Page 51
On the desk, his phone still lay open to the calendar app. He hadn’t called his urologist yet, and that was too close for him to have anything done and get tests turned around. He’d make the appointment for after that weekend, hit a CVS, make sure they were covered.
Holding the phone aloft, he grinned at her. “Do you have plans for this already, or am I responsible?”
“I might have plans.” A hint of a smile flirted with her lips, warming him all the way through. This moment was so damned normal, and he was so damned grateful.
Coffee in hand, he leaned back in his chair. “You going to let me in on those?”
Her smile widened, a hint of impishness wrinkling her nose. “Eventually.”
“I see how this is.” A laugh, rusty but very welcome, rumbled up from his chest. “You’re going to make sure I’m packed appropriately, right?”
“Of course.” Her gaze dipped over him, the kind of look they agreed wasn’t appropriate for work, and he swallowed another laugh. Lord, he loved her.
He captured her wrist, leaning forward to hold her gaze, rubbing his thumb across her palm. “I can’t wait.”
His phone vibrated to life, Woodfield’s number on the screen. He held it up for her to see before swiping to answer. Within moments, he was setting his coffee aside and grabbing for his keys, unease and urgency pounding in him.
“What’s wrong?” She was on her feet, anxious gaze on his face.
“Eleanor’s injured her knee at PE.” He nudged her toward the door. “Grab your stuff and let’s go.”
The drive from the field office to Woodfield took little more than fifteen minutes, but his knotted gut made it feel far longer. A knee injury, a torn ACL, could be life-altering for an athlete — he’d witnessed that often enough for himself, had lived in fear of the same injury. Recognizing the same dread for their daughter on Caitlin’s face didn’t help.
They checked in and strode for the nurse’s office. Eleanor sat on the purple couch, leg propped on the screaming yellow coffee table, holding an ice pack in place, her flushed-from-crying face tight with pain and fear. Her cheeks were dry, a tissue clenched in one hand, but as soon as she saw them, tears flooded her eyes.
“Mama, Daddy, it hurts.” The gulped word bordered on a wail. Caitlin’s bag hit the floor, and she sank onto the couch, wrapping an arm about Eleanor’s shaking shoulders. Eleanor eyed him, a desperate glint in her dark gaze. “What if I did something permanent?”
Hunkering down next to the table, he lifted the ice pack and winced. The wicked swelling didn’t look good.
Kristine, the same school nurse who’d sent Eva home before Christmas as the latest victim of a pinkeye outbreak, set Eleanor’s bag next to the table. “Sweetie, only a specialist can tell you that. It could be just a sprain.”
Nodding at Eleanor, he laid his hand along the outside. Even with the ice, her skin was hot and inflamed. He lifted his gaze to Caitlin’s. “Ortho Associates has a walk-in clinic.”
“Yes.” She smoothed Eleanor’s hair, half-loosened from her braid, away from her damp cheek and neck.
“Can you grab her bag?” He unfolded and bent to scoop Eleanor up close to his chest. She cringed, wincing, and he tightened his hold. “Sorry, Ace. I’ll be as easy as I can.”
“It’s okay.” Her breath hitched, and she looped her arms about his neck.
Praying hard, Caitlin right behind him — he knew doing the same — he carried her out to his truck.
Thank the good Lord for good doctors and miracles.
Tick ushered Eva ahead of him up the walkway, thankful they were only looking at a knee sprain and a few weeks of recovery. Basketball was done for the season, and Eleanor was devastated at the idea . . . but still grateful she wasn’t facing down surgery or a sports-ending tear.
He cast a glance at the gold Toyota parked at the curb.
Guess they had company for dinner.
With Eva engaged in a lovefest reunion with Zeb in the foyer, he strode through to the kitchen. Caitlin stirred a simmering pot of soup, and he rested his hands at her waist, brushing a kiss on the side of her neck. “Hey.”
She lifted a hand to brush over his jaw. “Hi.”
“That smells great.” He squeezed her hip and stepped away. In the family room, Eleanor and Jamarion occupied the couch, her leg elevated on a couple of pillows tossed on the coffee table, their heads close together as they shared a set of earbuds and watched social media videos together.
Caitlin followed his line of sight, a hint of a smile curving her lips. “There was a very intense discussion of Macbeth and a Jason Reynolds novel earlier.”
He smothered a scoff. “Sure.”
