Page 96 of Caught Up In You

“You need to take her to the emergency room. As quick as you can,” Owen says, climbing out of bed and fumbling for his pants.“I’ll call ahead and let them know you’re coming, and I’ll head that way. It’ll be about an hour, but I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“And Wyatt?”

Owen glances up as if he forgot I was in the room, then fumbles for his shirt.

“I’m coming too,” I say. I jump out of bed and scramble madly for my clothes.

“Owen, what’s happening?” Hazel’s voice cracks.

“It’s going to be fine. She’s probably got a more serious respiratory infection than we thought. She’ll need some breathing support and medicine at the hospital, so you need to get her there.Now.”

The seriousness of his tone sends a shiver up my spine. I’m dressed in record time and reaching for my suitcase to zip it up when Owen says, “Leave it. We need to go.”

“But—”

“It’s not important, Wyatt,” he snaps.

I’ve never heard him talk like this before. He doesn’t look at me. Not even when he holds out his hand and says, “Give me the keys.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m driving.”

“I can dr?—”

“Give me the fucking keys, Wyatt.”

I hand them over, my stomach in knots as a merry-go-round of anxious thoughts whirls around in my brain. There’s Eden, so tiny and struggling to breathe. There’s Hazel, my sweet baby sister trying so hard to hold it together, that watery crack in her voice betraying her fear.

And there’s Owen. His jaw clenched, his shoulders too high, his body taut like a rubber band stretched to its limit. That voice is so steely, so remote, with just a hint of desperation.

It takes a silent elevator ride and a sprint through the parking garage before I remember the only other time I’ve heard him sound like this.

That misty morning on the soccer field.

CHAPTER 38

OWEN

I don’t remember the drive to the hospital. I don’t remember stoplights or exits or double yellow lines flying past us. There aren’t many cars on the road close to four in the morning, which is probably good, because I definitely do not obey the speed limit.

When I pull up to the small county hospital, I park in the first spot I see even though a sign says it’s reserved. I know Wyatt is jogging behind me as I race to the emergency room entrance on my long legs, but I don’t turn to make sure she catches up.

My body is moving as fast as my mind.

I try to keep myself from panicking as a slew of competing thoughts whirls through my mind. It’s absolute pandemonium in there.

But the thought that screams the loudest isYou weren’t paying attention.

It would have taken five minutes to grab a stethoscope and listen to Eden’s lungs before we left for Indianapolis. I might have heard fluid or wheezing or some other sign of infection. I could have put her on breathing treatments at home before shego to this point, listless and struggling for air in her mother’s arms.

The echo of another mother’s screams thrums beneath everything.

The nurse at the desk recognizes me and buzzes me through the restricted doors, and I make a beeline to where this small hospital puts pediatric cases. As I race past curtains, I question whether I should have told Hazel to take Eden to Bloomington, which has a much bigger hospital with a pediatric staff. The desperately underfunded county hospital has only one pediatric specialist, and it’s anyone’s guess whether or not they’ll be available. But I wasn’t sure how bad Eden’s breathing had gotten, and I didn’t want Hazel to risk the longer drive.

The last curtain on the left at the end of the ER hallway is closed. I skid to a stop and swipe it open to find Hazel hunched over a pediatric bed, the metal arms raised. Eden is on her back in the middle, already hooked up to oxygen, a pulse ox monitor, and an IV. Libby is in a chair in the corner chewing on her manicure, and on the other side of the bed is?—

“Fatima? What are you doing here?”

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