Nick
Nothing else exists as everything happens at once.
“Paramedics are close by because of the event,” Julian informs me as I drop to my knees.
I rip at the dinosaur costume, the fabric tearing away easily, revealing red welts blooming across his chest.
No, no, no …
I frantically glance around. “He's going into anaphylaxis—”
“Did he eat this?” Leah holds up a Reese's peanut butter cup wrapper left on top of his pumpkin bucket.
“Dad said we could each have a piece,” Lizzie answers, holding her tearful sisters close.
“Nick,” Leah grabs my attention again, “he's allergic to peanuts!”
Her voice warps and wobbles as my memory taunts me from earlier in the evening.
‘I don't eat peanuts.’
My head spins as a wave of nausea crashes over me. How the fuck did I not know this? Rage and guilt collide so violently, I can barely think.
“Matt has an EpiPen.” Leah grabs my shoulder. “It's an adult dose—”
“It'll work.” I haul Grady into my arms. He's heavy, limp, fighting for air that won't come. I press my cheek to his fevered temple. “C’mon, partner … hang in there. Breathe. Please keep breathing …”
The sirens scream closer as bright red lights strobe in my periphery. The ambulance honks a horn, coaxing people to pave the way to get to us.
Grady's movements turn lethargic, his hands dropping limp to his sides.
No.
He can't do this.
I can't do this.
I clutch him tighter, my fingers digging into his ribs.
“Please, Grady. C’mon, partner. Stay with Daddy, okay?
You have to stay with me—” My voice breaks, ugly and desperate.
“You're supposed to dance in the Nutcracker some day, remember? And we haven't read your new dinosaur book yet … C’mon, damnit … You have to fight, partner, you hear me?”
His eyelids flutter. The struggle's leaving him, leaking out with every shallow breath.
“Nick!” Leah pushes through the crowd, the EpiPen clutched in her fist. Matt and Declan barrel behind her, their faces white.
I snatch it from her.
Pulling Grady's lifeless thigh toward me, I find the thickest part of his muscle through the pants of his costume, then plunge the needle deep. He doesn't even wince as I push the medicine into him.
“C’mon, partner. Just breathe,” I whisper. Cradling his body, I press my forehead to his as a lone tear slopes down my nose and pools onto his blotchy skin. I hold my breath, counting seconds that stretch into minutes, waiting for a single gasp—a gasp that seems to never come.
This can't be happening.
We just met.
“Just breathe. Just—”
The whisper of a shudder catches my attention. His ribs faintly compress, briefly rising again beneath my arm.
Then comes the faint rattle of a gasp.
Grady's body jerks.
Suddenly, he coughs and sputters. He gulps air frantically, desperate for air as color floods back into his swollen face.
“That's it,” I choke out, my vision blurring. “Keep breathing.”
His beautiful dark eyes blink open, instantly finding mine.
“Hey, there, partner …” My fingers brush over his face, tracing his tiny features before finding his hand to hold.
A moment later, his fingers curl around my thumb. His grip is weak, but it's there. He knows where he is. He knows he's safe.
A sob tears out of me, my forehead dropping to his shoulder. I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of his breathing wash over me, each ragged inhale stitching my shattered heart back together one breath at a time.
“Are you Dad?” A paramedic kneels beside me, his partner already reaching for the oxygen bag.
“I'm Kris, and this is Brock. We're with Gulf Waters EMS, and we're going to take good care of your son, okay? Let's get him loaded up.” They lift my boy from my arms, the sudden emptiness painful. “C’mon with us.”
They carry Grady into the ambulance, hooking him up to oxygen and monitors.
I climb in beside him, taking his hand again as the doors slam shut behind us. I wipe at my eyes with my shoulder before brushing my thumb over his tiny knuckles.
“We're gonna be okay now, partner,” I whisper. “We're okay.”
***
I pace the small room as Dr. Jennifer Lin, the pediatrician on-call—and quite possibly a cheerleader on bath salts—reviews Grady's lab values.
“It's a good thing you were there, Nick—or I should say—Dad,” she says. “Another thirty seconds and … well, like I said, it's a good thing you were there.”
I nod like I'm listening, like the words aren't tearing through my chest. Like I didn't just nearly lose my world.
“He's gonna have quite the story for show-and-tell someday.” She winces. “Okay, maybe not. Sorry. That sounded a lot better in my head.” She brightens again. “My point, Nick, is I expect Grady to have just the run-of-the-mill, boring recovery—which is what we love in pediatrics.” She giggles.
I can't tell if I want to strangle her or hug her.
Luckily, she decides for us. She throws her arms around me. “Oh, Nick, I'm so honored I got to meet Grady!” She holds her hands to her chest. “A little mini Crawford.”
I nod, guiding her to the door. “Thanks, Jen, I've got some things to take care of.”
“Oh, of course! Text me if you need anything, Dad.” She wiggles her fingers as a wave.
I close the door before leaning my back against it. Letting out a heavy exhale, the gravity of the evening slowly detonates, crashing over me.
Grady is asleep for now, his chest rising evenly.
He's breathing.
He's alive.
He's okay.
But I need air. The room suddenly feels too small, the walls pressing in as my chest tightens with every shallow breath. My hands tremble as I reach for the door handle, desperate to get out, to get away, to run.
What in the actual fuck am I doing? My kid almost died because of me.
I'm a goddamn doctor; one of the first questions I ask patients is if they have any allergies.
I don't know if Grady knows what that means, but he knew something.
He told me he didn't eat peanuts, and I should've known.
As his father, I forgot to ask the one follow-up question that actually mattered.
I'm furious Tiffany never told me, but Grady gave me the chance to know—and I missed it.
I stumble into the empty hallway, the sharp scent of antiseptic assaulting my senses.
Dragging both hands through my hair, I let out a ragged groan before collapsing into one of the visitor chairs across from Grady's room.
I rest my forearms on my knees and hang my head, finally letting the adrenaline crash over me.
“Nick!”
My head pops up to find Tatum in her scrub cap jogging toward me. I stand up, and instantly, her arms are around my shoulders.
“Jon called and told me.” She steps back, looking through the narrow window of his door. “Is he okay?”
“He's doing okay. He's still on oxygen and fluids, but his vital signs are stable.”
“Good, that's … that's good.” She slowly nods. “How are you doing? Do you need some food? Anything from the house?”
I shake my head. “I'm … I'm okay. I guess.”
She slows down, lowering her voice. “It's okay not to be okay, Nick.”
I scoff, trying to pace away, but she catches my arm, stopping me with a knowing look. I let the silence stretch between us because I don't trust myself to open my mouth without falling apart.
“His lips were blue …” I blink away, cursing under my breath. “I know he's fine now, but—”
“Don't do that,” she interrupts. “Just because he's okay doesn't mean you weren't traumatized. For several minutes, you believed you were losing your son. Your heart doesn't simply forget something like that.”
I look down at my hands, and my chest aches all over again. “It's weird; I can still feel the weight of his lifeless body in my arms.”
She slowly nods. “Yeah … that's a feeling you unfortunately never forget.”
My eyes meet hers, and I suddenly realize that I don't have to explain a thing. She knows exactly what it feels like to believe you're holding your child for the last time.
Her pager goes off. “I better get back.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder. “Are you going back in?”
My gaze drifts to the doorway. Through the narrow window, I can just make out the edge of Grady's bed.
“Eh, well ...” I rub the back of my neck. “I think I may head downstairs for a bit. Take a breather. Maybe sit in the cafeteria, or … I don't know, maybe I'll —”
“Stop.” She holds up a finger. “Take a breather if you need one. Go splash water on your face, get a cup of coffee, smoke your emergency cigarettes you think you hide.” Her expression softens. “But don't leave him alone because you're scared to walk back into that room.”
I look away.
“Nick …” she warns.
“What am I even doing? I'm terrible at this—”
“Because your son got hurt?”
“I should've known—”
“Maybe you should have.” She doesn't flinch. “But you didn't. And you know what you did? You saved him, Nick.” She points to the window. “He's alive because of you.”
I blow out a heavy exhale, blink back the burn growing in my eyes. “I'm just so scared.”
She nods. “I know.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “So don't be a coward this time. Fear has already taken enough from you.” She nods toward Grady's room. “Don't let it take this too. Your son is scared, Nick. He needs you, even if you're scared too. Stay. Do it for him. And do it for Maddie.
She pats my arm before giving it a thoughtful squeeze.
“Nick ...”
I turn at the sound of my name to find an out-of-breath Leah rushing down the corridor, a balloon bobbing in her hand.
“Call us if you need anything,” Tatum says softly. She smiles at Leah in passing before jogging back down the stairwell.
“How is he?” Leah looks to his door. “Is he okay?”
I nod, tension in my shoulders. “He's been sleeping on and off. Would you like to see him?”
She waves her hand. “I don't want to impose or anything.”
“That wasn't the question, Ms. Harrison.”
She stifles a grin. “Yes, Mr. Crawford, I'd love to.”
I gently take her by the arm, and together, we step quietly into the darkened room.
Grady stirs beneath his blankets, his oxygen mask fogging with each slow breath.