Stumbling through the darkness, I push open the door to his room. He’s sitting up, wailing. “What’s wrong, buddy?” As soon as I reach for him, I feel it. I can feel the heat radiating off him before I even touch him. He’s burning up. “Paige!” I yell. I’ve gotten good at feeding Finn, playing, even changing diapers isn’t a big deal, but a sick baby is out of the realm of my wheelhouse. “Paige!” I yell again, rushing down the hallway with Finn in my arms.
Paige is already out of bed and on her feet. “What is it?”
Handing her to him, I say, “He cried, so I went to get him, and he’s really hot.”
She rests her cheek on his forehead. “I don’t have a thermometer here. I forgot to pack it. It’s still at the ranch.”
“Can you give him some medicine?” I ask. “Do you have anything?”
“I do, but . . .” She feels his forehead again, this time with the inside of her wrist. “I think we need to go to the emergency room.”
Paige grabs the diaper bag, not even bothering to get herself dressed. She just throws on some shoes. We’re out the door in under two minutes flat. It’s like I go on autopilot, driving toward the local children’s hospital. How the hell I even knew where the children’s hospital is, I have no idea.
Finn is screaming his lungs out in the back seat while Paige holds him tight, trying to soothe him. It’s killing me that he’s not in his car seat. Paige isn’t even buckled up, but I know better than to say anything to her right now. She’s in full-on momma mode.
I drive like a bat out of hell to the emergency room, pulling my car right up to the door, like my Land Rover is suddenly an ambulance. Sirens or not, this is an emergency. They can tow me. I’ll pay the ticket. I don’t care.
Hurrying around to the side, I help Paige and Finn out of the back seat. We hustle to the front desk, and I swear to God, every kid in Nashville is sick tonight. The place is mobbed. I’m not going to have Finn wait for medical care. I get a nurse’s attention, and she comes out from behind the desk, quickly looking at Finn and listening to his chest. “He’s really hot,” Paige says, looking at me.
The nurse smiles at her. “I see that. Let’s get you checked in, and a doctor will be with you as soon as we can.”
“How long?” Paige asks. “Finn isn’t a crier. Something’s not right.”
“Poor little guy isn’t feeling well,” the nurse says, motioning toward the desk to check in. “We’re busy tonight, but we’ll see him as soon as we can.”
One look from Paige, and I can tell she’s about to lose her shit on this woman. I beat her to it, though. “Now,” I bark. “I want him seen now.”
The whole room stops. No one moves. No one speaks. Hell, I’m not sure if anyone is even breathing. “Sir, I know you’re worried, but he’s crying. His airway is open. His heart and lungs sound clear. He . . .”
“He’s in pain!” I snap. “Is that not high enough on your list of priorities?”
Paige touches my arm, her eyes flying to a security guard, whose eyes are now glued on us. The nurse raises her eyebrows at us as if to ask if we’re all good, and Paige gives her a little nod. The nurse steps away while we are left with a screaming baby to wait in line.
“Fuck this,” I say, pulling out my phone. “I have to know someone who works at this damn hospital and can pull some strings.” My mind is racing, trying to come up with something. Between Jon and I, we know a lot of people, lawyers, police officers, congressmen, singers, but not one pediatric doctor comes to mind.
Finn lets out another deafening scream. “Slade?” Paige pleads.
A woman in front of us turns around—her child covered in vomit. “First kid?” she asks.
“Yes,” Paige says.
“First is always the hardest.” She leans a little closer and peeks at Finn. “He’s adorable. I’ve got five. All boys. I’m here every other week. I’ve seen it all. Odds are, it’s nothing serious.”
“Thank you,” Paige says, forcing a smile.
“These things always seem to happen in the middle of the night,” the kind stranger says.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to Paige and step a few feet away. Close enough that I can still see her if she needs me, but far enough away that she won’t know what I’m about to do. I look over at Paige, still chatting with the vomit-covered kid’s mom. Somehow, she now looks calmer. This woman is an angel.
I can’t remember the last time I dialed this number. The last time I asked him for anything. He answers almost immediately. For a second, I hesitate, but one more look at Paige and Finn, and the choice is clear. There really isn’t a choice.
“Dad?”
I also don’t remember the last time I called him that. I can hear the worried edge in his voice. “Slade? What is it?”
As quick as I can, I explain the situation. I think the whole phone call is under two minutes. Sure enough, my dad knows the head of some department here. I knew if I didn’t know someone, he would. I thank him, and that’s that.
Stepping back over to Paige, I rub both her and Finn’s backs. A phone rings behind the desk, and the nurse’s eyes fly to me. Checkmate!
Paige catches the look, too. “What did you do?” she whispers.
I just shake my head. I’ll tell her later. The nurse comes over with a clipboard. “We have a room for you.”
Paige’s eyes fly to me. “Thank you.”
“Good luck,” the lady in front of us says.
“Her, too,” I tell the nurse, nodding my head toward the stranger in front of us. “I’m sure you have a room for her, too.”
*
I don’t feel the least bit guilty about skipping the line and jumping ahead. Everyone else in that waiting room would’ve done the same thing for their own kid if they could. If it were me, I would’ve happily waited, but when it comes to the people I love, I don’t give a damn who I cut in front of in line.
Finn lays in Paige’s arms, quietly whimpering. “An ear infection,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it’s just an ear infection.” She kisses Finn’s head. “I feel so stupid. The lady was right. First-timers, all the way. I totally overreacted. I’ve just never heard him cry like that.”
“It’s good we brought him,” I say, rubbing the heart-covered bandage that covers the spot where they drew blood. That wasn’t fun, but Paige wanted to be absolutely sure nothing else was wrong. My mom had the same tendency to worry, so I get it. The doctor appeased her, as well, pointing out that her medical degree doesn’t hold a candle to a mother’s intuition.
“And you?” she says, grinning. “Took the overprotective thing to a whole new level.” Her smile lets me know she appreciates it, no matter how over the top I was. She reaches out for my hand, and I lean down, giving her a soft kiss. “Thank you,” she says. “But how’d you pull it off? Who’d you call?”
“My dad,” I say, sitting down beside them.
She sits up straighter. “You called your dad?”
“I couldn’t think of anyone I knew who worked here. I knew he’d know someone who could help.”