OK, so he hadn’t been sleeping much for the past couple of weeks, which probably explained why he was having the episodes of blurred vision, fatigue, and paresthesia in his fingertips.
It was apparent he couldn’t sleep until he knew Liz was OK. He’d sneak in, reassure himself, then he’d be able to get some shut-eye.
A few hours’ rest and he’d be as good as new. A few hours sleep, and he’d probably be able to laugh away the fear he’d been squelching for days.
That did it. He was going to check on her. Just a quick peek.
He threw the cover to the opposite end of his sofa and padded barefooted to his bedroom door. The door was partially open where Liz had left it prior to the hot bath he’d forced her to take in the en suite. He crept into the room without having to open it wider.
The lamplight shone, illuminating her face. She lay half on her side with her arm draped over his pillow. Her chest rose and fell in even breaths. Her hair was tousled about her face. Her eyes were closed and, although he could tell she’d cried herself to sleep from the lingering puffiness, she looked to be sleeping peacefully at the moment.
There. He’d reassured himself she was OK. Now he could go to sleep. He crept toward the door.
“Adam?” Liz’s sleepy voice stopped him.
He turned, met her heavy gaze. He should have known better than to risk waking her.
“Where are you going?” she asked, looking half-asleep with her sultry eyes and tousled hair. Her lips were parted, prettily plump. She looked beautiful, vulnerable.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Realizing the lamplight still shone, she became more awake, glanced at the clock, and propped herself up on her elbows. “You’re just now coming to bed?”
“I took the sofa.”
“You’re sleeping on the sofa?” Her forehead creased in confusion. “Why?”
“You need to sleep.”
“I need you to hold me,” she countered, her eyes dark and needy.
This was why he’d come in here. He hadn’t needed to check on Liz. He’d known she was just fine, that she was asleep, because if she hadn’t been she’d have come to find him. He’d hoped she’d awaken. Hoped she’d invite him into his bed.
Because he’d been the one needing.
Needing to hold her, feel her warm body next to his, to breathe in the fresh scent of her shampoo.
Because he needed Liz. Needed her to comfort him. To allay his fears regarding whatever was going on inside his body. But how could he tell her? He couldn’t. Why worry her when there might not be a thing to worry about? Telling her at this point would only be cruel.
He’d keep hiding his symptoms from her until he knew what he was dealing with, could assure that he wasn’t going to be a burden on a woman who’d already faced more than her fair share of burdens.
“Adam?” She flipped back the covers, indicating for him to lie down next to her. “Hold me.”
Adam eyed the bed, eyed the woman wanting him to join her, the woman he cared more for than anything else in life. He needed to hold her, to feel the aliveness within him that being with Liz always gave him.
He crawled between the sheets, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head. So perfect for him. So what he’d never believed in prior to meeting her.
“Adam?” His name held questions, as if she sensed his unease, but her sweet warmness thawed the cold fear gripping him and he relaxed.
“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
Yawning, she laced her fingers with his and snuggled closer. “Goodnight, Adam.”
It was now, he thought, closing his eyes and almost instantly falling asleep.
Adam ignored the fatigue clawing at his body and carefully removed another section of Beverly Gilley’s left breast.
He placed the tissue in a specimen tray. The pathologist would check to see if the forty-two-year-old’s breast cancer had spread outside the lump that weeks of radiation had shrunk to a more surgically manageable size.