Page 75 of Best Laid Plans

I try Natalie one last time, and when she doesn’t pick up, I have no option but to leave a message and to try her parents. “Nat, you need to call me. I’m on the way to the emergency room with Tatum. I’m pretty sure she broke her arm. Please call me. Better yet, meet me there.”

Here’s to hoping she gets that.

Immediately, I dial Luke, remembering that Melanie was helping at church.

He answers on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“Luke, Tatum is hurt. We’re on our way to the E.R. I can’t get ahold of Natalie.”

“I’m on my way,” he says, ending the call.Thank God!

All of this is strangely reminiscent of when Natalie broke her arm—mainly because that, too, happened on my watch.

I make it to the hospital in what has to be record time, and I manage to score a parking spot near the entrance. I use the same great care to unbuckle and lift her into my arms.

She turns her face into my chest. She’s still crying and begging for her mama, and I’m still an emotional disaster of epic proportions. “Just hang tight, Tatum. We’re almost there. The doctors here will be able to help you. And Popsie is on his way.”

“B-but I want Mama!” She conveniently screams the words at the top of her little lungs just as we pass through the automatic doors. Several heads swivel our way—some with concerned looks, some offering empathy, and others looking perturbed by the noise. Let me just say, that last group can fuck right off.

I march directly to the sign in desk, clutching my crying girl to my chest. “She needs a doctor. My daughter needs a doctor!”

The nurse looks up. “Sign in.”

“My hands are a little full,” I grit out. I mean, Jesus, would it kill her to help?

She huffs and spins the clipboard to face her. “Patient’s name? Date of birth? Reason for visit? Your name?”

I rattle off her info, and the nurse tells us to have a seat in the waiting area. My blood boils. Doesn’t she see my girl is hurt? “We need a doctor!” I implore, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Yeah, and so does everyone else here.”

My shoulders sag in defeat, and I walk over to a small cluster of chairs. In between trying to calm my still sobbing daughter, I’m shooting death stares to nurse and checking the clock on the wall, wondering when Luke is going to get here and when Natalie is going to call. Basically, I’m damn near crawling out of my skin.

After what feels like two lifetimes, the nurse calls my name, her voice monotone. I’m hopeful she’s calling us back, but my hope deflates like a sad balloon when she passes me a clipboard and a pen. “If you could fill this out.”

I’m sure this lady has seen it all and then some, and that this job is trying on the best day. But right now, I don’t have it in me to care. I clench my jaw to keep from telling her exactly where she can shove her paperwork and softly shift Tatum so I can take it from her.

The movement causes Tatum to let out a high-pitched, ear-piercing squeal, once again earning us a mixed bag of looks. “Shh, it’s okay, pretty girl. Daddy just had to get this paperwork that is apparently more important than actually helping you.” My attempt at comfort ends in a feral growl.

Back in our seats, I try my best to fill out the forms, which is no easy feat with a whimpering toddler in your lap.

The forms themselves present an entirely new problem.Insurance…no clue. Social security number…nope, don’t know that either. Family medical history…well, I know the paternal side. Allergies to any medications…that’s going to be another nope, with a capital ‘N.’

My panic spirals as I realize how little I know about my own child. My head swims, and my vision blurs. I think I’m shaking, but it could be Tatum, too. It’s probably both of us. Why didn’t I ever think to ask Natalie any of this? A good dad would know these things. Hell, a good dad would have never let this happen. Will Natalie ever trust me with her again? Should she?

I’m about twenty seconds away from passing out when theswooshof the doors followed by Luke’s bellowing voice. “Alden!”

I lift my hand, alerting him to where we are, and he rushes over to us, swooping in and saving the day—or at least a piece of my fragile sanity. “What happened?” he asks, gruff and all business.

“She fell at the park.”

“Popsie,” Tatum cries and I pass her to him.

“I swear, I was watching her. I didn’t mean—”

“Son. Take a breath. It could have happened to anyone.”

“No, this is my fault. If I—”

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