Page 64 of Breathless

I answer automatically, assuming it’s Joey or mymom.

It’sneither.

“It’s about time youanswer.”

Goddamn it. I throw my truck in park and lean my head back to take a deep breath, annoyed with myself for not checking the caller IDfirst.

“What do you need, Samantha?” She acts like I ignore her. I’ve only answered a half dozen of her texts over the last threedays.

“Zach’s not feelingwell.”

“Still?”

“I’m worried, Logan. Can you please come and check on him? I’m not sure if I should take him to the ER. I don’t have a grand to blow if they’re just gonna turn us around and send us home. Unless you wanna foot thebill.”

Fuck my life. Why does everything always fall on myshoulders?

“Does he have afever?”

“I’m notsure.”

JesusChrist.

“Can you use a thermometer and check?” I ask as calmly aspossible.

“I don’t haveone.”

Of coursenot.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, hating what I’m about to do. Not because I don’t care for Zach. I love that kid with every fiber of my being, but dealing with his mother overwhelms me to no end. A throb takes residence in my temple, and I add painkillers to my internal list of items tobuy.

After another long-ass sigh, I nod. “I’m at the pharmacy. What do you need besides athermometer?”

Zach went to a carnival with some friends yesterday and threw up last night, but I thought he was feeling better this morning. My brother and I puked our guts out when we were kids after we ate hotdogs and immediately hopped on a rollercoaster, so I didn’t worry too much because Zach’s a toughkid.

When I reach their apartment almost an hour later, Zach is resting peacefully on the couch. Sam’s hands twist, and she gives me a pained smile. “Sorry if I overreacted. I was just worried,” she whispers. “He finally kept down a Gatorade and passedout.”

I feel his forehead. It’s cool to the touch, and his breathing isn’t labored. He appears to be restingcomfortably.

After I unpack the groceries in their kitchen, I make a cup of instant coffee. It tastes like shit, but I’m so fucking tired, I’m not sure how I’ll make ithome.

I ignore the fact that Sam’s barely dressed, only covered up in a tiny silk robe that barely reaches her thighs. Doesn’t matter because I have no intention of seeing what’s underneath thatfabric.

“Make him some soup when he gets up.” I motion to the mountain of juices and other get-wellnecessities.

She picks up one of the Gatorades I bought for him. “Orange is his favoriteflavor.”

“I know. That’s why I bought him four.” I might have felt a fat wave of guilt at the pharmacy so I overcompensated by purchasing enough supplies to last through the next iceage.

But the lead in my gut won’t go away. Zach was sick, and I was on vacation. Nothing about this situation is his fault, yet he’s the one who had to suffer. I should’ve brought him with me. He would’ve had ablast.

If you’d manned up and told Ethan the truth, you probably couldhave.

As I look at Zach sleeping in the other room, I vow that the next time I head off on a family vacation, the kid is coming with me. He’s family after all. Even under these unusualcircumstances.

After I chug the rest of the coffee, I rinse out my mug. “Call me tomorrow if you’re stillworried.”

“You’ll pick up?” shehuffs.

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