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“I’m getting up.”
A boatload of pain and some IV wires weren’t going to keep me from seeing my daughter . . . up close.
We were in the same room, and not that far apart, but it was difficult to see her through the people and the equipment.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
JoJo’s scold did nothing to deter me. I ignored the ones from Nancy and my mother too.
“Out of my way.” I dragged the stand with my IV bag behind me.
Mom and Dad moved their legs. Marlow scooted their chairs out of the way.
I touched Penelope’s hand, and she opened her eyes.
“Hi, Lamb.”
Worry filled her expression as she took in my hospital get up and the IV.
I tried to grin but was pretty sure it came across as looking like I was constipated.
“I’m fine. Just a little scratch.”
That didn’t seem to comfort her.
“Daddy is right next to you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes glassed over.
“I love you. So, so much.”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
I swiped it away. “Don’t cry. Everything is going to be fine.”
I barely stroked her unbandaged cheek. “You got the fight in you from your grandparents.” I didn’t care the room was virtually silent. There was no reason to hide my emotion. Not from the people in this room. “I’ve never known anyone as tough as you. And your mom is pretty tough.”
JoJo covered her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders shook, but she gathered herself.
“Once you’re off that machine, we have to teach her to swim. I’ll teach you too.”
She gave me a barely perceptible nod.
“You’re going to have to keep being strong for a while, but you have a lot of people to lean on while we get you sorted out, okay?”
I bent to kiss her forehead and resisted the urge to shout as a fire bolt of pain shot up my back.
“I better go lie down. But I’m here. I’m here.”
Another tear tracked down her cheek. And it nearly ripped my heart in two.
She wanted to speak. I would have in her position. But it was best she saved her strength.
This was a first step down a long road. And we’d probably have to backtrack a few times.
“You said he wasn’t capable of talking.” NYPD Detective Scholero loomed in the doorway.
I glared. “Don’t bring your garbage into this room. My daughter deserves more respect than that.”
