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I race toward the hospital knowing I’ll beat the ambulance there.

She has to be okay.

She has to be okay.

There is no other option.

I’m scared, but I won’t let fear rule me. I drive with both caution and speed as I race to get to the hospital.

I war with myself as to whether I should call Madeline back or not, and ultimately I decide Harper’s health is more important than me knowing whether she’s okay.

Not calling is absolutely fucking killing me, though.

I dial Victoria instead. She’s the only person I can think of to call.

She doesn’t answer.

Of course she doesn’t. She just told me to leave her alone, and five minutes later I’m calling again.

But this is an emergency.

I leave a voicemail, and I realize how fucking scary it’ll be when she hears it, but for some reason, she feels like the only person I can turn to right now. Maybe she’s the only person I want to turn to in this panicked state. I don’t want to be alone, and when push comes to shove, it’s her I want beside me in these dark moments.

“It’s me. Harper had peanuts and went into anaphylaxis. She’s in an ambulance heading to Desert Springs and I don’t know how she is. Can you meet me there? I uh…God. Fuck. I need you.” I choke out the last sentence as emotion clogs the back of my throat.

I screech into a spot and run into the emergency room to wait for Harper, and a few minutes later, Madeline comes rushing in.

“How is she?” I demand.

“I don’t know,” she says.

“You didn’t ride with her in the ambulance?”

She shakes her head. “The paramedic said it would be better if I drove separately.”

“Is the ambulance here?”

She nods. “They were in front of me. I saw them pull in. I’m so sorry, Travis.” She really, truly does look sorry for what she’s putting my daughter through, but I can’t seem to muster forgiveness at the moment.

“What fucking peanuts did she eat?”

“I gave her a granola bar that had peanut butter in it,” she says. “I didn’t realize…”

I shake my head. “You’re fired. You can leave now.”

“Can I just stay until we know if she’s okay?”

I do not accept her apology. “Get out.”

“But I might be able to help if I’m here since I was there…” she trails off.

“Did she get her EpiPen?”

She nods. “I found it in the cabinet where you said, and I did the shot myself. The ambulance arrived a few minutes later and told me that might’ve saved her life.”

Rage slices through me. “After you’re the one who fucking put it in jeopardy,” I hiss. “You can stay until we get an update, but fuck off out of my sight.”

I head up to the front desk.

“Has Harper Randall arrived via ambulance yet?” I demand of the woman sitting there.

“With whom am I speaking?” she asks.

“Her father.”

She nods. “I will need proof of that, but I will let you know as soon as I have an update.”

She needs proof I’m the kid’s fucking father?

I don’t have proof.

We don’t share a last name.

I just got custody a month ago and I’ve already put her in harm’s way.

This is my fault.

I doubt she was ever hospitalized when Caroline and Simon were her guardians, but give Travis Woods a month and he’ll find a way to fuck it all up.

“Let me back there to see her,” I demand.

“I’m sorry, sir, but hospital policy states that parents are not allowed in the trauma rooms. Please allow our doctors to administer the care she needs. Once she’s fully stable you’ll be able to see her.”

I’m about to give this bitch a piece of my mind when the doors slide open, letting a stream of sunshine in.

My head whips in the direction of the doors, and that’s when I see her.

A woman rushing through the open doors, at first a dark silhouette against the bright light outside, but when the doors close again, there she is.

Dark blonde hair flies wildly as she looks around, and then her blue eyes land on me.

Victoria rushes into my arms, and I hold her tightly to me as I feel the storm inside shift just a little—like from a hurricane to a tropical storm where she somehow calms a small piece of me.

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. She just got here and they won’t let me back to fucking see her,” I say, more to the receptionist than to Victoria.

“Hospital policy,” Victoria says, and she grabs my jaw in her fingertips and pulls my gaze back to hers. “Did she get epinephrine?”

I nod as I focus on her blue irises, trying my hardest to keep my cool and not go off on the receptionist or knock down the goddamn door to get back there myself.

“That’s a good thing. That might be what saves her,” she says, and she’s repeating what Madeline said to me, too, but I can’t quite see past all that when I don’t know what condition she’s in right now.

“Do you know anything about peanut allergies?” I ask.

“A little. My nephew has a peanut allergy, so I’ve learned a little from my sister. And then I was talking to the school nurse one day last year when a kid was brought in with a reaction.”

“What happened?” I guess this is me becoming informed. I need something to keep me from pounding the door down.

She shrugs in my arms since I’m still holding her close to me, breathing in her scent as I try to calm down even though it’s an impossible task. “I think every kid reacts differently, but that boy swelled up like crazy and was having trouble breathing. The nurse gave him the EpiPen, but that sort of just kept his heart beating like a shot of adrenaline. He still needed treatment when he got to the hospital.”

“What kind of treatment?” I ask.

“The nurse told me probably steroids and antihistamines to help the swelling.”

“How long before I can see her?” I hear the desperation in my own voice, and Victoria’s voice is soft and soothing in her reply.

“Could be a few minutes, could be an hour. All we can do is wait and pray and leave this woman to do her job.”

I know she’s right, but I’m not really the praying type. I’m more the kick in the door and demand I get my way type.

She urges me away from the reception desk and toward a row of chairs, and we sit. She links her fingers through mine, and when I glance over at her, her eyes are closed and I imagine she’s saying a prayer that my daughter will be okay.

“It’s all my fault,” I whisper.

Her eyes open, and she looks over at me. “What?”

“It’s my fault. All of this. I never should have left her.” The words choke out behind the lump in the back of my throat.

“It’s not your fault,” she says. She brings our joined hands up to her lips and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. “It’s not your fault.” She repeats the words. “You can’t be with her twenty-four-seven. It’s not feasible.”

“But I didn’t have to go out tonight. I didn’t have to leave her at home. I should’ve trusted my gut with Madeline.”

She shakes her head. “What’s done is done. You’ve been through enough tonight. You don’t need to punish yourself even more with blame. It won’t do any good anyway.”

She squeezes my hand a little tighter, and I’m not sure how to thank her for being here for me in what’s quickly becoming the scariest night of my life.

And I’ve been through some shit.

Nothing has ever affected me like this. Nothing has ever pressed the sort of fear into my heart that I’m feeling right now, and I guess that’s parenting.

Somehow I know Victoria is feeling it, too. I know she cares about my girl, and that means the world to me.

“They said they need proof I’m her father. How do I prove that?” I ask.

“Have your father send you the document naming you custodian,” she suggests, her tone calm and soothing to my skyrocketing heartrate. “And let’s take care of it now so when they come out to tell you what’s going on, we don’t have to wait longer.”

She’s right. I text my father, and he gets the paperwork right over to me. I show it to the lady at the front desk, my entire demeanor much calmer now that Victoria is here.

It’s nearly an hour before a doctor comes out to fill me in on what’s going on with my daughter.

I’ve spent most of the time holding Victoria’s hand, but I did get up to pace a bit, and I also spent some time glaring at Madeline.

I thought about asking Victoria why she was crying earlier, but I couldn’t bring myself to have that sort of conversation here.

After she bolted here to be with me, it sort of feels like the type of conversation we’ll have later.

The minutes felt like hours as they ticked by, and the receptionist must have directed the doctor to me, because he stands in front of me with a serious look on his face.

I stand nervously.

Victoria stands by my side, and she drops my hand as she grabs my arm into a tight hug between her arms. Somehow it’s exactly what I need for this conversation.

What I don’t need is Madeline, who also hops to her feet and walks over toward us to listen to what the doctor says.

“Your daughter is stable and we just moved her to a private room. We gave her steroids and a high dose of antihistamines, and that made her pretty drowsy. The swelling has gone down but we want to keep her here for observation for at least a few hours to make sure she doesn’t have rebound anaphylaxis after the medications start to taper. You can go back to see her now if you’d like.”

I let out a sigh of relief, and I feel Victoria exhale, too.

I don’t bother looking over at Madeline.

Instead, I nod at the doctor. I need to see her for myself before I really feel any sense of relief at his words.

“Do you want to go see her?” I ask Victoria.

She nods, and Madeline has the balls to ask, “Can I come see her, too?”

I shake my head. “You’ve done enough. You can go now.”

Victoria and I head back to her room, where we find her fast asleep.

We both stare at her for a few minutes, and I lean over and press a kiss to her forehead. She looks tiny in the bed with an IV attached to her arm. She’s pale, and her face is a little puffy, but she looks peaceful. Victoria reaches over and squeezes her hand.

I pull Victoria into my arms, and we stare down at my girl. And just like that, a warm calmness seems to rush over me after the most chaotic and scariest night of my life. As I hold her tightly against me and draw in a deep breath of her, the last bit of fear melts away.

“She’s okay,” Victoria whispers.

“She’s okay,” I repeat softly as I hold tightly onto her, my hand gripping the back of her head as I lean down to breathe in her strawberry hair. I bury my face in her neck, and she clings onto me.

“She scared the shit out of me,” she murmurs into my chest.

“She scared the shit out of me, too,” I admit.

We embrace a little longer as we both stare down at her, and I find I don’t really want to move from this place. I don’t want to let Victoria out of my arms, and I don’t want to let Harper out of my sight—especially since they just let me back here.

But I know at some point we’ll have to have the type of conversation we both need after the way we left things earlier tonight.