Page 11 of Roaring Fork Rockstar

A tap on my window made me jump. Miguel stood outside, bundled against the cold, holding a familiar guitar case.

I rolled down the window. “Miguel. What happened?”

“Figured you’d come for your guitar. Keltie asked me to lock it up last night.”

“Thanks,” I said when he opened the rear passenger door and set it on the seat. “Where is she? The note says ‘family emergency.’”

His expression turned somber. “Luna. She’s in the hospital over in Gunnison. Fever spiked real bad last night after you left. Keltie texted me at seven, asking if I could let everyone know we’d be closed today.”

My stomach dropped. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Don’t know, man. Keltie sounded pretty scared on the phone when she called to check in an hour ago. Said something about tests they needed to run.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

As Miguel walked away, I gripped the steering wheel and a familiar certainty settled in my bones. I’d been right. Something was wrong with Luna—something serious enough to warrant a hospital visit in the middle of the night.

Without consciously deciding to, I shifted the truck into drive and headed for the highway that would take me to Gunnison. Christmas invitation or not, I needed to see for myself that the little girl with those huge brown eyes was going to be okay.

And if I was being honest, I needed to see her mother too.

5

KELTIE

It was a little after ten in the morning—six hours since I’d rushed Luna to the Gunnison Valley Hospital’s emergency room with a fever that had spiked to 103°F. I sat beside her bed in the pediatric bay, watching her sleep fitfully after hours of tests and medications.

“Mommy?” Luna’s voice was small and raspy.

I brushed a damp curl from her forehead. “I’m right here, baby.”

“When can we go home?”

“Soon, I hope,” I said, forcing a smile. “The doctors are running tests to figure out why you keep getting fevers.”

Luna’s eyelids were already drooping. “I’m tired.”

“Sleep, Luna-bug. I’ll be right here.”

I watched as she drifted off, the steady beep of the heart monitor a metronome tracking each moment. My own heart felt like it might burst from my chest, hammering with fear I couldn’t show her.

This wasn’t our first hospital visit. Over the past three months, Luna had experienced recurring fevers, growing fatigue, and most recently, unexplained bruising on her legsthat the previous doctor had dismissed as “normal childhood injuries.” I knew something was wrong, but each time we visited her pediatrician, we left with a different explanation—a virus, a growth phase, childhood anemia.

The curtain rustled as Dr. Patel entered, clipboard in hand. The on-call pediatrician who’d examined Luna when we arrived was new to us. Unlike the others, he hadn’t dismissed my concerns.

“Ms. Marquez? May I speak with you?”

I squeezed Luna’s hand before stepping right outside the curtained area.

“We have some preliminary blood results,” he said, his expression serious. “Luna’s counts are concerning enough that I believe she should see specialists in Denver for a more thorough evaluation.”

The floor felt like it tilted beneath me. “Are you saying…? What are you saying?”

Dr. Patel lowered his voice. “These symptoms, along with the blood work, could indicate several conditions.”

“Right,” I muttered, hating that I was once again dealing with someone unwilling to tell it to me straight. Maybe it was my sheer exhaustion or that hospitals didn’t give a shit about the people who had to sit at their kid’s bedside for hours on end, but something inside me snapped. “What do youthinkit is?”

“Given the symptoms, I’d like to determine whether her blood-forming tissues have been compromised. Further testing would help us do that.”

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