Page 69 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

RORY

“ H ey,” 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 other thermometer 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 or do something 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!

“Feeding my OCD is not the way to handle this,” I mutter under my breath. Poppy flaps her arms and arches her back in discomfort, demanding my attention. “It’s okay, baby.” My hand runs up and down her spine again as I try to figure out what to do. “It’s okay.”

Searching for Iris’s contact information, I hit the call button and bring it to my ear, but it doesn’t even ring before a familiar, robotic voice comes through the speaker.

“The number you have called cannot be completed as dialed.”

I hang up and try again, only to receive the same response.

Seriously?

Unsure what else to do, I dial my mom as my body trembles with fear.

On the third ring, it connects. “Hey, babe?—”

“Mom?” My voice cracks, though I doubt she can hear me over Poppy’s soul-shattering screams.

“What’s wrong?” The light, airy tone from seconds before evaporates. “Is Poppy okay?”

“Pops.” I squeeze my eyes shut and sway from left to right, despite knowing it won’t help.

Nothing has. Hades lets out a small whimper at my feet and paws at my knee.

I think he can feel it, too, thanks to his time in service dog school before he failed out.

Something’s wrong. She needs help. More help.

More than I can give. “Fever,” I add, trying to focus instead of getting lost in what-ifs. “She has a fever.”

“Okay, breathe,” my mom orders. “Did you take her temperature? ”

“Yes. Twice, er, three times,” I clarify. “Once before her bath, and twice just a minute ago.” I take a deep breath, praying the oxygen will help me think clearly and stop the panic from taking over completely. “She’s really hot, Mom.”

“Okay. Henry,” she addresses my dad. They’re probably in the suite at the arena surrounded by friends and colleagues.

I bet the last thing they expected was a call from me.

I bet this call is like a bucket of ice water on their entire evening.

Not that it matters. We all know where my family's priorities lie, but it doesn’t ease the guilt.

Am I over-reacting? Is this my OCD clouding my judgment?

I don’t freaking know! I brush my lips against Poppy’s forehead again. She’s burning up.

Breathe.

As my mom relays everything, I shift my weight from side to side, trying to calm the hell down since I know my anxiety isn’t doing Poppy any favors. But it’s hard. Really hard. What if?—

“Okay, your dad is sending someone to fill in for Jax on the bench.”

“That’s good,” I breathe out while Hades paces at my feet. “That’s really good.”

“Yeah. Then your dad and I are going to come pick you guys up and take you to the hospital, all right? Everyone else will meet us there.”

Like a punch to the gut, I register her words.

Your dad and I are going to come pick you guys up and take you to the hospital.

Hospital. And not just any hospital. But the hospital.

The one I promised never to enter again.

The one I went to when I was a kid. The one where I had to say goodbye to my big brother.

The one where I was blindsided and left so damn broken.

The idea is enough to bring me to my knees and make me want to vomit.

“Mom,” my voice cracks all over again, and a tear slides down my cheek .

“I know, baby,” she murmurs, letting her words hang in the air as if they have the power to overcome my soul-crushing fear.

And I know she wants to understand it. To fully grasp exactly how crippling this situation is.

Add in the ‘h’ word, and I can barely see straight, let alone create an actionable to-do list that’ll get me and a helpless and very sick baby to the one place I vowed to never go to again.

What if she catches something even worse?

What if she never comes home? What if they have to hook her up to the same cords and machines in the same room where my brother slipped away?

The familiar beep-beep that haunts my dreams manages to cut through Poppy’s screams, leaving me cold as ice.

I slide to the floor, keeping the distraught baby close to my chest, my muscles cramping and tingles spreading through my limbs.

“It’s going to be okay,” my mom promises. “It will.”

“Give me the phone,” a low voice demands before my dad’s voice cuts through the speaker. “Hey, Squeaks.”

“Hi, Dad,” I choke out.

“Hey, baby girl. We’re gonna be right there, okay?”

Poppy fidgets in my arms, her cries threatening to drown out my dad’s strong voice as Hades nuzzles himself against my cheek and lets out a quiet whimper.

He’s worried. And so am I. But being paralyzed by fear isn’t going to get me anywhere.

It’ll only slow things down. And time is the only resource I have any real control over. Isn’t it?

“You’re not alone,” my dad promises. “You’re not alone. But you need to?—”

“I don’t want you to come pick me up.”

“Rore—”

“It’ll only waste time,” I clarify. Hades leans his weight against my side, and I close my eyes, threading my fingers through his thick fur while balancing an angry Poppy with my opposite hand. “I’ll meet you there.”

“What?”

“I can drive, Dad?—”

“I know, but?—”

“I’ll meet you at the hospital. I have to go.

” I disconnect the call and press my forehead to Poppy’s peach fuzz.

God, she feels even hotter. If we don’t get there soon, she could seize.

Thanks to Finley and Aunt Kate having epilepsy, I’m aware a seizure is the last thing anyone would want Poppy to experience.

So even though it kills me, even though I could puke at the thought alone, I push to my feet, cradling a very distraught Poppy against me.

“I got you, Pops,” I promise, despite the acid lining my throat.

I swallow past it and grab my keys from the counter. “I got you.”