Page 147 of A Little Crush
“Hey,” I announce, balancing my cell between my shoulder and ear as I flick on the bath water.
“Hey, Beautiful,” Jaxon returns. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. I know we talked about coming tonight, but I think I’m going to stay home with Pops. Are you okay with that?”
“Yeah, is everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything’s great. I think she’s just fighting a bug.” I sit her in the lukewarm water as Hades plops on the cool tile beside us. “She has a little fever, but I just gave her some medicine, and we’re taking a bath right now.”
He hesitates. “Poor girl. Can I get you guys anything?”
“No, you’re good.” I shift my cell to my opposite ear, careful to keep an eye on her on the off chance she loses her balance. “Focus on the game, and we’ll talk after, okay? We’ll just hang out, and you can give her big kisses when you get home.”
“You sure?”
“She’s okay, Jax,” I reassure him. “I got her.”
“I know you do. Guess this is just dad guilt. I wish I was there.”
“You’re an amazing dad,” I remind him. “Focus on the game. I’ll focus on Pops.”
“Thanks, Rore.” A beat of silence passes as if he can’t decide whether or not to take my suggestion before he gives in. “Don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll see you tonight.”
“We’ll be here.”
Okay,so she’s not doing so great. The poor thing wails even louder as I walk from one edge of the room to the next. She won’t eat. Won’t sleep. Won’t quiet down.
“I know, baby girl.” I gently rub my hand up and down her spine. “I know.” My lips brush against her forehead, and I frown. She’s still warm. Too warm. My worry grows like a bad idea, but what I hate most is that I can’t figure out if it’s rooted in reality or if my OCD is blowing things out of proportion. Keeping her pressed to my chest, I head to the medicine cabinet to grab the thermometers. There are two. One you swipe along the forehead, and one that’s old school and should be slipped under the tongue or placed under the armpit…or used rectally, but I’m not that mean. I grab them both, then head to the bedroom and lay Pops down. She’s already stripped down to a white onesie after I noticed her rising temperature an hour ago. It was ninety-nine point nine degrees at the time, and after giving her some medicine, I figured she’d be fine and could get some rest. Jokes on me. She hasn’t stopped squirming and crying since. Swiping her forehead with the thermometer, it beeps seconds later, and I read the screen.
No, that can’t be right.
My frown deepens, and I lift her arm, tucking the otherthermometer under her armpit in hopes of getting a better idea of exactly how warm she’s grown since I talked to her daddy on the phone before the game. Poppy arches her little body on the mattress, uncomfortable and frustrated.
“I know, baby,” I repeat, holding the thermometer in place despite her best protests.
With every never-ending second that passes, my anxiety ratchets higher and higher. What if she’s not okay? What if I did something ordosomething wrong? What if?—
The thermometer beeps, and I blink back the ache in my eyes, staring at the small display on the older gadget.
One hundred and three point two.
It’s point-one degrees higher than the other reading, proving both stupid devices to be accurate despite my deepest hopes. Yeah, this is bad. This is really bad.
I pick Poppy up again, heading back to the kitchen. Nausea churns inside of me as I grab a different medication from the cabinet. Hands shaking, I measure the proper amount in the syringe, then administer the cherry-flavored Ibuprofen. Nearly half of it spills out of the side of her mouth as she jerks away from me, pawing at the syringe like it’s a vial of poison. I don’t want to give her too much, but if she doesn’t have enough, will it even do anything?
Shit.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and call Jaxon. It goes to voicemail, like I knew it would. He turns off his phone or leaves it in his office, but if I can’t get ahold of Jaxon, who the hell am I supposed to call? I click Jaxon’s name again. “Pick up, Jax. Pick up.”
“Hey, this is Jaxon Thorne, I’m sorry I missed your call?—”
I hit end and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out Poppy’s cries so I can think clearly and come up with a game plan, but my brain is too foggy. Too frazzled. I tap my thumb against the edge of my cell.
One, two, three.Pause.One, two, three.Pause.One, two, three.
Is this my fault? Did I forget to sanitize her hands after the zoo earlier? I thought I did, but what if I didn’t? What if I let her touch something she shouldn’t have, and?—
Stop!
