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And I would be. Something deeper than my pride hurts hearing that come out of his mouth.
Before I can try to salvage my dignity, a gurgled sound comes from the baby monitor dutifully strapped to my hip. At first, I think that it’s just Violet stirring and waking up from her nap. But the next sound that comes from it is wheezing and then a hellacious cough.
Ignoring Reese, I bolt up the stairs to the nursery. Something is wrong—I can feel it in my bones.
Sure enough, when I round the corner of the landing, Violet’s coughing is louder and more concerning than what I heard through the baby monitor.
Her skin is worryingly pink when I get to her. She’s burning up. Hacking and coughing, she can’t even cry properly, but the look on her face tells me that she really wants to.
“Oh, poor baby girl,” I say.
This isn’t any teething issue and it surely isn’t a cold. I need?—
“What’s wrong with her?”
Reese’s voice comes up behind me. There’s not enough time before I hand her off to him and sprint out of the room.
27
REESE
I’m holding my own daughter in my hands and all I can think is how I have no idea how to handle this.
Even through her clothes, I can feel how hot she is. She can barely get a breath in and her skin is flushed a nasty pink. What if she—what if I—how did—what am I supposed to?—
Get your shit together, man! screams the voice in my head.
But I can’t. All I feel is my chest tightening up like someone’s got a vise grip on my sternum. I’ve never felt like this before. Not even my first big game had me this fucked up.
“Olivia!” She has to know what’s going on, how to fix it.
If there is a way to fix it.
But what if there isn’t? What if I’m just a failure of a father and this is where my chance ends?
Olivia doesn’t answer but she does come back. She’s got a clunky piece of equipment in her hands that looks like something out of Star Trek.
She gets it on Violet’s dresser and cranks the thing up. Suddenly, it’s blowing out thick plumes of fog as she takes my daughter away from me once again.
The urge to protest swells in me. She’s my daughter—shouldn’t I be the one to hold her? It’s my job to take care of her!
But as I watch Olivia bring Violet closer to the humidifier or whatever it is, the fight in my spirit simmers down. She clearly knows what she’s doing as she soothes Violet’s sad cries. Every breath the baby draws is smoother than the last.
Olivia Carter is a miracle worker.
Slowly but surely, Violet simmers down. She clings to Olivia, her chubby little face pressed into Olivia’s throat like it’s keeping her safe and sound.
“Now what?” I croak at last. “Is she okay?”
“I knew it wasn’t teething,” she says. “It’s croup.”
“In English, please.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s a virus. Babies are pretty easy targets. Makes breathing harder, gives them a bad cough. It usually lasts for about a week. The best treatment for it is humidity. I usually sleep with one because I have asthma and it helps keep my lungs open.”
I’m still stuck on the part where she said “virus.”
“Shouldn’t we take her to a hospital if it’s a virus? Where does a virus even come from if she doesn’t go anywhere? Did one of us bring it in?”
