “Please don’t hate me, Adrian.”
I rested my forehead against our joined hands, trying to make sense of this. Three weeks—she’d had a stomach bug three weeks ago. Was that real? Or was that morning sickness? When she’d turned up at my house four days ago, she’d known. She’d refused a drink. She’d left before anything else could happen. Was she showing? I hadn’t even been looking, hadn’t been paying attention when she was naked in my shower with her body up against mine, hadn’t thought to look while she was sobbing into me because why would I? I’d just wanted to help her. I’d just wanted to fix her problem, but knowing what that problem was now was more overwhelming than I could have imagined.
She’d kept this from me.
For three weeks.
