“Heart stuff.”
Heart stuff?
What the fuck?
Mind flipping through the various known compounds, I almost missed his shoulders rounding and his mumbled, “I miss her.”
“Is there someone you want me to call? This… Rory?”
Before he could answer, my pager beeped and I grimaced at the code blue. “Sir, I’ll return shortly.”
Whatever had beckoned the shift in his mood from helicopter-happy to heartbroken, it had him obeying.
That left me to my emergency.
Once I dealt with the choking incident in a three-year-old who thought Legos looked tasty, a nasty case that led to surgery, I returned to his room and found him snoring.
Thankful for the peace even as I prayed for someone to show up with an IV of coffee, I yawned then yelped when a bag rebounded off the back of my head.
I flipped George the bird. “You can pick that up. I’m not.”
“It’s a snack!”
“Coffee is the only food group I need. Not veggie chips. How do you work this many shifts with a kid?”
A toddler, no less. With another on the way, I didn’t know if he and Millie were crazy or just overly fertile.
“It’s called high-functioning anxiety and Adderall.”
“God, I wish I could get a prescription for that.”
With both of us months away from becoming physician assistants, I got the feeling I’d be the first to croak—either fatherhood or ADHD meds had triggered George’s superpowers.
The veggie chip bag crinkled louder than the systematic beeps of the machines monitoring Mr. Valentini as he tore it open. When he chowed down on a grody piece of okra, I pulled a face.
“Who eats veggie chips at three AM anyway?”
“Wives who are terrified their husbands inherited their father’s heart disease.”
I clucked my tongue. “Your dad was sixty-eight. You’re not even thirty!”
“Doesn’t take her fear away. Her anxiety’s skyrocketed since she found out she’s pregnant again.” He stepped over to me. “How’s he looking?” When I showed him the chart, his brows lifted at the notes I’d jotted. “Homemade heart meds? I swear to fuck, you see it all here. I’m gonna…”
When he broke off, I turned to frown at him. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
He gulped. “…miss this.”
I froze. But the rest of the department didn’t. A piercing shriek from someone at the other end of the ER didn’t even garner my attention. “What?!”
He snagged a hold of my hand and squeezed my fingers. “Mom needs me back home and Millie said she’d like the extra help with childcare if she’s ever going to return to nursing.”
My shoulders dropped—how was I supposed to argue with that?
Grief, thick and fast, hit me.
But I was used to that.
So I sucked it in, processed it, then blew it out.
