Page 71 of Keeping it Real

Sheridan wasten hours into her shift the next day when Claire came down to the ED bearing gifts.

“It’s our monthly birthday celebration in occupational therapy.I thought you could use an emotional support cupcake right about now,” she said.

“You are a goddess.The oatmeal I inhaled five hours ago is starting to wear off.”

“That should tide you over until you get home.By the way, I can grab Finn when I pick up my kids after school.He can hang out with us until it’s time to head to the arena.That should give you time for a quick nap before the game.He’s welcome to spend the night, too.If he can stand being shadowed by Grace all night.She has quite the crush on him.”

A morning to sleep in sounded like heaven.Especially since the Mayhem had the next day off, and she’d be sleeping in—or not sleeping in—with Alek.

“I’m sure Finn loves having an adoring fan club,” Sheridan said.

If he even notices.

She’d been like Grace once, gah-gah over her older brother’s friend.It was cute for now, but she prayed Grace had a strong heart.

“We need help out here,” one of the triage nurses shouted.

Sheridan and Claire turned to see Brooke Merriweather stumbling into the lobby, carrying both her children in her arms.The baby was wailing.The toddler, however, looked to be out cold.

“Please,” she cried.“He won’t wake up.”

Claire was already reaching for the crying baby while Sheridan guided Brooke over to a trauma bay.

“How long has he been like this?”Sheridan asked as she tried to pry the child from Brooke’s arms.She was grateful to see the toddler’s chest moving, even if it was only shallow breaths.

“I thought he was sleeping late.”Brooke’s laugh sounded hollow.“But what toddler sleeps late?Brad’s right.I’m so stupid.”

Sheridan exchanged a look with Claire as the resident charged into the room.“What have we got?”

“I need you to lay him down on the gurney so we can examine him,” Sheridan insisted.

Brooke relented.The doctor checked his pupils while Sheridan wrapped the pediatric blood pressure cuff around the little boy’s limp arm.

“Jackson.”She prodded the boy on the shoulder.“Can you open your eyes for me, honey?”

No response.

Sheridan reported Jackson’s vital signs.“Heart rate is eighty-five.BP is eighty-two over fifty.Temp is ninety-seven point six.Respiratory rate is normal at fifteen.”

“Pupils are normal and reactive,” the doctor told her.“Grab a blood gas.We need red, purple, and green tops to the lab ASAP.And let’s cath him for a urinalysis.”

He fired off questions for Brooke as he examined Jackson.“Any known medical issues?Allergies?Has he had any recent falls?Any change to his urine or stool?Slurred speech?Did he have a playdate at a friend’s house yesterday?Are any other kids sick at preschool?”

Brooke shook her head.“No.None of that.He doesn’t go to preschool.”

Jackson barely flinched when Sheridan inserted a line into his arm.

“Any drugs in the house?”the doctor asked.

The question seemed to startle Brooke.“No.”

The doctor didn’t let up.“Cough medicine?Pain meds?Laundry pods?Melatonin?Alcohol?Do you keep all that stuff locked up?”

Brooke grew defensive.“All the cabinets are child-proofed,” she snapped.

Sheridan placed a hand on her shoulder.“These are routine diagnostic questions.No one is accusing you of anything.”

“Brad will,” Brooke whispered.

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