Page 54 of Their Perfect Daddy

“Ican’t believe you’re going to work instead of to the game. Didn’t you say you’re close with someone on the team now?” Poppy asks me as she burps Juni.

Smiling at the pair, I shake my head. It’s taken some adjustment, but my sister is a natural at this parenting gig. Her maternal instincts are through the roof now that the shock has left her system.

“You’ve been assuming I had a connection. Besides, I have patients to see. I can always watch the game between that. I’m sure the nurse’s station will have it on. They’re all big Bulldog fans.”

Poppy shakes her head, only to laugh when Dewey walks through the door with a tray of food piled high. Our brother has been trying hard to make up for his lack of being at the hospital by feeding—see also: overstuffing—Poppy. He’s been making sure anything the baby needs is taken care of too.

Appointments?He’s up and ready to take them.

Groceries?He’s got the app loaded down to order a delivery.

Meals?He’s cooking them round the clock.

I’d laugh too if I didn’t recognize the trauma response in his actions. If he doesn’t slow down soon, I’m going to have to pull him aside or he’ll burn himself out.

“You’re clearly in capable hands. I’m going to head to work now,” I say loud enough to get both of their attention. Then I give both the girls kisses on the tops of their heads before patting Dewey on the back.

For as much as I want to go to the game like Poppy suggested, I know it’s too much for me to be there. Things have been a bit tense lately. My schedule since returning has been absolute insanity. Danny is in Vegas, which means he’s even more distant. Sprinkle in the way Monty has had to eat, breathe, and sleep football for the playoffs, and you’ve got a relationship disaster.

I really wish a simple phone call would fix things too. I think we need to see each other in person though.

And of course, I’m being a hypocrite.

When I was out of town, I encouraged Danny and Monty to get together without me. Yet now that our princess is gone, I’ve been avoiding my brat. He has to feel abandoned by my actions.

Fuck.

This is not what I need to be thinking of heading into work. I have to be focused, or else things could go badly. You never know what types of emergency situations could arise.

When I clock in, I find most of the staff is doing exactly as I thought: watching pre-game footage for the Bulldogs. The commentators speak of how this will be a tight game since both teams have good winning streaks.

I smile to myself knowing how much that will push my brat to do even better. He’s going to want to prove everyone wrong by bringing his A-game to the field.

At some point, I drown out the noise of the tv to focus on my patients and the referrals I need to complete today. It’smethodical work that leaves me in my own head most of the evening.

It’s not until I hear myself being paged to the ER that I come to. Shocked whispers of“do you think it’s him?”and“surely, it has to be”follow me as I jog down the hall. I take the stairs down to the floor and make my way to the nurse’s station.

“Dr. Gellar! We’re glad you’re here. You’re needed in surgery.” She starts rattling off the diagnosis as we move down the hall.

Broken leg.

Visible enough to see through the skin.

Athletic patient.

Young male.

Said to be in pain but coherent.

They’ve just sedated him to prepare for my arrival.

I nod to thank her for the update, then scrub in and slip on my gloves. My team knows just what I need, meaning the soft jazz is already playing and the room is prepared with all my sterilized instruments.

As I approach the table, I glance to the young man’s face as I always do. It helps me to see the patient as a real person rather than only whatever injury they’ve suffered.

Except my single glance spins my world out of control.

“Doctor!” One of the nurses shouts.

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