Page 114 of Better Daddy
My heart clatters around wildly in my chest. As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I have no idea if I actually have a chance. But I have to try.
“We can start over in New York,” Cal says.
Lo smiles. “Of course we can.”
I blow out a breath. “Really? You’re all on board? I was ready to throw down and force the issue.”
Cal shakes his head. “Nothing matters more than family.”
“Why do all the big conversations happen in the weirdest places?” Lo mutters as she takes in the small glowing stall we’ve crammed into.
Chuckling, Cal pulls her into his side. “I think that was Dad’s whole point. That’s why he set up this trust.To show us what really matters.”
Brian smiles. “I think you’re right. It’s too bad I didn’t write it better. Give us an out if we did the right thing.”
Cal laughs, but I’m nowhere near feeling lighter. I have a hell of a lot more work to do today. I clap Brian on the back. “I’ve made peace with this. I can lose the firm, but I can’t lose Sloane. I just want to fix my family. Be a better husband, a better daddy.”
When my phone trills loudly from my pocket, I scramble for it, hoping it’s Sloane. When the number for her office flashes on the screen, my whole body lights up. I’ll tell her I’m coming to see her. And when I get there, I’ll talk to her about the new firm. Get her input. We’ll be partners. She’ll be happy. I’ll keep my wife. I’ll keep my family.
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” I rush out.
“Sully, it’s Julius. You need to get here quickly. It’s Sloane. It’s, uh…it’s bad.”
Chapter 42
Sloane
Ihate hospitals. Most people do, because really what is there to love?
But I despise them. The smell, the sounds, the entire vibe? All of it sets me on edge.
But the hospital isn’t the problem today. It’s my stupidity. I’m here because I’m stubborn and I didn’t listen to my body when it gave me so many warning signs.
Dammit. Hot tears lick down my cheeks as my doctor explains how my blood pressure has shot up and what our next steps are.
I hold my stomach, unwilling to let go of this precious life inside me, even for a second, and force myself to listen. I need to hear this.
Dammit, what is taking Julius so long? He’s better at listening than I am.
When the door swings open and hits the back of the wall with a loud thud, I whip toward the sound.
What the hell is wrong with h?—
My thoughts screech to a halt at the sight.
The tears make it difficult to make out the details, but there’s no confusing my six-foot-four wall of a husband for my slim, youngassistant. He’s wearing a look of fear, the lines on his face taut and severe. “Sweetheart.”
The word breaks from his chest in a sob, and he’s by my side in two strides, pressing his hands to my face, then my shoulders, then my stomach. He crumples, resting his head on my belly, his shoulders shaking. “I’m so sorry,” he says between sobs.
I run soothing circles through his hair and shush him. “She’s all right. She’s fine. Tia’s fine.”
He turns his head, his red eyes meeting mine. “But are you?”
I manage to form a sad smile. “I’m still breathing.”
Eyes shut again, he shudders.
Shit. Clearly my attempt at levity did not land the way I hoped.
