25. Evie Wilder
Chapter twenty-five
Evie Wilder
“I know baby, I’m so sorry,” I whisper to a crying Beckham.
The night we got back from the book club, he started sounding a little congested. Over the course of the night it’s just gotten worse and worse. He hasn’t been able to breathe well, so he struggles to take a bottle, and then even when he can drink he gets choked up. Seeing him like this tears me up inside. I feel so helpless.
I attempt to clear out his nose, it only makes him cry harder. With a sigh I try to soothe him, though he’s inconsolable. I pick up the thermometer out of my bedside basket to check. It was inching toward a fever the last time I did. 102.3 . Anxiety starts to swirl within me. Between the lack of fluids today and now this high fever, we should probably see a doctor.
I grab my phone off the bed and turn it over, seeing that it’s almost three in the morning. That means this is most definitely a hospital visit. It also means I’m going to have to wake up Maverick, since I don’t have a car of my own and I can’t exactly disappear with his truck.
I set Beckham down and begin to quickly put my shoes on then get his diaper bag. He’s still crying when I carefully walk down the stairs. I’ve only just made it to the bottom when Maverick stumbles into the living room, rubbing his eyes.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, and it almost breaks the dam holding back my tears. My lack of sleep and hypersensitivity from Beckham crying for hours has made me extra fragile.
“Beckham is sick. He has a high fever and I need to take him to the hospital.”
“Okay, let me get my shoes and keys and we can go.”
I don’t bother telling him he can just give me the keys. I know better than to think he’d let me go by myself. He loves Beckham too much for that, loves me too much for that, as hard as that is to accept sometimes.
Seconds after he disappears into his room, he’s back again. “Are you ready to go? Do you have everything you need?”
I nod. “I’m ready.”
We head out the door and to the truck. He lets me get Beckham situated while he starts it and blasts the heat. I sit in the back to keep an eye on Beckham. As soon as I buckle my seatbelt, Maverick is tearing out the drive. He races to the nearest hospital. I don’t look at the speed. I trust that he’s not being reckless, while knowing that he’s likely well over the limit.
The ride to the hospital is silent, minus Beckham’s crying. Maverick is focused on getting there, and I’m focused on trying to soothe my son. When we arrive, my nerves increase rather than decrease. I hate hospitals. They remind me of two terrible moments in my life. One, when Elena’s cancer was getting worse. And two, when I had to rush to the hospital because I was in early labor. Both things were absolutely terrifying, and solidified my hatred of the place.
Maverick gets the diaper bag while I hold Beckham. We speed walk into the hospital and he immediately goes to the front desk, explaining what I told him about Beckham. I chime in, adding details I didn’t share. They give us a clipboard and ask us to sit down. Maverick’s jaw clenches, but he takes the paperwork and follows me to a set of plastic chairs.
He helps me fill out the paperwork, asking whatever questions he doesn’t know the answer to. He knows more of them than not though, which warms my heart even in my worried state. After we finish writing everything, he takes it back to the front desk, then returns to sit next me.
His leg is bouncing. I try to recall a time when I’ve seen him like this, and the memory steals my breath. When we visited Elena, he’d get nervous like this too. It’s the only time he didn’t look completely in control. I situate Beckham in the crook of my arm, then put my other hand on Maverick’s knee. It stills with my touch.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him. The words sound weak to my ears, but it’s all I have.
He takes my hand and squeezes it. After a moment of anxious waiting, a nurse walks out and calls for us. We’re led into a triage room.
“All right, Mom and Dad, what brings you here tonight?” the nurse asks with a gentle smile on his face.
I don’t correct his assumption. It’s more than fine that they think Maverick is my husband and Beckham’s dad. His hand in mine is the only thing keeping me grounded in this moment .
I tell him the same thing we told the woman at the front desk while he takes Beckham’s vitals. Once that’s done, they take us to a room. The smell of antiseptic burns my nose as I climb up onto the hospital bed. I pull the blanket I brought tighter around Beckham, holding him close to my chest.
Thankfully, the emergency room doesn’t seem to be very busy tonight. Maybe they’ll be able to help us quickly, and we can get out of this dreadful place.
“I hate hospitals,” I say while we wait for the doctor to come in.
“Me too,” Maverick agrees, dragging a chair over to where I’m sitting on the hospital bed with Beckham. He sinks into it, a tired grimace on his face.
“Do you think they’ll be quick?” I ask him, just so I can do something other than ride the merry-go-round of my thoughts.
“If they aren’t, I’ll make sure that changes,” he answers in a low growl.
A smile tugs at my lips. “I’m grateful you’re here.” I take a deep breath. “I wouldn’t want to be here alone.”
Beckham has started to calm down. I mostly think he’s tired himself out, which breaks my heart all the more. But I am thankful he’s stopped crying for the time being.
“I told you I’ll always be here for you, and that goes for Beckham too.”
“Does that mean you’re going to go save him if he gets too drunk at a party one day when he gets older?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood so I don’t cry.
Maverick’s grimace melts into a fond smile. “Sure, but I probably won’t carry him out over my shoulder. ”
A soft laugh escapes me. “That was so embarrassing. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”
“I’m surprised you can remember it at all.”
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t that drunk.”
“You were drunk enough that I had to pull you off a table.”
“I’ve danced on plenty of tables while sober.”
He chuckles. “Fair point, but that doesn’t mean you were any less of a mess that night.”
“Drunk or not, I’m glad you were there.”
“Me too.”
The doctor finally arrives, detouring our trip down memory lane. He begins asking all the same questions we’ve been asked multiple times. Maverick looks ready to explode at this, but manages to stay calm as I repeat everything. Then the doctor examines Beckham, listening to his heart and lungs, prodding at his little tummy. Between all of the movement and a stranger touching him, Beckham is upset once more.
“It looks like a sinus infection to me,” the doctor says. “We can give him ibuprofen to try to get the fever down, and I’ll prescribe him some antibiotics to help get rid of the infection. I’d recommend having a follow up with your pediatrician once he’s done with the antibiotics. If his fever doesn’t go down for a prolonged period of time, or gets worse, you can come back here.”
I nod, taking in everything he’s saying.
“You can use a humidifier to help loosen the mucus in his nose and throat. That combined with the medicine should help him breathe well enough to get a bottle down.”
“Okay, that all sounds good,” I say .
“I’ll have a nurse bring in the medicine for his fever, as well as your prescription.”
“Thank you,” Maverick says before I can. I nod in agreement.
The doctor leaves and I let out a sigh of relief. A sinus infection. That’s not so bad. If they can get his fever down, maybe he’ll sleep. Though I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anyway, no matter how tired I am. I don’t want anything to go wrong in the middle of the night.
“There’s a Walmart not far from here that opens at six. By the time we get there they’ll be open. We can stop by on our way home and I’ll run in to grab the humidifier. Unless you have one upstairs?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have one. Thank you.”
We go quiet as we wait for the nurse to come in. She does, and helps me get the medicine in Beckham, who is not happy about it.
Soon enough, we’re walking into the chilly morning air with a slightly less upset baby and a prescription written in chicken scratch. It was all rather anticlimactic, which I’m grateful for, considering my last two hospital trips were opposite of that to say the least. And even though it wasn’t life or death, the whole thing has sapped all of my energy. I wish I had the peace of mind to be able to get to sleep, but I’m not sure that I will.
Maverick starts the truck from his phone, so when we get to it, it’s already starting to get warm inside. He waits as I put Beckham in the car seat, watching over me like a sentry. I’ve never felt so safe in a parking lot before in my life.
The sound of the door shutting echoes. Maverick’s eyes stop scanning the parking lot and he looks to me instead. When our eyes lock, I lose my grip on everything I’ve been holding in. The tears start to stream like two rivers down my face. He pulls me into his arms. I bury my face into his chest and let it all out.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs, combing his fingers through my hair. “I’ve got you.”
My shoulders shake. He runs a hand up and down my back. Eventually, with wet eyes and a runny nose, I pull back.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I use the sleeves of my pajama shirt to wipe away my tears. “I’m so tired and I don’t think I’m going to get to sleep at all. I didn’t mean to break down on you.”
Warm fingertips brush under my chin, lifting my face up so my gaze meets his.
“Don’t apologize for needing to cry. You’re allowed to feel things, Wilder. It’s okay to let it out once in a while.”
I take in a shaky breath, not knowing how to respond. I feel like a walking wound sometimes. Just when I think I’m healed and starting to scar, something cuts me back open again.
“As for sleeping, I can watch Beckham for a few hours.” I open my mouth, but he doesn’t let me interrupt. “ Yes , I can stay up with him. You haven’t slept all night, I slept most of it. No arguing.”
I’m so tired I don’t think I could manage a proper argument anyway. I’d probably just whine incoherently the whole drive home. So I decide to spare both of us that unpleasant soundtrack and let him do this for me.
“Okay,” I say. “You can watch him for a little while, but you can’t let me sleep too long. We can take shifts.”
“I can agree to that,” he says, brushing his thumb over my cheek before letting his hand drop. “We’ll put the bassinet in my room so you don’t have to worry about waking him going up the stairs. You can sleep in my bed while I help watch him. ”
My heart stutters. Share a bed? He wants us to share a bed ? Waking up on the couch with him was enough to send me spiraling. There’s no way I’ll survive even a few hours of staying in his bed. He must take my silence as acquiescence, because he places his hand on my lower back and walks me around the truck before opening the door for me.
Numb, I climb up inside.
“We don’t have to sleep in the same bed. What about the couch? Or I can make a pallet on the floor.”
Maverick stands in the door of the truck, staring at me. “The couch is smaller than my bed. You’re not sleeping on the floor and neither am I, because I have a perfectly good bed.”
“What about an air mattress?”
He shuts the door on me. Well, that was rude. I wait for him to get in on his side.
“That was a valid suggestion,” I say with a huff, crossing my arms.
He turns in his seat to look at me. His eyes look black as night in the dim light of his truck.
“If you can tell me one good reason why we shouldn’t share a bed, then I’ll buy an air mattress when I go in to get the humidifier.”
My mouth opens. Closes. Ugh. The only reason I have is one I can’t say out loud.
“Fine,” I mumble, turning to look out the window. “We can share your bed.”
“Good girl,” he says and I whip my head around to glare at him. His smirk sends a shiver down my spine.
“You’re going to pay for that. I just remembered; I kick in my sleep,” I say sweetly .
His low chuckle makes my skin tingle. “And I tend to cuddle whatever is closest to me.”
My face goes hot. I look out the window again, certain that he’ll be able to tell how red I must be even in the darkness. I know he’s just messing with me, but it doesn’t make it any less disconcerting.
I may not be able to sleep for an entirely different reason now.