15. Nate #3
While I’m alone, I slide my phone out of my pocket and send a couple of quick texts.
One text to let Sloane know that Lucy had a blood sugar crash, and I’m going to ask her to stay overnight in her bedroom upstairs instead of driving home.
I send the other text to Caleb, asking him to pick up a few things from the store on his way back home, suddenly thankful he left the party early to meet Peyton in Dickson for dessert when she got off work.
When I’ve finished cleaning up the kitchen, I head back to the living room and find Lucy with her eyes closed and her arms around Quinn.
Panic spikes as I wonder if she’s sleeping or passed out, and I cross the room to check on her.
She stirs when I push her hair back and check her pulse.
Her eyes blink slowly until they focus on mine.
I keep my voice low, so I don’t wake Quinn. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” she nearly whispers.
I check her snack plate and frown. There’s way too much food left. “Did you eat enough? Is there something else I can get for you?”
One corner of her mouth lifts in a tired, crooked grin. “I’m okay, Nate. I promise.”
I grab her diabetes kit from the other end of the couch and kneel beside her, pushing the walker with her snack out of the way. “I’ll feel better when I have a number to prove it.”
She sighs and holds out her hand, palm up, for me to check her blood sugar.
As I clean the finger she holds out for me with an alcohol swab, I make a mental note to thank whoever made EMT training mandatory for firefighters in Nashville.
If I didn’t have that training on diabetes supplies and treatments, this crash could have gone much differently.
Fighting a chill down my spine, I set that train of thought aside and open her package of test strips, barely suppressing a sigh as I realize there are only a few strips left.
I knew the box felt light when I checked her supplies earlier, but I assumed she had enough for another day or two.
I clench my jaw against the questions and lecture that are trying to bubble to the surface.
Telling her how important it is to stay properly stocked won’t help her embarrassment.
Besides, from what she’s told me about her insurance, this might be the best she can do right now.
While my mind reels, trying to come up with ways to help—ways to keep her safe—I slide one of her last test strips into the glucometer and load a new lancet into her lancing device. Her glucometer beeps in my lap, and I frown at the error code on the screen.
Lucy clears her throat. “It does that sometimes. You have to take that test strip out and put a new one in.”
I follow her instructions and meet her gaze. “Has it always done that?”
She shakes her head.
I frown. “How long?”
She shrugs, but her eyes tell the whole story. “A couple of weeks or so.”
My eyes narrow. “Was it after it fell in the kitchen?”
She averts her gaze, smoothing out wrinkles in Quinn’s shirt to avoid looking at me. “Maybe.”
I let out a long breath, but pick up where I left off, pricking her finger. She winces as the lancet pierces her skin, and I mumble an apology, feeling guilty for hurting her, even though it’s a necessary pain.
Once I have a number, I start packing her things back into the case, trying not to let my frustration with her lack of adequate, functional equipment show.
“It’s still a little too low for comfort, Luce.
I’m going to take Quinn upstairs and put her down for the night in her crib. I want you to eat some more, please.”
She swallows and nods. “Not a problem. I’m starving all of a sudden. I’ll be quick, and I’ll head home as soon as I have my strength back.”
I purse my lips and frown. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? I know you don’t have far to drive, but I’d feel better knowing you’re safe here instead of worrying about you getting home right now.”
“I’m fine. I can get home.”
I clench my jaw. “You nearly passed out in your car, Lucy. What if your sugar drops again while you’re driving?”
Her eyes dart between mine, and she sighs. “Okay. But only because my bed here is so comfortable and I’m completely wiped.”
I smirk and nod, then reach for Quinn. Between Lucy’s slowly returning strength and the weird angle I’m coming from, moving Quinn from Lucy’s chest to my arms proves to be an awkward transfer. When I pull Quinn away from Lucy, she grunts and mumbles, “Lu… Mama.”
Lucy’s eyes widen, and I freeze briefly, then pull Quinn against my chest and cross the living room. I can’t think about what that could mean right now.
I open the baby gate into the foyer with one hand and call over my shoulder, “Eat some more.”
As I climb the steps with my sleeping niece, it hits me how normal this feels. If someone had told me a couple of months ago that I would find comfort and a sense of normalcy from taking care of Quinn with Lucy Burke, I would have laughed.
But now, it feels… right.
So much has changed in such a short amount of time.