Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Janie
Something’s wrong with Aria. She’s been crying for over an hour—not her usual cranky-tired cry, but something desperate that makes my stomach twist with worry.
The Crushers game plays in the background as I pace the living room, cradling her in my arms. She’s been sick all day—coughing, congested, feverish—but her cry puts my mother’s instincts on edge.
My attention shifts to the TV screen, where I catch Rourke gliding across the ice.
“And Riley with a beautiful pass to MacPherson…” the announcer says moments before an opponent slams him into the boards with a sickening thud. My body tenses as I suck in a breath.
Please be okay.
When I open my eyes, he’s flying down the ice again. When did his safety become something that could almost stop my heart?
Since he became something more than my roommate.
Aria wails again, and when I press my lips to her forehead, her skin burns.
Carrying her to the changing table, I fumble for the digital thermometer with one hand while she fusses inconsolably. The numbers climb as my stomach pitches. Please don’t let it get too high. Not like last time.
A memory crashes over me—Aria at four months old, her fever spiking to 105 degrees.
Then that terrifying moment her tiny body stiffened and started convulsing in my arms. It was the most horrific sixty seconds of my life, watching my baby have a febrile seizure while I felt completely helpless to stop it.
The tears were streaming as I begged for the seizure to stop, convinced she was going to die and I’d lose the only good thing left in my world. And that was worse than my marriage falling apart—a reality I didn’t know if I could survive.
Afterward, the doctors told me she was fine, but that I’d need to watch for seizures if she ever spiked another high fever.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Mama’s here,” I whisper, but it doesn’t help the worried feeling inside me.
I lay a cool washcloth on her forehead, but she thrashes and flings it away, crying harder. Nothing helps. Not rocking or even the gentle bouncing that usually soothes her. She’s miserable, which means I’m miserable too.
The crowd’s roar from the TV snaps my attention back to the game just as the camera zooms in on the goal. Someone scored, sending the game into overtime. The camera zooms in on Rourke’s face—helmet off, his sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead as he grins at his teammates.
“Riley with the game-tying goal!” the announcer shouts, and despite my sick baby and exhaustion and worry—I feel a flutter of pride.
My man scored. The thought wraps around me like a warm blanket.
Only a few months ago, I was convinced I’d never feel this way about anyone again.
Even if I was wrong, I knew I’d never be someone’s first choice.
Now this incredible man doesn’t just want me—he wants every piece of us, the messy beautiful reality of what we are as a family.
Aria cries again, this time her voice weaker. “Oh, sweet baby,” I murmur, stroking her forehead. She’s so hot against my skin, so I take off her clothes down to her diaper and search the medicine cabinet for infant pain reliever.
My heart sinks when I find the nearly empty bottle—barely enough for half a dose. I give her what’s left while calculating the drive to the nearest 24-hour pharmacy. Thirty minutes each way in the cold with a crying, feverish baby.
On the TV screen, an image flashes: a player takes a hard hit on the ice and falls. Bodies crowd around him. A few players throw off their gloves.
“That looks bad,” the announcer says.
I squint to see it better. Some kind of scuffle is breaking loose on the ice, players pushing and shoving near the goal. My heart stops when I see Rourke in the middle of it, lying on the ice.
For a few seconds, I can’t tear my eyes away from the scene. He lies motionless on the ice, sticks and fists flying all around him.
I have to know if he’s okay.
For what feels like endless seconds, he doesn’t move while the brawl rages around him and referees work to get it under control. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stare at the screen and pray.
Let him be all right.
Finally, he pushes himself up, shaking it off before lifting a glove to his fans. Relief floods through me so hard, my chest loosens and I inhale.
The camera zooms in on Rourke leaving the ice with a cut near his eye and a slight limp. But he’s moving. He’s okay. And soon, he’ll be home.
I sink down onto the couch. I need Rourke here. Not just want—need him. Someone to tell me I’m not crazy for worrying, or that yes, we should take Aria to urgent care.
The next hour is torture. Every minute feels like ten. When your baby’s burning up and you don’t know why, time moves differently. Every whimper from Aria sends my anxiety spiking. Should I drive to the pharmacy? Let her sleep?
I’ve been making these decisions alone for so long, always second-guessing myself. Always wondering if I’m overreacting or not reacting enough.
But tonight, I don’t have to do it alone. Rourke will be here soon. I didn’t know how much I needed that until right now.
I’m stroking Aria’s feverish forehead when I hear a car door slam in the driveway. The key clicks in the lock, then his gear bag hits the floor, followed by footsteps. Usually, I’d be meeting him at the door with a smile, but tonight, there’s nothing left in me.
“Janie?” he calls.
He appears in the living room doorway, hair damp from the shower, the cut on his face bright red. He takes one look at me and his smile falls.
“What’s wrong? Is Aria okay?” He’s across the room in three strides, his hands immediately checking her forehead, then brushing my cheek. “Hey, talk to me.”
And that’s when I completely fall apart. Because he’s here, and he’s taking care of us. This is what I’ve been wanting without letting myself admit it. Someone who can hold me up when I’m falling apart.
“I can’t get her fever to break.” The words tumble out of me. “I’m out of medicine and there are no pharmacies open in town. Last time she had a bad fever, she had a seizure and I can’t…” I shake my head, my eyes flooding with tears. “I won’t let that happen again.”
He immediately kneels on the floor and lays his hand on my arm. “Janie, let me help.” He rolls up his sleeves and pulls out his phone. “I’ll drive wherever a pharmacy is open.”
“I need some infant pain reliever,” I say. “But the closest one is thirty minutes away.”
He doesn’t even hesitate, just turns around and grabs his coat, already pulling up the GPS on his phone. No complaints about being tired from the game, even though he’s still limping slightly from that hit he took tonight.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say.
“I want to do this.” He gives me a look that leaves no room for argument. “Tell me what else you need.”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“I meant you,” he says, studying me with concern. “How can I make you feel better?”
“Rourke, you’re already doing everything by helping Aria.”
His gaze narrows as he takes in the way I’m barely holding it together. “I’m worried about you, Janie. You look like you’re about to collapse. I’m texting Jaz to come over—”
“I don’t want to bother her this late.”
He’s already pulling out his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. “The wives were all at the game. And Jaz would never forgive me if I didn’t let her know you needed a break.”
He finishes the message and Jaz texts back immediately. “She’s already on her way over.”
I lean back against the couch. “How do you do this?”
“Do what?”
“Think of everything I need?”
“Because taking care of you and Aria isn’t something I have to think about…it’s instinct now.”
This man could be celebrating an overtime victory with his teammates at Boots and Buckles. Instead, he’s preparing to drive across town late at night to buy medicine for a sick child—a baby who isn’t even his. But that distinction has never mattered to him.
He’s already moving toward the door when I call him back. “Thank you,” I say. “For being exactly what we need tonight.”
He strides back and presses a kiss to my forehead, then gives Aria one. “That little girl has me wrapped around her finger…and so do you.”
Jaz arrives within minutes of Rourke leaving and takes in my exhausted appearance before prying Aria from my arms.
“There’s nothing you can do until he gets back,” she says. “I’m giving her a cool bath while you rest. And before you argue—you’re no good to her if you’re running on fumes.”
She’s right. I crash on the couch, falling asleep to the sound of water running in the bathtub.
Next thing I know, an engine dies in the driveway and Rourke’s through the front door with a pharmacy bag before I can even get off the couch.
“How is she?” he asks, not stopping to take off his jacket.
“The same,” Jaz says, coming down the stairs. “The bath helped, but she’s still running a fever.”
He immediately starts pulling out items from the bag. He not only bought the infant pain reliever, but a digital thermometer, a rehydration drink in three different flavors, and what looks like half the baby section of the local pharmacy.
“I wasn’t sure what might work.” He turns the pain reliever bottle around, reading the dosing instructions on the back. “I hope she likes bubblegum flavor. But if not, I also got cherry.” Rourke pulls the second container from the bag. This man thinks of everything.
Aria immediately turns her face away when I try to put the syringe in her mouth.
“Maybe I can help?” Rourke says, kneeling next to us. “Hey, Aria…want to sing your favorite song?”
Without any hesitation, he launches into the sweetest rendition of “Hush, Little Baby.” His voice is low and rumbly, completely unselfconscious as he sings. Aria’s crying slows down until she quiets, her feverish eyes focusing on his face.
“And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Daddy’s going to buy you a diamond ring…”
The singing distracts her enough so she doesn’t notice when I squeeze the syringe into her cheek.