Chapter 37
CHAPTER 37
WYATT
It’s a testament to the comfort of being wrapped up naked in Owen’s arms that it takes me four rounds before I realize that the buzzing sound interrupting my bliss is my phone on the bedside table.
And the only reason my phone would be buzzing at three a.m. when do not disturb is on is because Hazel is calling me.
And the only reason Hazel would be calling me at three a.m. is because something is wrong.
I jerk out of Owen’s arms and snatch my phone off the table, fighting off the remains of sleep to swipe the screen.
“Hazel? What’s wrong?”
“Is Owen with you?” She’s doing that I’m trying to remain calm but it’s a trial voice.
“Yeah, why? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Eden. I did the steamy shower thing, and she stopped coughing and got sleepy, so I put her down. She didn’t feel warm or anything, but I just went to check on her, and she’s burning up.”
“What’s going on?” Owen says, rolling over.
“It’s Eden. Hazel says she’s got a fever.”
I put her on speaker.
Owen flips on the light and sits up. “I’m here, Hazel. What’s going on?”
“I can’t find the thermometer, but she’s burning up.”
“Is she awake?”
“I picked her up, and she just kind of passed out on my shoulder.”
Owen stills.
“So she’s not crying?”
“No. She’s really tired. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s three a.m. or?—”
“Hazel,” Owen says, his voice taking on just a hint of steel. My heart rate climbs. “I need you to try and wake her up. Lay her down and take off her jammies, that usually does it.”
I hear Hazel’s sharp intake of breath as she processes the seriousness of Owen’s tone.
There’s a rustling, and I think Hazel has set her phone down. Then I hear her attempt a soothing coo, but there’s a wobble to it.
“Hey, baby girl, can you wake up for Mommy?”
Owen’s brow is furrowed, his muscles bunched.
“How’s she doing?” he asks.
“She’s…she’s awake but really listless.”
Owen closes his eyes, pulls in a deep breath.
“Hazel, I want you to look at her ribs. When she breathes, what does it look like?”
The pause seems to go on forever, but it’s probably only a few seconds before Hazel’s voice comes back, this time with an edge of brittle fear. “Her chest is sort of…I don’t know how to describe it. It’s caving in? It doesn’t look right. Should I call Fatima on the on call phone?”
“You need to take her to the emergency room. As quick as you can,” Owen says, climbing out of bed and fumbling for his pants. “I’ll call ahead and let them know you’re coming, and I’ll head that way. It’ll be about an hour, but I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“And Wyatt?”
Owen glances up as if he forgot I was in the room, then fumbles for his shirt.
“I’m coming too,” I say. I jump out of bed and scramble madly for my clothes.
“Owen, what’s happening?” Hazel’s voice cracks.
“It’s going to be fine. She’s probably got a more serious respiratory infection than we thought. She’ll need some breathing support and medicine at the hospital, so you need to get her there. Now .”
The seriousness of his tone sends a shiver up my spine. I’m dressed in record time and reaching for my suitcase to zip it up when Owen says, “Leave it. We need to go.”
“But—”
“It’s not important, Wyatt,” he snaps.
I’ve never heard him talk like this before. He doesn’t look at me. Not even when he holds out his hand and says, “Give me the keys.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m driving.”
“I can dr?—”
“Give me the fucking keys, Wyatt.”
I hand them over, my stomach in knots as a merry-go-round of anxious thoughts whirls around in my brain. There’s Eden, so tiny and struggling to breathe. There’s Hazel, my sweet baby sister trying so hard to hold it together, that watery crack in her voice betraying her fear.
And there’s Owen. His jaw clenched, his shoulders too high, his body taut like a rubber band stretched to its limit. That voice is so steely, so remote, with just a hint of desperation.
It takes a silent elevator ride and a sprint through the parking garage before I remember the only other time I’ve heard him sound like this.
That misty morning on the soccer field.