47. Flynn
47
FLYNN
I’m sitting in my ute hating myself just a little bit.
I’ve been to see the puppies and chose the one I want to bring home with me in a few weeks when they’re ready to leave their mother.
The fact that I chose the one Abi thought was the cutest when we first looked at the listing is completely irrelevant.
He chose me more than I chose him.
The puppies were roaming in a large pen and when I stepped in and sat on the grass, he raced over to me and immediately climbed into my lap. The other puppies all came for a look and played with me, but none of them had the devotion of the one with the half pink nose. He didn’t leave my side the entire time I was there, alternating playing with me and napping while sprawled across my thighs.
But the whole time, I kept thinking I should have taken Abi and Sadie with me .
Sadie would have loved meeting all the puppies and I would have loved watching Abi coo and gush over them too.
I’ve been working long hours all week, though I’m trying to hide less from my friends and family. I’ve been to dinner a couple of times since my talk with Olivia and I’ve tried not to isolate myself.
But that’s how I ran into Abi that day she was dropping Sadie off after school.
And seeing her again felt like my heart was being ripped out.
All I wanted to do was take her in my arms and love her.
But instead of doing that, I turned bitter and grouchy.
What is wrong with me?
It’s easier this way. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Space. That’s what I need, and my behaviour that day ensures I’m going to get it.
It’s just really fucking unfortunate that what I need is in direct opposition to what I want.
I start the ute. I’ve been tempted to swing past Abi’s on my way home to tell her and Sadie about the puppy.
But that’s overstepping, so I head straight out of town, bypassing the road to Abi’s house and head for Wildflower Ridge.
My phone blares through the ute’s Bluetooth and I hit answer before I see the name flash up. It’ll be Olivia. Because she is the only one who ever calls me.
“Hello,” I say.
“Help. I need help. ”
The voice is raspy and barely audible, but somehow I recognise it instantly.
Abi.
“Abi,” I say, pulling over to the shoulder of the road and when the car behind me has passed, I do a U-turn.
“I know you don’t want to hear from me,” she says, panic threaded through her voice. “I don’t know what to do.” Her voice cracks over her words and she lets out a huge, heaving sob.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sadie’s sick. I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. You can do this, Abigail. You’re her mum. You’re already doing it.”
She doesn’t speak, just lets out a few more sobs. She’s trying hard to control them, but her control is slipping with each one.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“Bathroom. On the floor.”
“Where is Sadie?”
“On my bed.”
Okay, just across the hall. She’s still nearby. I let out a breath and calm myself. There’s no use in me arriving panicked.
“Sadie’s sick,” Abi whimpers. “She won’t stop throwing up.”
I pull into her driveway, parking beside her car and disconnect my phone from the Bluetooth before turning off the engine.
I stride up the driveway and take the three porch steps in one. I push open the door, lifting it just right to stop it from sticking.
I race down the hallway and peek into Abi’s room. Sadie is curled into a tiny ball on a layer of towels, a bucket sitting on the floor beside the bed. She’s resting peacefully so I spin around and step into the bathroom.
Abi’s on the floor, curled into a position much like her daughter’s, tears running down her face and her phone clasped to her ear.
I end the call between us and Abi pulls her phone away from her ear, staring at the screen.
“Flynn?” she whispers, voice completely broken. She drops the phone to the floor and lets out a sob that wracks her entire body.
“I’m here, Rosie. I’m here.”
I fall to my knees beside her and pull her to me, wrapping my arms tight around her. She buries her face against my neck, her fingers twisting in the front of my shirt.
“I’ve got you. Take a breath for me, Rosie,” I say, dragging my hand down her spine in long, soothing strokes. She sucks down a lungful of air. “Another one, then tell me what you can hear.”
I’d usually start with what she can see, but right now it’s only my shirt, so we’ll start with hearing. I just need her to focus on right now, in this moment, and not the chaos happening inside her head.
“Your voice,” Abi says with a soft sigh. “I can hear your voice.”
“Atta girl. Can you hear anything else?”
She pauses for a moment, drawing in another breath, this one easier than the last. “Your heart,” she murmurs. “Thub-thump. Thub-thump. Thub-thump. I can smell you too. You smell so good,” she mumbles .
I smooth the hair back from her face and she lifts her head. I use my thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
“You’re here,” she says.
“I’m here,” I agree. “You called.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, pushing herself off my lap. She inhales and it shakes. “I know you don’t want to see me, but I didn’t know what to do. Sadie …”
She shoots to her feet and races out of the room, straight across the hall to her room. When she sees Sadie still asleep in the centre of her bed, Abi releases a sigh, her whole body slumping.
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, stepping up beside Abi. I want to wrap my arm around her and pull her to me again. “You said something about her throwing up?”
“Yeah, for hours. So, so much. She’s hot and all limp. She hasn’t woken up for ages, even when she’s throwing up, she’s not really waking up anymore.” She turns to me with wide, watery eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
I’m so out of my depth here. I know nothing about kids and tummy bugs, or things worse than tummy bugs. But I take a deep breath and make my suggestion. “Why don’t we take her into the hospital to get checked out? The worst that can happen is they’ll say it needs to pass on its own, but if there’s something more serious going on then they can deal with it.”
Abi wrings her hands in front of her, but nods.
“You get what you need, I’ll bring Sadie out to your car and get her buckled in.”
She nods again, then picks up her phone and a bag and starts tossing things in. A phone charger, her wallet, a spare towel, a bottle of water and a protein bar. I’m a little dumbstruck at her quick efficiency as she slips in and out of Sadie’s room, a change of clothes for her going into the bag.
I shake my head, a tiny smile touching my lips. She’s got this way more under control than she gives herself credit for.
I lift Sadie off the bed and Abi grabs a couple of the towels that we tuck around her once we have her buckled into the seat.
I take the keys from Abi’s hand as she heads for the driver’s side and though she looks like she’s going to argue, she doesn’t.
She slips into the passenger seat and flips down the visor, opening the flap to check herself in the mirror. She swipes at the mascara under her eyes and smooths her hair, then lets out a disgruntled noise and flips it closed again.
I want to tell her she’s as beautiful as ever, but now isn’t the time. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the privilege of saying those kinds of things to her again.
But before I can worry about anything between me and Abi, I have my favourite little person to worry about, so I shove my relationship woes out of my head and get Sadie to the hospital.