Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(66)

I wrangled Zach as he tried to dash away, slinging him onto my hip as he wriggled. “Is Dad okay? Should we go to the hospital, too?”

“He’s fine. Mom’s there fussing over him, and the urologist is on his way to blast the thing with a laser. The last thing Dad needs is a peanut gallery waiting for him to piss asteroids into a cup. He’ll be good as new in a few hours. What about you? Feeling any better?”

I stifled a yawn. “Nothing a hot shower and a nap won’t fix.”

“Great.” She passed me the kids’ Rollaboards and diaper bag. “I’m starving. I’m going to grab something to eat and catch some sleep before class. Try not to be late. Nick’s got some good sessions planned. See you in a couple of hours.”

“But, Georgia,” I called after her as Zach started crying for his blanket, “what am I supposed to do with … the kids?” I sighed as she disappeared into the cafeteria.

Delia tugged on my sleeve. “Mommy, can we go inside? I’m cold.”

“Sure, sweetie. Come on.” I took both Rollaboards in one hand and slung the diaper bag over my elbow, clutching Zach to one hip as I led Delia into the gym. I used my foot to haul open the door, my body running on what was left of my adrenaline as I ushered the children into the women’s locker room, relieved to find it empty. I handed Delia a coloring book and a box of markers from her overnight bag and gave Zach a bag of dry Cheerios to distract him as I searched the luggage for his missing blanket, swearing quietly when I couldn’t find it. I set him down on the floor in front of the showers and sent a quick text to Vero while they were occupied.

Kids are here with me. Long story. Can you bring me a change of clothes to the gym?

Haha, you’re very funny, she replied.

“Say cheese,” I said to the kids. They looked up at the camera with wide eyes and gap-toothed expressions, marker ink staining their hands. I snapped a mug shot of my children and sent it to Vero.

WTF?! I’m on my way.

I pulled up Cartoon Network on Delia’s tablet and set it in front of the kids, making sure they were fully engrossed before calling my mother.

“Finlay? I’m sorry about the kids,” she answered. “Your sister has them. I had to go to the hospital with your father.” Hospital noises quieted in the background, as if she’d stepped outside.

“Delia and Zach are actually with me.”

“What? Where’s Georgia? She promised she would help with the children!”

So had everyone else since my divorce. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got everything under control. Is Dad okay?”

“He’s fine. Just cranky. The urologist is stuck in traffic on the beltway. I called the nurse’s station and asked them to bring some morphine.”

“He’s in a lot of pain?”

“No, I am. The man’s driving me crazy.”

I laughed. “Try to get some rest. And give Dad a kiss for me. Call me when he’s out of surgery, okay?”

The children were still playing quietly when my mother disconnected. I dialed Steven again. His phone rang straight to voice mail, just like it had last night.

“Where are you?” I asked his recording. “The kids are with me at the police academy. Call me.” I jabbed the red button, swearing an oath to myself that if he wasn’t already dead in a ditch, he would be after I found him.

I stripped out of my dirt-caked clothes, turned the water on high, and ducked under the warm spray, drawing the curtain shut. Muddy brown water swirled down the drain. I pumped a handful of shampoo from the wall dispenser, peeking through the curtain between rinses to make sure the kids were still where I’d left them.

“Finlay?” Vero called out.

“In here!” I shut off the faucet and wrapped a starchy white towel around me.

The kids squealed, cartoons and snacks forgotten as they scrambled to greet Vero. She dropped my gym bag on the bench in time to catch Zach as he jumped. She spun him around, giving them both a squeeze. “What are you two nuggets doing here?” she asked in an overly sweet voice, the question clearly directed at me.

“Dad’s in the hospital with a kidney stone, so my sister brought them here,” I said, wrangling on a bra and dragging a clean sweatshirt over my head. When the kids had settled back in front of their cartoons, I whispered, “Did you return Ty’s uniform?”

She nodded. “Sent a naughty photo to his phone first and left his uniform in a trash bag outside his door. Don’t worry,” she said, clearly amused by my chastising look, “I didn’t include any identifying features. How about you? I thought you were bringing breakfast.” She stuffed a handful of Zach’s Cheerios in her mouth.

“Didn’t get a chance. Apparently, my sister needed a nap.”

Vero’s answering laugh was wry as I rummaged in the gym bag for the rest of my clothes.

“Where’s my underwear?” I asked, tossing aside a pair of jeans.

“Forget your underwear. Where’s Zach?”

Delia glanced up from my phone. “He went that way,” she said, pointing to the exit.

“Shit!” I dragged on my jeans, zipping them as I tore out of the locker room. I shouted Zach’s name, following a trail of Cheerios across the hall to the entrance to the men’s locker room. My son’s maniacal laughter echoed from inside.