She only knew one way to find out. The same way Adam was going to find out about the wonderful blessing they’d been given. She had to tell him.
She glanced at her watch. It was late, after ten. Adam would be home, unless he’d been called into the emergency room or one of his patients had a problem. If he had been called to the hospital, she’d wait for him to return.
Slipping on a pair of sandals, Liz grabbed her purse and car keys.
The heavy fog oppressing the night made the drive even more harried, caused the muscles between her shoulders to tighten.
Twenty tense minutes later she stood outside Adam’s front door, her confidence wavering. What if he refused to let her in? What if he turned her away? What if he said he didn’t care that she was pregnant with his baby?
She placed her palm protectively over her abdomen. She wanted this baby so much. How could he not want a baby he’d help create?
She knocked on the door and waited. And waited some more.
She knocked again. Louder this time.
She heard movement inside the condo, heard footsteps.
When the door opened, she sighed in relief, knowing she’d been right to come.
Adam looked terrible, as if he’d lost his whole world.
Was he dreaming that Liz was standing on his doorstep?
No, there was too much uncertainty in her eyes for this to be a dream. In his dreams he’d be free to take her in his arms and never let her go. His vision wouldn’t be blurred—although blurred was a hell of a lot more preferable to total blackout—and his fingertips wouldn’t feel like they were on fire. His legs wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t feel as if they might go out from under him.
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice came out gruffer than he’d meant it to. Mostly because he was so tired, so frustrated with the lot he’d been dealt.
He wasn’t sure he was strong enough tonight to face Liz and not take her in his arms. Hadn’t he already done that on the day he’d had his MS confirmed?
He’d gone, full of liquid courage, and shown up on her doorstep to gallantly tell her it was over. Only he’d wanted to cry in her arms like a little boy, wanted to lose his sorrows in the safety of her arms.
She’d welcomed him, loved him, helped him face that night.
Now she was here, on his doorstep, on a night when he faced demons. Demons of fatigue. Demons of having been blind. Demons of the fear that clawed at his psyche about what the future held for him.
“Go home, Liz.”
Her eyes widening, she took a step back and lost her balance. Automatically he grasped her arm to keep her from falling. Heat sizzled through him at the contact. A heat much hotter than the flame his disease burned his soul with. When she steadied, her gaze dropped to where he held her arm. Did her pulse throb at that contact the way his did?
> She took a deep breath, searched his face for reassurance he couldn’t give. “We need to talk, Adam. You know we do.”
She was right. He’d delayed this conversation too long already.
“You’re right.”
“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” she murmured as she walked past him, entering his condo.
How could he explain how weak he felt?
“Forgive me, but I’m too tired to stand,” she said, sitting on his sofa.
Despite the energy with which she’d stormed into his house, Liz did look tired. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, drawing attention to her puffy eyes. She looked exhausted.
As exhausted as he felt and probably looked, too.
His heart squeezed. “You should be home in bed. Not knocking on my door in the middle of the night.”
“I’ve been patient, Adam, for weeks. Now’s the time to clear the air between us.” She glanced around his living room, letting her gaze settle momentarily to a snapshot of them that rested on his mantel. Why hadn’t he gotten rid of that photo? Why had he been sitting on the sofa blankly staring at it before Liz’s knocking had broken into his reverie?