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With a disgusted grunt, he dragged himself into his bathroom. One long, hot shower later, he crashed facedown onto his bed with nothing but a towel around his hips.
Sometime later, he was jolted awake by a heart-wrenching cry coming through the baby monitor. He’d always thought people had a few screws loose when they told him they could tell the difference between their baby’s cries but it turns out they weren’t crazy. In the short time Kayla had lived with him, he’d learned to differentiate between her hungry cry, her frustrated cry, and her sorrowful cry. But this one he hadn’t heard before.
Within seconds, he was charging into the hallway while trying to shove his feet in a pair of underwear at the same time.
JP ran into the room to find Kayla on her back, thrashing around as she screamed bloody murder.
“Hey, baby girl, what’s wrong?” he asked as he scooped her up. “Holy shit, you are hot.”
Burning hot.
He stared at the crying baby with absolute panic in his heart.
She was sick. His baby was sick. What was he supposed to do?
Thick yellow gook ran from her nose. She coughed, and the sound rattled his bones. “My God,” he said as he grabbed a burp cloth and wiped away the snot.
His heart raced as he cradled her to his chest. “Shhh,” he whispered. “It’s okay, honey. Daddy’s here.” For all the good that would do her. He literally had no clue what to do with a sick child. Did he give her medicine? Could he give her medicine? And what kind? How much? He’d barely mastered the art of feeding her correctly. How the hell was he supposed to manage this?
Should he take her to the emergency room?
Or was he totally overreacting, and she’d be fine?
Another scream rent the air, making him wince in sympathy. Being sick sucked ass even when you understood what was going on. How awful must it be for a helpless baby?
“Okay, what do I do?” he muttered. Ronnie was at work, and Jagger had probably gone out. Not that they’d be any help in this situation.
Just as he was about to say fuck it and drive her to the emergency room, he caught sight of a small stuffed unicorn Hannah had brought for her last week.
“Hannah,” he whispered out loud. She’d lived with Kayla and helped take care of her for months. Maybe she’d know.
With Kayla snug in his arms, he ran back downstairs and grabbed his phone. After sending up a quick prayer that she’d take his call, he pushed her name.
“JP?” She asked in a groggy but hopeful voice.
“Something’s wrong with Kayla. I think she’s sick, and I have no idea what to do. Hannah, I’m freaking out. Please tell me what to do.”
“I’m on my way,” she said, then the line disconnected.
“Oh, thank God,” he whispered as he gently bounced Kayla, who hadn’t stopped crying.
Her little body felt like a fireball in his arm. Should he give her something to drink? Would that make everything worse? How the hell was he supposed to know?
Time crawled slower than when he was a kid stuck in detention during high school. And he’d spent many an afternoon staring at the clock while Mrs. Westin read her book and ignored the classroom full of delinquents. To be fair, detention beat going home to his father most days, but still, time dragged.
It was nothing compared to this, where each minute that passed ramped up his anxiety and Kayla’s distress.
What the hell was taking Hannah so long? A quick peek at the clock revealed only eight minutes had passed. Probably not even enough time for her to get dressed and drive over.
Kayla’s cries turned to whimpers as she finally began to drift off in his arms.
“Thank God,” he muttered, rocking her as he stood in his room.
Unless that was a bad thing. Should he force her to stay awake, so he knew she wasn’t dying or something?
His stomach cramped so hard he nearly doubled over.
To think he’d been growing confident in his ability to take care of his daughter. Fuck, he should not have been allowed to reproduce. What the hell did he know about anything?
Kayla let out a weak, pitiful cry that broke his heart.
“Hannah will be here soon, baby,” he said as he left his room and headed back up the stairs to meet her. He prowled around the house with Kayla in his arms. She dozed in fitful bursts of unhappy sleep. Hopefully, the constant motion would keep her from the full-on screaming. “Hannah’s com—”
Wait. He stopped walking.
Hannah was on her way over.
He’d kicked her out of his house four days ago.
Kayla must have noticed the lack of motion. She stirred in his arms, so he resumed the pacing.
Why was Hannah still in Vermont?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HANNAH DROVE LIKE Satan himself was hot on her tail.
