17. Chapter 17
Jake
I wasn’t sure I should be here. I mean, I wanted to be here, but I just didn’t know if it was an all-around good idea.
I’d texted Seren a few times with only short replies.
Nate said he’d called her yesterday and stayed to help too.
Cai was still running a low-grade fever, but the doctor had said he’s over the worst of it.
But I’d never taken care of anyone beside myself before.
Asking Nate if he was cool with me dropping in seemed like the right thing to do, but I hadn’t expected him to agree that Seren might need people around her.
The nerves of not being qualified to do something for the two people on the other side of this door almost ate me alive.
I knew how to show up for a game, knew how to read a play, knew how to charm my way through most situations without thinking too hard about it, but I was the kid who never had a family, so why was I rushing to help hers, thinking I’d be the best option here?
I clutched the takeout soup container from the deli, and before I talked myself completely out of it and cried into said soup, I raised my hand to knock, my heart leaping into my throat.
For a second, nothing happened. Then a loud cry cut through the door, followed by hurried footsteps.
The handle twisted, and the door swung open, revealing Seren, hair a mess on top of her head, clothes rumpled, eyes tired in a way that made me want to scoop her up and keep her safe.
Cai was clinging to her, little arms locked tight around her neck, his face buried against her shoulder as he cried.
“Hi,” she breathed, like she’d run a mile just getting to the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi,” I said. “I just wanted to—”
Cai let out another wail, louder this time, his body curling tighter into her.
“I brought you soup.” I lifted it to show her, though it felt ridiculous now bringing this when she clearly doesn’t need it. She needs help, not hot liquid around a toddler with a temperature.
She looked completely wrung out, like she hadn’t slept in days when it had only been twenty-four hours. But it was clear she hadn’t stopped or had a second to just breathe. “Are you okay?”
Her mouth opened like she was going to say something automatic—yeah, or we’re fine, or something equally untrue—but nothing came out. Her grip tightened around Cai instead, fingers pressing into his back like she needed to anchor herself to him.
“I—” she started, then stopped, her breath catching.
Cai whimpered against her shoulder, and that was it; something in her gave.
Her face crumpled, and she didn’t even have the energy to hold it together anymore.
She turned her head slightly into Cai, trying to hide it, but the sound still slipped out.
“Sorry, he’s due more Tylenol, and he hates the stuff.
I haven’t managed to give him any since Nate was here.
” She laughed, but it was laced with a tiredness.
“He’s been like this on and off since I got him from daycare and I—” Her voice cracked, her shoulders hitching as she tried to pull herself back together and failed.
“He won’t settle, and that’s fine because he needs me.
I don’t—” she cut herself off, shaking her head like that alone might stop it, but the tears were already there, spilling over.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, like this was something she needed to apologize for, like falling apart wasn’t allowed. Her words started to trip over each other. “You don’t need to hear this.”
“Seren.”
She stilled at her name, giving me a clear view of those beautiful glassy green eyes.
“Let me help, mama,” I said, already reaching for Cai, giving her the soup, before she could argue out of it, stepping over the threshold of her apartment.
There was a flicker of hesitation—of instinct, of being his mom, of not wanting to hand him over when he was like this—but it lasted all of a second before her shoulders sagged and Cai willingly came to me.
“Okay,” she whispered.
I slid my hands in carefully, slow enough not to startle him, one at his back, the other under his legs. “I know, buddy, I know,” I murmured, pulling him in close against my chest, steadying him there instead of trying to bounce or shush him. “You’re alright.”
“Jakey, no yucky,” he said, and I didn’t have any idea what that meant.
Behind me, Seren exhaled. It wasn’t just a breath, though; it was like something leaving her entirely. The fight, the tension, the fear. I couldn’t read too much into it, but I also wanted her to know that I was here for her.
“He’s talking about the Tylenol. He calls it yucky.”
I nodded as she swiped quickly under her eyes.
“Sorry, it’s a mess.”
“It’s fine,” I assured her gently as I stepped farther inside before she could spiral again. “Go sit down for a second.”
“I shouldn’t,” she said, already moving past me like she needed to keep going.
“You should.”
I shifted Cai slightly on my hip, keeping him close, his cries already dipping into quieter, uneven sniffles as he pressed into me. She looked at me like she wanted to argue. Then her shoulders dropped, all the fight draining out of her in one quiet second. “…okay.”
And when she sat, it wasn’t graceful. It was like her body had finally been given permission to stop, and it didn’t quite know how. I stayed where I was, Cai tucked against me, gently rubbing a slow line up and down his back.
“You’ve got him?” she asked, like she needed to hear it out loud as she placed the container down on the coffee table.
“I’ve got him,” I confirmed. Her eyes filled again, but she didn’t try to hide it.
She fell apart right there in front of me.
Hands coming up to cover her face like if she could just block it out, she might be able to stop it.
But it didn’t work. The tears kept coming, slipping through her fingers, her breathing uneven.
“Hey,” I said after a second, quieter this time. “You’re okay.”
She shook her head, a broken little movement that said the exact opposite.
“I’m not,” she admitted, her voice muffled. “I’m exhausted. I feel like I’m doing everything wrong.”
“You’re not,” I said immediately, because that part wasn’t even up for debate.
I’d never experienced a mother’s love like this, only ever people who had a duty of care to me, where it was written into contracts, schedules, case files.
People who did their jobs but a lot of them had a line about what they were willing to give to me as a kid. This wasn’t that.
I knew without a doubt Seren was the best of the best.
She let out a soft, disbelieving huff, dragging her hands down her face, eyes red and watery when she looked at me.
“Do you want us to take him to the emergency room?” I asked the question that I thought was the most logical.
“His doctor said it’s just a bug and a fever. It should pass soon.”
I understood that it was probably the worst feeling to wait out something like this.
“Do you want me to try with his medicine?” I had no idea how I was going to do that, with zero parenting skills under my belt, but I’d be willing to try to help her.
“You can try,” she said wearily, then leaned forward to get the bottle, syringing out the liquid, then passing it to me.
The smell brought back a memory that I had no idea was stored so deep in my psyche. Of my foster home parent, Denise, taking care of me. Wow, I hadn’t thought about her in a really long time. But I did remember that she used to put Tylenol into a fruit pouch for me.
“Do you have any fruit pouches, or yogurt?”
She paused, like her brain needed a second to catch up, then nodded. “Yeah—Yeah, I think so.” She made her way over to the kitchen, I heard the fridge open and close, and then she was back sitting next to us.
I opened it, sucking out a little of the liquid, then tipped the syringe into the pouch, squeezing the medicine in, rolling it gently between my hands.
Seren watched me, tired eyes tracking every movement. “You’ve done this before?”
“Not really,” I said, glancing up at her briefly. “But I saw it done once.”
I moved Cai away from my chest, and he protested a little. “Hey, buddy, do you want to share this fruit pouch with me?”
He grumbled, so I pretended to slurp some of it and made the most ridiculous yummy noises. There was no way he’d buy it.
But then, he reached for the pouch and said, “My have some,” he said, his voice rough and sleepy.
“It’s really good. I might want it back.”
He huffed, a tiny, offended sound, already bringing it to his mouth.
I kept my hand loosely around the bottom, just in case, watching him take a tentative slurp…then another.
Seren let out something that sounded halfway between a breath and a laugh, her shoulders dropping a fraction like she’d been holding them up for hours. “Oh my god.”
Her eyes stayed locked on Cai, and I swear I could read her mind. All the worry and fear written in her irises like a barrier dissolved with each blink, until they were clear and open, and fucking breathtaking.
Her lips parted, and my eyes were drawn to the movement.
“All gone,” Cai said, passing the empty pouch to Seren.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Nate and I struggled so much giving it to him.”
After a few seconds, Cai turned his body around and pointed at the TV. “More twucks?”
Seren winced. “I’ve been a bad parent, letting him watch too much TV.”
I snorted without meaning to make that much noise. “Sorry, but no, you aren’t a bad parent for letting your kid watch TV while he’s sick. That’s actually the opposite because it helps him stay calm and distracted and maybe even keep his fever down.”
I knew absent parenting and Seren wasn’t it.
She switched on the TV and turned to look at me. Questions I thought she might ask were written all over her face, but this wasn’t about me. So before she could ask, I interjected. “I got chicken noodle soup. I hope that’s okay.”
She nodded, but it was slow. I passed it to her, and our fingers brushed, her skin warmer than I expected.
She’d been crying. Running on no sleep. Carrying Cai around all day. Of course she’d be warm.
“Have you eaten?”
She shook her head faintly, her focus flicking back to Cai like she couldn’t quite pull it away from him even for a second.
“Seren?”
“Hm?” she replied with a sleepy flutter of her lashes.
“Do you feel unwell, too?”
“I’m just tired,” she said automatically, the same way she’d said she was fine earlier.
“Do you have Tylenol for adults?”
She nodded sluggishly. “In my first-aid kit, in the kitchen.”
I exhaled, glancing between her and Cai, who was now fully focused on the TV, calmer, settled, his little body heavy and trusting against mine.
“Buddy, I’m going to put you here and help your mama.
I’ll be right back.” Sliding out from under him with minimal protest, I headed into the kitchen and found the kit.
“Alright,” I said, returning to her with water and medication. “So we’ve got two of you to take care of.”
“I should call Nate so you don’t have to,” she mumbled through a yawn.
“Or…I’ll call Nate for you, and you can let me help you right now. I might not be family, but I am a human, and I know what I like when I’m sick.”
She snuffled out a small laugh. “What does the great Jake Ledger like?”
“Snuggles,” I said as I passed her the tablets and water. “Though I rarely get them, your brother hates giving them out, and while Connor and Bobby are usually down, Ramirez is usually my best bet.”
That earned me a tired smile.
“If I had a girlfriend, I’d insist that she rubs my head to make my headaches go away.”
“So needy,” she said, even more sleepily.
“Yeah,” I huffed, a quiet breath of a laugh. “Tragic, really.”
Her head tipped back against the couch, and Cai instantly moved toward her like gravity, her eyes slipping shut for a second.
“But most of all, I just don’t like to be alone.”
Her eyes opened, locking onto mine before closing again. “Stay, Jake. You won’t be alone with us.”
A lump rose in my throat. She really had no idea what that meant to me.
She patted the spot next to them on the couch.
I double-checked the kids medicine bottle, set an alarm for four hours, then texted Nate to update him before I looked back at the two of them against each other, both with matching flushed cheeks but much more content than when I arrived.
I took the spot next to her, and Seren hummed, and within a few seconds, she was pressed up against my other side, eyes closing too.
“Look at that,” I whispered, just as they both started to drift off. I did that. I managed to soothe another human into feeling safe enough to fall asleep. I’d hardly even held a kid before, and right now, I felt invincible.