Page 53 of Dr. Single Dad

“Does she need anti-viral meds?” I ask. I pull out my phone to check the protocol for infant viral meningitis.

Jacob puts his hand on my shoulder. “She’s fine. Now she’s hydrated, she’s happy. But she’d be happier at home where she can sleep without the noise and the lights of a hospital.”

I’m not sure I want her to leave the hospital yet. “Is it safe to take her back home?” I ask.

“Mate, she’s safer at home than here. You know this.”

“And you’re sure it’s viral?” I ask. “One hundred percent?”

“One hundred percent. The blood test and the lumbar test both confirmed it.”

“I’ve looked after children with viral meningitis before,” Eira says. “Rest and cuddles and a bit of Calpol. We can try her with water if she doesn’t want her milk.”

I glance back at Guinevere, her little arm covered in bandages holding the cannula in place. She’s so vulnerable. “I don’t know,” I say. I’m clearly not able to look after Guinevere. I’m not focused on her enough. I don’t notice things.

“I’ll take the bags and the pram to the car and come back,” Eira says.

“No,” I call after her. “We’ll all go together.” Eira was the one who noticed Guinevere’s symptoms. She shouldn’t be away from her. I catch her eye. I want to know if she really thinks it’s a good idea to leave.

“Okay,” she says. She nods at me as if she knows the silent question I’m asking. “This is good, Dax. She’s going to be fine.”

“I’m going to take her cannula out,” Jacob says. “And then you can go.”

In a few minutes we’re back at the car and Jacob is helping us put the pram in the boot.

“Did you strap her in?” I ask Eira as she shuts the back door.

A small smile curves around the edges of her lips that says no, the baby is hanging out the window. “Yes. She’s all strappedin safely. I’m going to sit next to her. You’re going to drive us home.” She holds up my car keys. “You are fine. Your daughter is fine.”

“Thanks to you,” I say.

By the time we’re home, my shoulders have relaxed a little and my breathing has returned to normal. I didn’t realize how tense I was until I had some time to think in the car.

We bundle Guinevere inside. Eira manages to give her some Calpol and even gets her to have some milk. She’s a fucking miracle. Thank god for her.

“You need to sleep,” Eira says, coming into the kitchen. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a lot better than I would have been if you hadn’t been here.”

“But I was here. And if I hadn’t been, you’d have caught it, because you would have taken her temperature and checked her for spots and?—”

“But what if I didn’t?” I ask. “What else am I going to miss as she grows up? And not just the physical stuff. What if she’s getting bullied at school and doesn’t tell me or she gets depressed or?—”

Eira comes towards me and places her hands on my upper arms. “All these thoughts are entirely normal,” she says. “It’s calledthe mental burden of being a parent.And it’s intensified because you’re a single parent. The only thing you can do is your best. And your best is pretty good from what I’ve seen.”

“You’re incredible,” I blurt. “Absolutely amazing. Calm and capable and you care so much.” I cup her cheek in my hand, all thoughts of boundaries shattering with every breath.

“I really do,” she says. “I really care about Guinevere. About…”

“Thank you,” I whisper, sweeping my thumb across her bottom lip. “Thank you so, so much.”

I shift forward a little and her hands move to my chest. I close my eyes at the feel of her hands on me. I’ve thought about her touching me like this for so long, in so many ways.

“Dax,” she whispers. Her voice is full of doubt. We both know this isn’t a good idea. But it feels so fucking inevitable. If either of us walks away now, we’ll just be delaying the unavoidable.

I silence her doubts by pressing my lips against hers. She gasps as our mouths meet. She tastes like honey and fresh flowers, and I want to drink her in and eat her up.

I take her face in both my hands and deepen this kiss. It’s better than I thought it would be, and I expected it to be phenomenal.

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