“She might. I’ve heard it takes some parents longer than others to bond. Give it some time. However,” he says, pausing for a second, “I never thought I’d say this...like, literally…never, but I think you were meant to be a dad, and for that reason alone, everything else will fall into place.”
“You sound like Dad. You’re seriously aging yourself, Hunt. Have you looked in the mirror lately?” I scratch at my own chin. “You’ve got some salt and pepper action going on there.” I look up a little, focusing on his messy head of hair. “Hmm…and I see a little up there too.”
“Shut it, jackass. Whatever,” he says, standing up and grabbing the box of nails from the brick-covered fireplace. “Charlotte likes it.”
“Well, if Charlotte likes it, then it must stay,” I say with a bit of flamboyance to get the you’re whipped message across.
“Such a loser,” he says, hammering the last nail in.
With our argument fizzling out, I look around the room, noticing that we got this huge-ass living area covered in only two hours. “Pretty impressive for a gramps and a man running on no sleep.”
Hunter cleans up a couple of the scraps as I check the corners for any loose ends.
“Bro, Gavin is definitely burning up.” I turn toward the two of them, seeing Hunter’s hand on Gavin’s head again. “Do you have a baby bag or anything? Hopefully, Tori has a thermometer in there.”
“Yeah it’s, uh…it’s in the truck.” Gavin’s never been sick. He’s only four months old. I don’t know what the hell to do with a sick baby. Which is obviously why I’m standing here like a dumbass staring at him while Hunter runs out to my truck.
He returns with the diaper bag and tears it apart for a full two minutes before he starts cussing. “Shit, how can there be no thermometer in here. Dammit. We need to find out his temperature. Babies his age can’t have a fever of more than about a hundred-and-two, I think. It can be serious, AJ.” How does he still remember all this shit, and I don’t remember anyone saying this to me? Is there a damn baby guidebook no one told me about? “Hold on. I should have a thermometer in my glove compartment. Either Olive or Lana are always crashing with a fever. You should really keep one on you.” I don’t know if this is the overboard part of Hunter talking or if this is the inexperienced AJ taking life notes from his experienced brother. Maybe I’m just a shitty dad and I really shouldn’t have taken on this role of some helpless child’s parent. Considering I’m in my late twenties and still questionable when it comes to my parental skills, it’s scary to think what might have happened with my daughter at seventeen. What the hell was I thinking?
Hunter disappears outside again and returns less than a minute later with a weird-looking contraption. “What the hell is that and where does it go?” I ask him.
“It’s a forehead-scanning thermometer. It’s not best for babies, but it’ll give us a close enough reading right now.” Thank God. If he were to tell me that thermometer should go anywhere but his head…I’d be more than a little scared. Hunter lightly scans the device over Gavin’s head as I drop to my knees in front of his car seat.
“Is he breathing heavy or is it just my imagination?” I ask Hunter. That’s worry. I feel it. I have to protect this little guy with everything I have, and right now I’m failing miserably. “What does the thermometer say?”
“We gotta get to a hospital, AJ. He’s got a hundred-and-three-degree fever.” I appreciate Hunter not drilling in the fact of the danger zone number again. I heard him the first time when he said anything over a hundred-and-two was dangerous.
As we’re flying over the roads through town, I debate about calling Tori, but I can’t deal with that conversation right now, so I choose the wrong decision and forgo calling her. I need answers before I’m asked questions.
I have my hand on Gavin’s chest as I lean into the backseat, feeling the rise and fall of his slow breaths. “He’s breathing weird,” I tell Hunter again.
“You don’t know that. I’m sure it’s okay,” Hunter tries to assure me.
It doesn’t take much for me to crack with the punch from his statement. Maybe he didn’t mean it as a low blow, but I can’t help responding defensively. “I know how he breathes, how fast his breaths are, how many seconds apart each one is, and how long they last. I spend every night of my life listening to him breathe, and I know he’s not breathing right.”
Hunter looks over at me briefly while navigating us through town in my truck and smiles proudly. “I know, man. I’ve been there. I’m there. I believe you.”
CHAPTER THREE