Chasing Heartbreak (Dark Love #6) - Kat T. Masen Page 0,55
what needs to be said, knowing what he should hear right now to give him strength.
“I’m here, Noah. Right beside you when you need me. You’re not alone.”
His eyes turn down, avoiding my gaze. Just one look at him, and I know he’s terrified. Noah loves his daughter, and being a father is the most crucial role in his life. Now, he’s faced with the unknown, of being a father to another child under different circumstances. I can see him fall into the dark place Charlie warned me about, my heart bleeding along with this. No matter the mistakes we make, we have to forgive ourselves in order to find true happiness.
Opening the door, he steps out of the car but then leans his head through the window.
“Wait for me, please.”
I simply nod, though not understanding if he means now or forever.
But either way, he needs me.
I don’t want to lose him, and I’ll stand by his side as the friend he so desperately needs because I refuse to let him fall.
As for my own heart, I just need to let the chips fall where they may.
NOAH
It was the moment every parent dreads—a spiked fever prompting a panicked call to the paramedics and a dash to the ER.
I stare into his little face, the face of my ten-week-old son—Nash Alexander Mason—resting in my arms while he manages to sleep without the cries of pain.
It has all been a whirlwind since the moment I stepped off the plane and headed straight for the hospital. My stomach was twisted in knots over the concern for my son and feeling completely helpless. It instills a level of fear every parent endures when their child is sick, especially an infant.
Upon arriving, Olivia is distraught, doing her best to hold it together, but I can see the exhaustion on her face from the lack of sleep to the fear over Nash’s well-being. It’s late, and she’s in her tee and sweats with her hair in one of those messy buns. Since I saw her last, she’s lost a lot of weight, the remnants of her pregnancy weight almost gone.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mason,” the doctor calls as she walks into the room with her chart. “I’m Dr. Lester.”
“No, he’s not my husband. But that’s beside the point. What’s wrong with Nash?” Olivia rushes, panicked.
“Nash has an infection. We’ve tested a range of things, some have come back negative, and other results take longer. We’d like to monitor him overnight. If his fever drops and he continues to stay hydrated, he’ll be able to go home tomorrow. Being that he’s an infant, we won’t be inducing any medication, hoping his body can fight it off.”
“How did this happen?” I question, still rocking him in my arms.
“It could’ve been anywhere. Most likely, he was exposed to someone contagious.”
Olivia bends her neck as her eyes glass over, and her posture falls in the tattered GAP t-shirt she’s wearing. “I take him for walks and to run some errands, but that’s it.”
“Let’s continue to observe him tonight. Both of you are welcome to stay, and I’ll see you in the morning,” Dr. Lester informs us before scribbling something on her chart and leaving the room.
“There was this lady at the post office. She touched his face to squeeze his cheek. It’s my fault. I’m a bad mother,” Olivia cries.
“You’re not a bad mother,” I reassure her, keeping my voice low not to wake him. “I remember when Jessa was one, we took her to the playground, and she caught chicken pox from another kid who wasn’t showing signs of the virus. These things happen, but the important thing is that you followed your maternal instincts and rushed him here.”
Olivia nods her head, wiping away the tears from her face.
“It’s been hard, Noah. He’s a fantastic sleeper during the day, but at night, he’s up every four hours,” she chokes, trying to compose herself. “My milk slowed down for some reason, and I’ve had to switch him to formula. It turns out the formula made him constipated, so then I had to try another brand.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this?” I stress, slightly irritated she’s held this information from me. “I told you I want to be a part of his life as much as I can be. That means knowing his struggles or changes to his routine.”
“Honestly, Noah, I didn’t want to burden you.”
“He’s my son.” My tone wavers before I clear my throat. “You’re not burdening me.”