Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Alex: She’s staying here tonight. We’ve got it.
That helped—a little. I locked the screen and stuffed the phone into my back pocket.
I was tense, yeah, but relieved, too. At least Sayla wasn’t alone. Whatever it was, she wasn’t dealing with it by herself—and if something had happened, Alex and DB were the kind of men who knew how to handle trouble. Still, I pulled my phone back out and texted Judd to make him aware, just in case.
I took a deep breath and looked at the chaos in the living room. Kairo was now giving an earnest pep talk to the Skynyrd about "gentle bites," and Kaida was standing with one chicken nugget pinched between her fingers, trying to tempt Dog from the windowsill like he was some kind of wild animal.
My lips twitched at seeing my cat obstinate and ignoring her. I couldn’t protect everyone at once, but Sayla was safe. And right now, these two were what I could focus on.
“All right, nugget patrol,” I called out. “Get your hands washed, it’s time to eat!”
They squealed and ran for the sink, the dogs following close behind, hoping for another dropped treat. I turned back to the plates, dishing up dinner and grounding myself in this moment.
Tomorrow would come, and whatever it brought, I’d be ready.
I lied—I wasn’t ready for what tomorrow brought. Not even close.
It started at 3 a.m., with Kairo sitting bolt upright and projectile vomiting all over his police dog sheets. Kaida followed twenty minutes later, her poor little body trembling as she clung to me, tears streaming down her cheeks. I panicked—of course I did.
I remembered the Pedialyte in the bag Evie had dropped off, and I got some into them. Or tried to. I may have gotten it in, but it didn’t stay down.
By 5 a.m., I was on the phone with Evie, pacing in my kitchen in boxers and an old T-shirt, trying not to sound like I was completely losing it while I loaded the washing machine with puke-soaked bedding and pajamas.
“They’re throwing up the Pedialyte,” I whispered hoarsely, pressing the phone to my ear while I stared into the machine like it held answers. “Evie, what do I do?”
She was calm, thank God, talking me through it like she was reading a script she'd rehearsed for years. “Give them small sips, like, tiny—a teaspoon at a time. Wait fifteen minutes between sips in case they throw up again. You’ve got this, Roque.”
Now, a few hours later, I was on the couch, both kids asleep on either side of me, their heads nestled into pillows resting on my lap, the tops of their heads just touching. I didn’t dare move. My body ached, my eyes burned, and I had no clue how people did this day in and day out.
Was this what parenthood actually was? A slow descent into exhaustion punctuated by bodily fluids and fear?
I was just letting my head tip back against the couch when there was a knock at the door.
I tensed, then gently shifted the kids just enough to slide out from under them. They stirred but didn’t wake, still warm, and snuggled into the pillows.
I checked my phone, smiling when I saw who it was. Then I crossed to the door and opened it quietly.
Sayla stood there, bags in hand, hair pulled back in a messy bun, and dark circles under her eyes, which said she hadn’t slept much either.
Without a word, I stepped aside to let her in, then guided her to the kitchen and closed the door behind us. The moment it clicked shut, I leaned in and kissed her, slow, exhausted, and grateful.
“Welcome to hell,” I murmured. “I either gave them food poisoning, or I’m experiencing my first daycare disease.”
She laughed softly against my chest, and it was the best sound I’d heard all morning.
“I figured something was up,” she said, setting the bags down and getting straight to work. Out came more Pedialyte, tubs of Gatorade powder, and a box of Pedialyte popsicles, which she immediately tossed into the freezer.
Then she pulled out another bag—this one carefully packed—containing a large tub of homemade chicken soup, two fresh coffees, and a wrapped breakfast sandwich that smelled like heaven.
I narrowed my eyes, already guessing. “You talked to Heidi and Evie, didn’t you?”
Sayla smirked as she pulled out a final box filled with frosted cupcakes. “Guilty. Heidi said you’d need this. And these—” she tapped the cupcake box— “are for after they’re better. It might be an incentive for their stomachs to settle down.”
I was about to thank her when I felt a soft tug around my shin. I looked down and saw a pale, sleepy Kaida standing beside Sayla, her little arms wrapped around her leg like I’d seen her niece, Nemi, do.
Sayla looked down in surprise, then melted instantly. “Hey, sweetheart.”