Penthouse Prince(18)

The doctor rubs his chin. “Three, maybe four hours would be my guess.”

Looks like I’ll be using that chair after all.

After he leaves, I drag the damn thing over to her bedside, sit down, and take her hand, disliking how limp and cool it feels.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap earlier,” I say quietly. “It’s just . . . you worry me sick, Mom. You don’t take your health seriously enough.”

“It worked itself out in the end,” she says, giving me a weak smile.

Before I can blow up, she continues.

“I don’t mean to cause you trouble, sugar. Everything changes so fast, is all.” Her smile falters, and for a second, I can see just how much effort she pours into staying positive. “I can’t keep up. One day I can still do all kinds of things, and the next, poof. I can’t.”

I don’t know what to say other than, “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

It’s not enough, of course. But I don’t have the words to fix this situation, and that kills me.

I lace her thin, knobby fingers with mine. This hand used to be the one that steadied me, not the other way around. Used to belong to a superheroine who handled our lives with ease, and now . . .

“But enough about all that.” A mischievous twinkle appears in her eye. “You say you found someone, hmm?”

“What?” Then the abrupt topic change processes. “Oh. For Grier.”

She’s definitely not for me. I blew that chance ten years ago.

“Yes, Mom, I found someone to watch her, but you might laugh when you hear who it is. Corrigan.”

“Dak’s baby sister? She was such a sweet girl—and so pretty. You picked a winner.” Mom beams at me. “I’m glad you’ve gotten back in touch with her.”

Her tone makes me suspicious. Is she just in matchmaker mode, or is she implying that she knows more than I thought she did about our relationship? But Mom’s words are innocent enough that I can’t interrogate her without tipping her off that I’m hiding something myself.

Finally, I decide to keep it vague. “Yeah. She’s a teacher now, so Dak thought she’d be a good fit for nannying Grier.” Not that she’s actually agreed to it yet. I sort of ran out of my house like a madman . . .

Speaking of which, I should check in with her. Maybe she can bring Grier here and leave her with me or something. It won’t be fun to keep a toddler entertained in a hospital room for over three hours, but that’s my problem, not Corrigan’s.

With my free hand, I reach into my pocket . . . and my stomach plummets.

It’s not there. My pocket is empty. Where the hell is my phone?

As soon as I ask myself that question, I know the answer. There’s a crystal-clear picture in my head of my phone lying on the kitchen counter. I forgot it at home in my rush to leave the house.

I massage my forehead with bruising force while silently repeating every curse word I can think of.

? ? ?

It’s already dinnertime when I screech into my driveway, slam the brakes, and rush out of the car in a near panic.

“An hour,” I mutter to myself. “Hour and a half, tops.”

It’s been six fucking hours. God, I’m the actual worst.

How could I trap Corrigan for the entire day into a job she didn’t even want to do? I’ll have to pay her overtime—no, double. And do something extra nice for Grier too, to make up for leaving her with Corrigan without giving them a chance to get to know each other first. I might trust Corrigan to the ends of the earth, but to Grier, she’s a total stranger.

I barge through the front door and race inside, expecting to hear the mother of all wailing meltdowns . . .

Only to be greeted with laughter. And not just Grier’s giggles, but Corrigan’s too.

I follow the sound into the dining room, where Grier is in her high chair with Flapflap squeezed in by her side. Corrigan sits next to her, singing the Jaws theme while guiding a small forkful of spaghetti toward her.

“Daa dun . . . daa dun . . . dun dun dundundundun . . .”

Grier’s eyes are huge, rapt with anticipation, her little mouth open.

Corrigan raises her voice for the grand finale. “Doodle-oo!”

Grier squeals in delight, banging her little fists on the tray, and Corrigan pops the fork right into her open mouth with a grin.

I’m transfixed. Until now, I’ve only seen Corrigan frowning, or angry, or guarded, or wearing a carefully neutral expression at best. The sight of her happy, affectionate smile is like a blow to my chest.

But it’s not just her beauty. The scene I’m witnessing is so domestic, so tender. It should seem weird, but everything about it feels . . . right, in a way I’ve never experienced. Coming home to her and my daughter, sitting at the table, bathed in the warm glow of the fading sunlight feels so fucking right and I don’t deserve to feel this swell in my chest.

Emotion gets stuck in my throat.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined what it would be like to introduce my daughter to the only woman I’ve loved. However, it’s harder than I imagined.

Finally noticing me, Grier shouts, “Daddy!”

Corrigan startles, jerking around like she’s been caught, and her smile vanishes, shattering my reverie. “L-Lex. You’re back.”