Alcohol You Later (64)

“It was an accident.” Briefly, I lock eyes with his. “Accidents happen, Nick.”

My assurance does nothing to calm him.

“Is she okay?” His voice is positively crippled with fear.

“I don’t know.” I answer him as honestly as I can. As a teacher, I’ve taken CPR and basic first aid, but this is way out of my wheelhouse. Upon further examination, her eyes look funny and unfocused. “I think she may have hurt her head.”

“Fuck. This is bad,” he says, pacing and wringing his hands. “She has to be okay.”

I don’t bother with telling him to chill out again. He wouldn’t hear me anyway. Nick’s ADHD can cause him to hyper focus on things, especially in stressful situations.

I spend my efforts instead trying to reassure this sweet baby girl that she’s going to be just fine.

The paramedics arrive within minutes, forcing me to the side, where I join Nicholas, watching in horror as she wails in pain. She looks so small and fragile lying there surrounded by the EMTs.

“She’s showing signs of a concussion. We’re gonna transport to Memorial. One of you can ride in the ambulance.”

Immediately they start transferring her onto a gurney, strapping her down.

“Nick?” I grab his arm. “Go with your baby.”

He’s white as a sheet, staring after his child like he doesn’t understand a word I’m saying. “Huh?”

“You can ride in the ambulance. I’ll follow you in the truck.”

“No.” He shakes his head, tugging at his hair. “No,” he repeats. “She’ll be more comfortable with you.”

“She’s your baby,” I protest, feeling strongly that he, as her father, should be the one with her.

“It’s not about me, Ray.” His eyes grow dark. “Please ride with her. Make her feel safe.”

We share a look, an understanding passing between us. He’s blaming himself, and I don’t have time to unpack that right now. “Fine. I’ll go. But you’re meeting us there.”

He nods.

We follow the medics out, pausing briefly in the lobby to instruct Ron to follow us to the hospital with Nick, and for Steve, the other security guy, to get Alex to Korie, and let everyone know we’ll be in touch as soon as we know anything.

It’s less than ten minutes to the hospital, but it feels like an eternity. I sit by her side, holding her hand, kissing her little fingers and doing my best to comfort her. She keeps reaching her arms out for me. Poor baby, she doesn’t understand why I won’t hold her. It’s torture.

By the time we arrive, her cries have reduced to whimpers.

I exit the ambulance first, and Nick is at my side before they’ve even unloaded the gurney. I reach for his hand. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t grasp back either. “She’s going to be okay,” I say, rubbing my thumb over his prone palm.

“Why did I do that?” he growls. “So fucking stupid.”

“Hey…” I give his arm a shake. “None of that right now. Your daughter needs you to be strong.”

He nods, gnawing his lip, self-deprecation evident in every tik of his jaw.

“This way, guys,” one of the medics instructs. We follow them into the ER, where we’re immediately triaged and given a room. “Sorry about the chaos out there.”

We both look at the guy funny.

He blushes. “The people snapping photos.” He shakes his head. “It’s not the time for that.”

“Thanks.” I think I can safely say neither Nick nor I noticed anything, our vision having been centered on Ava alone. I send Nick a worried smile. In our haste to get here, neither of us even considered donning a disguise.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, stroking his little girl’s hair. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” he rasps, his eyes filled to the brim with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry.”

The dam that’s barely held my own tears at bay ruptures at the sight of my big, strong guy comforting his baby girl. I fervently swat at the river silently streaming down my cheeks, not wanting Ava to see me crying.

“I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Daddy loves you so much.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard him express his love for either of his children. My heart can hardly stand the overload of emotion running through it.

“I’m sorry.” Nick repeats the sentiment over and over, until a doctor comes in to examine her.

Dr. Brown shines a light in her eyes and checks her vitals. He studies the machines the nurse hooked her up to upon arrival, muttering to himself all the while.

“Well?” Nick snaps, fresh out of patience. “Is she okay?”

“Your daughter has a pretty nasty concussion, Mr. Potter. We’ll need to get her back for a CT scan to determine the severity. If there’s no obvious signs of bleeding, you’ll be able to take her home tonight.”

“See,” I say, knocking his side with the back of my hand. “She’s going to be just fine.”

“And if there’s bleeding?”

“It all depends. If it’s bad enough, surgery.”





Surgery.

Jesus fucking Christ.