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Hunter, Teddie is hurt. You need to call me!
Still no answer. I try calling again but the line goes straight to voice mail this time.
Answer your God damn phone! Your son is hurt!
What the hell? What kind of father is unreachable when his kid is hurt? I should be able to get a hold of him when I need to, but he isn’t even answering his phone. Between Teddie’s screaming and the mounting aggravation that is building inside of me every time I send an unanswered text or call, I decide to take things into my own hands and text my brother.
Give me the address of Hunter’s office.
My brother answers me back with a simple “everything okay?” followed by the address.
At least I know that I can always count on Jax to be there when I need him to answer me.
I grab my purse and keys, balancing Teddie and the ice pack in my other arm and head out the door.
When I show up at Hunter’s company, the secretary does her best to play defense.
“I’m sorry miss, but you can’t just barge in here without an appointment,” she barks at me.
“Like hell I can’t,” I say, storming past her toward what looks like the biggest office on the floor.
I suppose that showing up at his company unannounced with his screaming son in hand might not be thebestway to handle this. But I wouldn’t have had to if Hunter had answered his damn phone.
I push the office door open and am met with the sight of a long oval conference table filled with about a half dozen or so men in various shades of gray suits.
“Tabitha?” Hunter exclaims in a surprised shout as his eyes shoot up at me. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re interrupting an important client meeting!”
“Well maybe I wouldn’t have had to drag your son here screaming his head off if you would have picked up your phone!” I hiss back at him, outraged that he is placing work above the needs of his child.
The other guys in the room drop their jaws at the mention of the word “son” and I can hear Hunter’s secretary gasp audibly behind me.
What in the actual hell is going on here?
“Why is he crying?” Hunter asks, standing up at his desk looking more angry than concerned. “And why are you bothhere?”
“We’re here because you don’t answer your damn phone. And he’s crying because he got hurt. I think he might have broken a toe.”
“What kind ofincompetentnanny lets a four-year-old boy break his toe?” he growls at me.
I can feel embarrassment wash over me as the entire room of guys in suits looks condescendingly up from their seats at me as I hold a screaming toddler. How dare he call me incompetent.I’mthe one dealing with a situation that he can’t even be bothered to respond to.
I open my mouth to defend myself, but he interrupts before I can get a word out.
“I hired you because Ithoughtthat you could handle things yourself,” Hunter says. His words are edged with anger and for some reason I get the feeling it’s being displaced on me.
What kind of dad would want a nanny handling an injury instead of handling it himself? Apparently, the kind that thinks his company comes before the wellbeing of his child. I honestly can’t decide whether I am more furious at his lack of parenting prowess or embarrassed at how he called me out in front of all these tight-lipped executives.
“Okay, you know what, Mister Hotshot,” I snap at him, “I’ll take care of Teddie’s toe myself. “God forbid we burden you with it.”
With that, I spin around on my heels and walk out of his office and straight out of the building. I don’t even pay attention to the sounds of voices behind me and couldn’t care less if anyone was calling me back. Teddie is practically beside himself and choking on his sobs at this point, and his toe is swollen up to the size of a sausage. He’s not even my kid and I feel terrible for him.
I strap him into my car—on my lap, which I am sure must be illegal or something—and head to the emergency room. When I get there, I tell them who Teddie’s father is and tell them to ring Hunter’s office for the bill. Then, I sit and try to console a four-year-old as we wait for the doctor to come in.
After an hour of exams and x-rays, it is determined that Teddie is fine—no concussion, no lasting damage, but definitely a broken pinky toe.
“What, no cast or anything?” I ask the doctor as he wraps the toe and prescribes some kiddie pain meds.
“Sorry but there isn’t much we can do for a broken toe besides taping it to the other toe and having him stay off it as much as possible until it heals.”
