The call immediate connected to his voicemail, and Gypsy’s heart dropped. Her mind darted to possible solutions to this situation. She could call Dylan or Emma, Miranda or Jack, but they were all working, and there was no telling how long it would take them to get free.
She had to accept it. There was no way Cooper was getting to the doctor’s office in time for his appointment, which meant there would be no superhero camp for her boy. Emma could sign off on his physical, but she couldn’t disobey hospital protocol regarding vaccinations without jeopardizing her job. Gypsy’s only hope was that Emma was working in the ER and could vaccinate Cooper while also treating Belle’s arm.
She put in a call to Dylan.
“Hey,” Dylan answered. “What’s up?”
“Hi. Sorry to bug you—”
“You never bug me. How many times do I need to tell you that?”
Gypsy wondered if she’d ever feel like she wasn’t bugging her family. Maybe when she could stop using them as overnight babysitters. “Thanks. I’m calling to see if Emma’s working today.”
“No, no,” he said. Their daughter’s sweet cooing sound came over the speaker. “She worked noon to twelve yesterday, so she’s sleeping. She has today off, but she’ll probably be awake in a few hours. I’ll have her call you.”
Gypsy’s last hope circled the drain, right along with her self-esteem. “No, that’s okay. But thanks. I’ll check in with you guys tomorrow.”
Gypsy stopped at a red light and closed her eyes on a flood of self-recrimination. She’d made her share of mistakes with Cooper, but there was no doubt that this was her biggest mom-fail to date.
And, shit, he was only three years old.
Right then and there, she reupped her dedication to focusing on giving Cooper everything she’d never had in a mother, which meant keeping men out of her life.
Even Wyatt Jackson.
17
Wyatt and Paisley strummed their guitars while they sang the lyrics they’d written together.
Paisley stopped singing and reached over her guitar for the pencil to make a note on the music sheet. “You’re right, that last note should definitely be a G.”
They played it again with the new chords and smiled at each other, knowing they’d gotten it right.
“Man,” Wyatt said, setting his guitar aside. “My agent’s going to be stoked that we finished this.”
“Mine too.” Paisley stood and stretched. “It’s amazing how much work you can get done when you’re hidden in the basement.”
Wyatt would hardly call this space a basement. It was a completely soundproofed music studio with all the bells and whistles. And he’d really enjoyed his time with Paisley. It felt good to work again. To sing and play and compose again. He loved his work. He also loved the idea of building his own studio so he could continue working and producing while staying closer to Gypsy and Cooper and Belle.
They had a sweet little family forming, and the idea of it made Wyatt smile. Made him tingle inside.
A knock came at the studio door, then it opened, and Paisley’s son bounced in. He was a little younger than Cooper and dressed in footy pajamas, his hair wet like he’d just come out of the bath.
Pajamas. Bath. A strike of fear pierced Wyatt’s chest.
While Paisley cuddled with her son, Wyatt cut a look around the studio for some reference to the time, but there were no windows, so he couldn’t look outside. He reached for his phone in his back pocket, but it was gone. He cut a look around the horizontal surfaces and caught sight of it through the windows to the mixing room.
He pushed to his feet with the weirdest sensation of panic trilling across his nerves. “What time is it?”
“It’s got to be almost eight,” Paisley said, running a hand over her son’s wet head. “Eight is Sammy’s bedtime.”
Eight? Eight o’clock at night?
“Oh, Jesus.” Panic created a fiery spiral straight down his spine. Kailey’s mom had offered to watch Belle until dinnertime. But, damn, it was way past. “I’m late.”
He moved into the mixing room and swept his phone off the counter, relived to find there weren’t a ton of voice and text messages. He breathed a little easier. Kailey’s mom had probably taken it in stride. The kids were probably happily playing. He’d definitely have to pay Kailey’s mom twice what she’d asked for.
With a sigh of relief, he tapped into his phone and called Kailey’s mom to let her know he’d be there soon. He held the phone to his ear and waited for the dial tone, but nothing happened.
“Oh, you won’t get service down here,” Paisley said easily, as if it didn’t matter. “You’ll have to get to the top of the stairs before—”
He didn’t wait to hear the rest of that sentence. He bounded up the stairs and tried to place the call again. But before the call went through, a series of dings chorused in the air, signaling numerous text messages. But they weren’t from Kailey’s mom. They were from Gypsy.
Where are you? Let me know you’re all right, please.
Belle was hurt at school. Why did you put me on as her emergency contact? Where the hell are you?
Call me when you get this. As in yesterday.
“Oh my God.” Wyatt wiped a hand down his face. His stomach dropped to his feet. A steel strap tightened around his chest. “Fuck me.”
He passed Paisley and dropped his guitar into the case. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Send me the rough sheet,” he said on his way to the stairs again. “We can set up another time to polish it.”
“Sure.”
He bolted up the stairs two at a time, his heart beating in his throat. He couldn’t connect the dots to get an idea of where Belle would be now. Jesus Christ, he’d lost track of a kid. A kid who depended on him for stability.
Self-loathing burned a path down his torso as he hit the top stair and swung the door to the main floor open.
At the front door, more messages pinged his phone. These were voicemails. His heart slammed against his ribs as he tapped into the first voicemail from Gypsy.
“Jackson,” she said, her voice tight. “If you’re not dead, you’re going to wish you were when I get ahold of you. Belle broke her fucking arm at school. What were you thinking, putting me on the list as her emergency contact without asking?”
Wyatt dropped his head back and closed his eyes. His stomach burned with fear, his throat thick with regret. “Ah, fuck.”
In the next message, the heat had drained from her voice, leaving her sounding irritable, exhausted, and oddly detached. “We’re still at Vanderbilt. Get your ass down to the emergency room when you get this.”
18
Gypsy was exhausted—physically, mentally and emotionally. And her heart felt like an empty shell that would crack with any more pressure.
Belle and Cooper were both sprawled across Gypsy, asleep. Both kids wore streaks on their faces where tears had made multiple tracks down their cheeks. Gypsy couldn’t look much better. After they’d fallen asleep, Gypsy had cried as well. For their pain, their disappointment, their fear. And for disappointment in herself.