Page 17 of Can’t Let You Go (Ivy Ridge #3)

JASON

Mom

That inkling you had this morning about Lennie getting sick? Yeah, you were spot on.

Me

Crap. What’s going on?

Mom

She’s got a fever, a cough, runny nose, the works.

She fell asleep on the couch, and she hasn’t done that in ages.

Me

Yeah, naps are no longer in her vocabulary if she can help it.

I can be there in an hour to pick her up.

Mom

No, it’s fine. Finish your evening, I’ve got her.

Me

No, I want to be there for her. I’ll come get her.

G uilt sinks low in my gut. I peer up from my phone to my computer screen where I’m working on some inventory tracking, and call out to Nora. It’s early evening on a Friday, not even five, so things are still slow before we have a band playing tonight.

“Yeah, boss?” Nora calls back as she strides into my office.

“Think you guys can handle the band tonight? Lennie’s coming down with something. I want to check on her, make sure I don’t need to bring her into urgent care.”

“Of course. Laila will be here in thirty, and Max is punching in. We’ve got this.”

“You sure?” I ask, already closing out the screens on my laptop.

“Positive. I know you like to be here for events, and it’s appreciated, but I’m making the call on this. Go. I’ll call you if we need something.”

“Thank you.” I got lucky with my staff, and they are some of the best, most trustworthy people.

“Tell Lenners to get better,” she says, and I’m waving goodbye and walking out the door, sending a text to my mom.

Lennie is currently passed out in the backseat, with green snot sliding out of her nose. It’s disgusting. I feel horrible .

I picked her up about thirty minutes ago from my parents, and after we went through a McDonald’s drive-thru to get her a sprite, I decided to stop by the pharmacy and stock up on medications. I’m not sure what we have at home since it’s been a while that she’s been sick.

Only now, the problem is that she’s passed out in the backseat, and I don’t want to wake her when she’s feeling this crummy. I don’t have much of a choice though. I’ve been sitting in the car for five minutes, trying to pluck up the courage to wake her, or at least carry her into the store with me.

With a resigned sigh, I turn the car off, and get out, opening her door.

She doesn’t even stir, and that’s how I know she really doesn’t feel good.

I unbuckle her, and pull her into my arms. She lets out a little groan, but doesn’t wake, burrowing herself into my neck.

She’s sort of awake now, but still she’s dead weight in my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck, and her legs around my waist. “We have to get you some medicine, peanut,” I tell her.

“We can get you some popsicles for your throat, too.”

She nods, and I head into the store. I grab one of the carts, figuring this way I at least won’t have to carry everything in my one hand. I keep Lennie in my arms, since at least this way she’s semi-comfortable, and can keep sleeping.

I head down the aisles toward the over the counter medication and put my aim straight toward the kids' stuff. Why are there so many different types of medications? Daytime versus nighttime. Name brand versus off brand. It’s a lot to take in.

I throw in a few different types of cough syrup into the cart, and I continue to stare at another array of boxes, getting irritated at the many versions of acetaminophen.

I can’t seem to remember which one I usually get, when there’s a soft tap on my shoulder, the one opposite of where Lennie is resting.

I turn, confused as to who could be tapping me in a pharmacy, and see Fallon standing beside me. “Hey,” she murmurs softly. “Lennie not feeling well?”

I shake my head, glancing down at her. She’s dressed in her business casual wear, a fitted pink blouse with a black cardigan and black high waisted pants.

She’s wearing flats today, but her hair is twisted in a neat braid on one side of her head.

She’s so gorgeous that I forget to respond for a moment.

“Nope. I hope it’s a cold, but it’s hitting fast and hard. I dropped her off at my parents’ this morning, and she was starting to feel crummy, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Poor girl,” Fallon says. She glances at the section of medication, pulling one off the shelf. “Not sure if you are wanting advice, but this is usually my go to. It’s kind of an all-in-one.”

I nod, taking the box from her and looking it over. I’ve been lucky, Lennie has always been a pretty healthy kid, so it usually freaks me out when she gets sick. I throw the box into the cart, nodding at Fallon in thanks. She nods back, giving me an awkward wave.

“Uh, I guess I’ll see you later,” she says. Reaching over, she rubs a soothing hand down Lennie’s spine. “Feel better, sweetie.”

Lennie barely rouses at her touch. “She never sleeps outside of bedtime,” I explain, my mind whirring with nerves. I don’t know why I’m blurting everything out to her right now, but I feel like I can. “I didn’t want to leave her in the car.”

“You’re a good dad, she’ ll be fine.”

“Thanks,” I reply. She waves again, and walks in the opposite direction toward the grocery aisle.

I grab a few more items, cough drop suckers, tissues, Vaporub, and two boxes of popsicles before checking out. Lennie sleeps the whole time on my shoulder, coughing occasionally. I can also detect a steady stream of drool and snot soaking my shirt. Pleasant.

She doesn’t rouse the entire trip home, and I slowly get more and more nervous. I bring her inside first, settling her in on the couch, purposefully leaving her uncovered as I can tell she’s got a fever.

I unload the few bags of things in the kitchen, and head down the hall to the bathroom closet, digging around for the thermometer. Light footsteps pull me out of my intense focus on the messy closet.

“Daddy, I don’t feel very good,” Lennie says. Her eyes are dull, not the usually bright chocolate color. She’s pale and a little green around the edges. Shit, is she going to? —

Lennie projectile vomits all over the — thankfully laminate — floor.

I give myself half a second to gag and cringe before I’m rushing over, picking her up and bringing her into the bathroom.

She gags again, this time thankfully making it into the toilet.

She’s crying as she continues to puke. My heart twists as I watch my little girl, unable to do anything right now but help hold her hair and rub her back as she pukes.

Once she’s done, I help her wash up, and fix her hair into a ponytail. I carry her out into the living room again, carefully avoiding the pile of vomit. I lay her back down on the couch. “Stay here, peanut. I’m going to clean up and grab your medicine and the thermometer, okay?”

Lennie nods, sinking into the pillow and taking a deep breath. I hand her the remote, and she starts to search for something to watch as I press a kiss to her burning hot forehead. Crap. I really need to find that thermometer and get some medicine in her.

I rush down the hall and quickly work to clean up the vomit and scrub down the toilet and everything else with a disinfectant.

I thankfully find the thermometer quickly after that.

I grab the meds, a bowl, and a popsicle from the kitchen before heading back to Lennie in the living room.

She’s in the same spot I left her, curled into a tight little ball.

“Alright sweetie. Let’s take your temp.” I sit down on my knees in front of the couch, and she dutifully opens up her mouth without hesitation. I slide it under her tongue, and she closes her lips around it as we wait for the beep.

The shrill beep comes a moment later, beeping again and again to indicate a high temp. I pull it out from her mouth, and wearily glance down at the numbers.

One hundred and two point five.

I sigh, and turn, uncapping the bottle of medicine and pouring the syrupy liquid into the small cup. “Alright, I know you hate taking medicine, but I promise this will help you feel better, and I have a red popsicle with your name on it after you take it.”

She nods, not putting up any fight with taking the meds. I help her sit up, and pass her the small cup. She swallows it down without a single complaint. My gut twists, because she’s never done that before, and now I’m overthinking even more and worried she feels worse than she’s letting on.

I hand her the popsicle, and she wraps herself in a blanket, scooting into the couch. I sit next to her, pulling her into my side. She eats her popsicle in silence, watching the Disney movie she picked.

An hour later, her popsicle is long gone, and she’s asleep in my arms. I keep checking her forehead, but it doesn’t really seem like her temp has gone down.

Shouldn’t the medicine have kicked in by now?

Isn’t a fever dangerous if it stays high too long?

Should I give her more medicine? The bottle said you can only give it once every four hours.

I pull out my phone, debating on texting my mom for advice, until I remember she said that since I was picking up Lennie, she and my dad were going to go see a movie. I don’t want to bother her, though she’s kind of my only option.

That is, until I remember running into Fallon at the store earlier. She’s a mom. Presley is a few years older than Lennie. Presley has more than likely been sick at some point, and she did offer up a suggestion on medicine, so she has to know more than me.

I pull up her contact, and see all of the messages we’ve previously sent each other, all related to work, meetings, and playdates. All of my messages are short, one word answers, and it makes me feel like such a jerk to be asking for help now when I’ve offered her nothing, not even a friendship.

As I’m about to start typing a message, those bouncing bubbles appear on the screen. Is she texting me? How did she know? My palms grow sweaty as I grip my phone, waiting for a message to come through.