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A jolt of emotion passed through him. Just let her stay in bed. Let her into your life.
“You have to leave. Now,” Quentin said, his words curt. “I have to head to the hospital. There’s been an emergency.”
The chill of him caused Charlotte to rise swiftly, no longer making eye contact. Standing naked, poised, she hunted for her clothes and then donned them swiftly, clearly confused. Quentin felt sliced down the center, yearning to wrap his tired arms around her impossibly thin waist. He stood sullenly in the kitchen, his mind racing. His feet itched for the trek to the hospital.
Charlotte passed before him, fully dressed, her eyebrows diagonal, almost cartoonish above her eyes. The gray light of the coming morning gave her a ghost-like appearance. Her perfect lips parted, hunting for an explanation. But after shaking her head a final time, she dropped her chin, shaking it tenderly. Her body language said there was no use.
Finally, she burst toward the door, without speaking, and entered the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar. Quentin could hear the soft padding of her feet as she found safety and solace, alone. And the moment her door clicked closed, he throttled toward his keys and wallet, grabbed his leather jacket, and fled from the apartment building, already sensing it was too late.
Emotions were dangerous. And his growing emotions for Charlotte needed to be squelched immediately. Already, he’d probably poisoned his daughter with something she was newly allergic to; he’d not been there when she needed him most. And he’d already abandoned much of his upright affairs at the magazine, insisting to Maggie that the non-fraternization policy was all-powerful, while fucking an intern, of all people.
Jesus. What was he doing?
Outside, he miraculously found a taxi immediately, hailing it with a single dart of his arm. The driver took him to the hospital, blasting past the still-lit streets, making him feel outside of time.
“It’s going to be chilly soon,” the taxi driver told him, demonstrating a fake shiver. “I can feel it in my bones.”
Quentin didn’t answer.
The taxi skirted in front of the hospital minutes later. Quentin smacked several bills into the driver’s hand, probably too many, and then blasted into the hospital doors, pressing at the fingerprint-spattered glass. He fled down the hall, listening to the chorus of hospital machines, beeping from room to room, before finding the waiting room of the emergency area. His stunning, fatigued ex-wife was slumped in a far chair, her spider legs in strange angles in front of her. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
In this moment, Quentin understood: this was real. This was happening. Their baby girl.
Kate stood up silently and wrapped her arms around his chest, giving him the first hug they’d shared since Morgan had been an infant. She felt unfamiliar, foreign. But after Charlotte’s quick rush away, he was grateful for someone to cling to.
“Do they know anything?” Quentin asked.
“Just that she’s going to be fine. We got here in time,” Kate whispered, her voice raspy. “And they think she’s allergic to shellfish. I know she doesn’t eat it, but—“
“But the Chinese restaurant. It cooks everything with everything else,” Quentin said, fearing the worst. “Jesus. I’m so, so sorry. You always tell me not to fucking order from there.” He gasped slightly, conscious that he’d nearly destroyed the one thing he held dear. “Morgan is paying for my idiocy. Christ.”
Kate slipped her hand across his shoulder, kneading at his bones. “Shh. There’s no use feeling this way right now. She’ll be awake in about an hour, they said, and we can go in and talk to her.”
A man appeared beside them, then. He was broad-shouldered, with blond hair and a blond mustache, wearing a black turtleneck and tan pants. He pressed a coffee cup into Kate’s hands, whispering into her ear, “You should sit down, Kate. You’re visibly shaking.”
Curious, Quentin’s eyebrows met in the middle. His head tilting, he began to form the question. Who was this asshole, whispering into his ex-wife’s ear?
The man skirted his now-free hand forward, shaking Quentin’s. He flashed a winning, Wall Street smile. “Hi, there. I hoped we’d meet under better circumstances. I’m Jason. Jason Wiley.”
Quentin had forgotten about Kate’s new boyfriend. Momentarily, his eyes flashed toward her. The man’s grip was stern, heavy, wanting to send a message.
Quentin gave him a half-smile. “Good to meet you. Thanks for taking care of Kate until I could get here.”
“Sure. As you know, we were planning on doing the introduction this week. I can’t wait to meet little Morgan,” Jason said, clearly trying to say the right words, so as not to get on the father’s bad side. “This stuff… this is no one’s fault.”
Quentin nodded, although he didn’t agree. His stomach held a brick of guilt. He excused himself from the couple, watching side-eyed as Jason slipped his arm around Kate’s thin shoulders, comforting her. But Quentin was a lone wolf; he didn’t need that kind of solace. His entire world was his daughter.
