I pressed my palm against her forehead.
Her skin was sticky with sweat.
Shit. She was burning up.
She blinked, her eyes searching for me in the shadows. “I don’t feels good, Daddy.”
I scooped her into my arms, pressing a bunch of kisses to her temple like the action alone had the power to soothe away any discomfort she might feel. Fighting the panic that churned within me, I carried her into my room, flipped on the light switch, and headed straight for the attached bathroom, flipping that light on, too.
Frankie blinked against the brightness.
“Sorry, Sweet Pea,” I muttered, setting her on the counter but keeping one hand on her while I rifled through the medicine cabinet to find the thermometer. “What hurts?” I asked as I fumbled to get the plastic guard on the earpiece.
“Ev’ryfing.”
My hands were shaking, and it took me for fucking ever to get the damned thing snapped in place. I forced myself to slow, to be careful as I slipped it into her ear, my heart thundering in my chest as I waited the five seconds for it to beep.
104.3
Fuck.
That panic surged.
That is bad, right?
Truth was, Frankie’s health wasn’t a gamble I’d ever take.
I gave her a dose of Tylenol then grabbed a washcloth from the linen closet, ran it under cool water, and pressed it to her forehead. I held it there as I picked her back up and carried her out to my bed, laying her on it. “Hang on one sec, Frankie. Daddy’s going to make sure you get all better.”
She just gave me a trusting nod and curled up on her side, clinging a little tighter to the doll she was always dragging around. I slipped into a tee, jeans, and a pair of shoes, before I had her back in my arms, grabbing my keys and wallet from the entryway table, and rushing her out into the night.
The hour was deep, moon hanging midway on the horizon, peeking out from behind a streak of wispy clouds stretched in front of it. I wrenched open the back door of my truck and got her into her booster seat, buckled her quickly, and jogged around to the front. I slid the key into the ignition and turned it.
The engine cranked but didn’t turn over.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. I pumped the accelerator and tried the ignition again.
A slow dread sank in with the realization.
Fuck.
The cabin lights hadn’t illuminated when I’d opened the doors. I glanced up. The overhead light switch was still set to on.
Fuck.
Frankie had asked for the light so she could look at a book when we were driving back from the lake on Saturday night, and I’d forgotten to switch it off. Leave it to my old-as-shit truck. Or just to me.
The battery was dead.
“Shit.” I drummed my thumbs on the wheel, calculating just how long it would take me to get the battery charger out of the shed to juice this thing up, when my attention snagged in the rearview mirror.
The sleeping house behind us was bathed in a shallow pool of moonlight, the windows darkened and encased in silence.
The woman probably hated me.
At least she should.
I still couldn’t believe the dick move I’d pulled two nights ago, the way I couldn’t stop from pressing myself against her, taking a little bit of what I couldn’t have.
