Page 83 of Puck Prince

It’s what I should’ve done for our mom, even though she never asked for help. Actually, she outright refused it more than once.

But right now, I’m fucking frozen.

Nicky is wailing, his cries echoing up and down the hallway. The paparazzi gathered outside can probably hear it right now. Articles are being written as we speak—and wail—about the unconsolable baby outside of Owen Sharpe’s apartment.

And there’s not a damn thing I can do to help.

I jab the elevator button, mapping out the fastest route to the hospital. I don’t know a single thing about babies, but I can drive. If we move his car seat to my car, then I can tear through the Houston traffic and get him there as soon as possible.

And then… what?

I sit around and hope for it all to end. The same way I sat in my room, listening to my mother get tossed around our house by a string of stepfathers who were all the fucking same.

I’ll sit in the waiting room and hope things turn out our way because there’s nothing I can do to fix this. There’s no punch I can throw, no money I can lay down—nothing at all that can be done about an immune system.

I’m helpless.

“Owen, unlock the door.” Callie’s voice breaks into my racing thoughts.

I turn around, and Callie is holding Nicky. Cradling him, really. She has him balanced on her forearm, her other hand rubbing circles on his squishy stomach.

Without me noticing, his crying has slowed.

Still, I shake my head. “We have to go to the hospital. We need to?—”

“Unlock the door, O,” Summer demands. Her eyes are still red-rimmed and her nose is snotty. She swipes it across her sleeve, and that yanks me out of my stupor.

I can’t do anything else, but I can unlock the door.

“When did this start?” Callie asks, walking calmly into my apartment for only the third time.

If we keep this up, I’m going to start getting used to the sight of her here.

“Yesterday, I guess. Afternoon,” Summer adds. “He was fine when I put him down for his nap, but he woke up congested and not wanting to eat. The rash on his stomach showed up late last night, but the rash on his head has been there for a couple weeks. I thought it would go away, but I guess— I’m not sure if— I just—” A sob wrenches out of her and something inside of me breaks.

Callie rests a hand on my sister’s arm. In another moment,thatwould be the headline. But right now, all I care about is Nicky.

“He needs to see a doctor,” I grit. “I’ll drive him to the ER. I’ll pay for it. We’re wasting time.”

“Just let me take a look.” Callie turns to Summer. “Is that okay?”

Summer nods. “Yes. God, please. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything. I’m just… I’m so tired.”

“I’m sure you are.” Callie peels Nicky’s blanket away and assesses his stomach and his head. As he’s wailing, she peeks into his mouth, running her fingers over his gums. “Did he keep you up all night, then?”

“All. Night.” Summer drops her face into her hands. “I don’t know how he isn’t tired.”

“You should’ve called me.” I think about where I was last night—locked in my hotel bathroom, thinking about Callie—and I feel like shit. “I could’ve?—”

“Hijacked a private plane and flown home without the team?” Summer rolls her eyes. “You were busy, O. And I thought… I thought I could handle it.”

“It’s hard to handle anything on no sleep,” Callie points out. “You need a nap.”

“A nap,” Summer mock-laughs, her head dropping to my shoulder. “What’s that?”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him or not?” I press. The girl talk is great and all, but it’s not going to fix my nephew.

Callie continues to not give a shit about what I say as she rechecks his stomach, his head, and his gums. Then she covers him with the blanket again and rocks him. “I think it’s the perfect storm.”

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