Page 1 of Fierce-Jax (Fierce Matchmaking #18)
“ S hhh, Gianna, it’s okay. Mommy is going to get your bottle in a minute.”
The twenty pounds hanging on the crook of Dillion Patrick’s arm at the end of the day felt more like fifty pounds of emotional baggage.
She was dragging and expected it, but didn’t think it’d be this bad.
Her five-week-old daughter was letting her know she didn’t care one bit that Mommy needed to get off her feet.
Returning to her residency after four weeks of maternity leave might not have been the smartest decision a person could make, but she couldn’t afford to get any further behind.
Gianna let out another wail letting her mother know she wanted food now!
Dillion unlocked the door to the apartment she was renting with her partner.
Alec would hopefully be home soon too, but as an ER doctor, he was never on time, leaving her to carry this load of parenthood in more ways than one.
She toed her shoes off at the door, her feet almost sighing in relief. It’d be better once she could change out of her scrubs and take a relaxing hot shower.
Gianna’s wiggling arms and kicking feet told her that wasn’t happening soon.
“I’m hurrying, baby girl,” she said, looking down at her fussy daughter and smiling.
Even after a long frustrating day, her daughter, who wasn’t planned in her life, made every bad day a wonderful one.
Dillion marched to the kitchen with a greater purpose than when she got on stage to be handed her diploma after medical school.
Gianna was set on the counter in her car seat, and Dillion turned to get the powder formula off the counter, a bottle to scoop it in, then the room temp water to mix it up.
Thankfully Gianna wasn’t too fussy about wanting her bottle warm because waiting for it to heat up wasn’t on her impatient daughter’s list of priorities.
She unbuckled Gianna who was letting out a chorus of full-out shouts, put her in the crook of her arm, picked the bottle up now that it was thoroughly mixed, and popped it in her daughter’s greedy mouth.
The sucking sounds could rival some of the dudes at the frat parties she’d gone to her freshman year of college.
Her sock-covered feet moved on automatic to the rocking chair in the living room where she felt her body sink into the cushions and feel almost as much relief as Gianna finally getting her dinner.
After an ounce, she pulled the bottle out and put Gianna on her shoulder to burp.
The screaming told her how unhappy her daughter was, but the burp came out faster than a guzzler during a tailgate party. Then the bottle vacuum-sealed between her little lips again.
Dillion started to rock, which was a mistake because her eyelids dropped.
She majored in catnaps while in med school. Top of her class too.
So it was no surprise twenty minutes later when she popped awake and could take in her surroundings with superhero speed.
Her daughter’s eyes were shut, her lips sucking on an empty bottle, using it more as a pacifier.
The apartment was quiet, telling her that Alec hadn’t come home yet, and her stomach was growling, letting her know she needed some food.
She moved Gianna to her playpen and laid her down, then decided a shower had to be first.
Ten minutes later, she was back in the kitchen, dressed in leggings and a long T-shirt, rummaging around for food to cook.
The package of ground beef hit the counter, then a green pepper, and onion. A jar of sauce was put next to it and finally a box of pasta.
She could whip it together in twenty minutes. Then Alec could warm it up if he wasn’t home by the time she ate.
After checking her phone, she saw he hadn’t texted to say he was on the way, so she snapped a picture of the ingredients and sent it. Their little joke. Sometimes dinner would be done for him; other times it was a message about what he was going to cook.
She walked into the pantry to get a pot and pan and noticed a piece of paper on the kitchen counter. How had she missed that when she came in?
It was Alec’s handwriting. The bold script that she was familiar with. Normally she was the only one who could read it, but this time it looked as if it was written much slower. As if he wanted her not to mistake any of what it said.
I’m sorry, Dillion. Don’t hate me. Please support me. Please be there for me. I need you more than ever.
What the hell did that mean?
She started to read it a second time when the doorbell went off.
The last thing she needed was her daughter up and screaming for more food.
With the words she’d read in her mind, the doorbell going off felt as if the grim reaper was on the other side with his long bony finger reaching out.
She whipped the door open after running forward, didn’t see a tall figure in a black robe with a blade in his hand, but rather two police officers looking uncomfortable.
“Dr. Dillion Patrick?”
“That’s me,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“Can we come in to talk? It’s about Dr. Alec Cannon.”
She opened the door wider. “Come in,” she said. “What happened to Alec?”
“I’m sorry to inform you, but he’s been shot and killed.”
And everything she’d been trained to do in the midst of a crisis left her body as she crumpled to the floor.