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My heart races with the urgency of the situation.
“It’s the best course of action. We’ll coordinate with the pediatric team to be ready for his arrival.” Dr. Voss tilts his head toward the exit. “If you have any other questions, please let us know.”
* * *
It doesn’t take us long to head back to Piper’s place to pick up Caleb and return to the hospital. During the car ride he’s wailing so hard, at some point I feel like I’m too overwhelmed and about to lose my mind.
“You never told me what your specialty is,” I say as we walk toward the pediatric emergency room with Caleb.
Gabe, who’s carrying the heavy seat, glances at me a couple of times before huffing.
“Is it bad?” I dare to ask, wondering if he went into plastic surgery and is just applying Botox to rich people.
He shakes his head. “Not really. But right now, I wish I had gone into pediatrics. It would’ve been easier than having this little one screaming at the top of his lungs during the car ride.”
“Two words, noise-canceling headphones.” I grin.
“Umm, that’s three,” he corrects me.
“I’m sure I said three. You just can’t hear me anymore after all the crying,” I joke.
He shakes his head. “So, were you able to text your boss?”
“Yep. He wants me to email him everything I have,” I say, then bite my lip.
“What are you not telling me?”
“Hunter said he knows someone who could help us erase the recording where Cora calls 9-1-1,” I whisper, afraid someone will hear us. “It’ll help us with the custody petition.”
“So I guess we’re going to have to go to court,” he remarks.
Gabe leans back, eyes narrowed assessing me. Knowing I’m hiding something from him. “What else are you hiding?”
“He mentioned that being married would help me,” I continue.
A slow, smug grin spreads over Gabe’s stupid handsome face. He winks, the jerk. “Of course, that helps you.” He smirks. “So glad my plan came in handy again.”
I resist the urge to smack him, my traitorous pulse kicking up at his teasing. We need to focus but the scent of his cologne keeps distracting me, conjuring memories I can ill afford right now.
“It was a terrible plan,” I add.
“Nope, you’re wrong. It was fucking amazing. I was in love with you and I asked you to spend the rest of your life with me. The execution was atrocious, though,” he says defensively.
I want to argue with that, but Dr. Voss intercepts us, steering us through the automatic doors marked “Personnel Only.” Soon, Gabe and I stand by a crib where Caleb is inconsolable while the nurse begins to check his vitals. His cries fill the room, a clear sign of his distress.
My arms ache to snatch him up and spirit him away from this awful place. Instead I clench my fists and endure as the nurse mechanically manipulates his tiny body, assessing vital signs while an impassive doctor observes. Once she’s done, said doctor is the one who conducts a thorough examination.
Mercifully, they soon step back. The doctor, a petite woman with sharp eyes, introduces herself as Dr. Saunders before launching directly into diagnosis.
“Mr. and Mrs. Decker,” she begins, maintaining a composed demeanor despite the ongoing cries. “I’m afraid Caleb’s presenting with symptoms that point to a severe case of Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome.”
Gabe’s jaw tightens. “What does this mean?”
“The crying, tremors, and low weight point to significant prenatal substance exposure,” she explains. “He’s in acute discomfort and needs care beyond the basics.”
Hearing those clinical words, my anxiety spikes as I watch Caleb, his small body struggling with each sob. “How do we help him?”
“He needs specialized attention,” Dr. Saunders replies. “Medications to manage his symptoms, a calm environment for recovery, and close monitoring. Admission to the PICU.”
