Page 3 of Her Daddies' Everything

She started coughing again and Jenner knew that as much as he wanted her close, that the best place for her to be was the hospital.

“She can barely breathe,” he muttered. “She needs to be in the hospital. I’m going to go talk to her.”

“She’s worried about the cost,” Abe said with a sigh.

God, that hurt.

Money was the last thing she should have to worry about when she was ill. The hospital here had discounts for those without insurance, so he also knew she was being foolish.

“If I have to go in there and pick her up and carry her to the hospital, I will,” Sampson grumbled.

Jenner shot him a look. She didn’t need anyone to strong-arm her, for fuck’s sake. She was ill.

He didn’t bother knocking, just walked in to find her halfway out of bed.

“What do you think you are doing?” he snapped, jumping forward to grab her as she swayed.

“I need to send an email to work,” she said.

Shit, she was burning up. She was wearing a pair of pink and white striped pajamas that were almost worn through and hanging off her frame.

She’d lost too much weight lately. Sickness after sickness had laid a toll on her eating.

Jenner placed her on the bed, rubbing her back as she coughed.

“Tissue,” she croaked.

He grabbed one and gave it to her. She coughed into it, then scrunched it up in her hand, but he wasn’t having that.

“Show me,” he demanded.

“No!”

“Immy,” he warned. “Show me now.”

“Don’t . . . want . . . to,” she said between breaths.

He fucking hated listening to her struggle to breathe.

“Tough. Show me.”

“You are . . . so bossy.”

He wasn’t usually. Not in the way that Sampson or Abe were. Except when she was ill. Then his bossy side really did come out.

It had to. She needed someone to take charge. Sampson would get all growly and upset her. His worry tended to make him snap and snarl. Isaiah usually grew quiet and watchful. Abe could be bossy, but he struggled with not giving Immy everything she wanted.

So it was up to him. Jenner checked what she’d coughed up. Shit. It was green. Not good.

“You’re going to the hospital, Immy.”

She was resting back against some pillows. She looked so pale it was scary, and her lips were tinged blue. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen. It was likely pneumonia.

Again.

It hadn’t even been three months since she’d last had pneumonia.

This just wasn’t good enough.

---