Page 92 of Wylder Ranch
Immediately, Alex bolts up, takes one look at me and Everly screaming in my arms, and reaches for his phone. He hits one of the numbers on his speed dial and, while he’s waiting for his call to be picked up, turns and holds the back of his hand to Everly’s forehead.
“What happened? Why didn’t I wake up?” he croaks and clears his throat.
“I was up to feed her?—”
Alex turns back to the phone. “Oli, it’s Alex Burlington. Can you come over? There’s something wrong with Everly. No, she seemed fine. . .yes, temperature, and she’s been sick.” Alex turns, casting an eye over Everly squirming on my chest. “Great, thank you.” Tossing his phone to the side, he reaches out for us. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.” I smile, only for my face to crumple.
I’ve tried everything I can to make her more comfortable, every position she usually responds to, but nothing is working. It’s amazing how quickly I’ve forgotten when it used to be like this all the time. How I barely survived.
Before I arrived here.
“Hey, it’s okay, Hayve. It’ll be okay. Let’s see what Oliver says.” He gently strokes Everly’s head with one hand and wipes my face dry with the other.
I nod and sniff, grateful for his calm because it’s not something I have a full grip on right now. It’s hard to stay calm when you have a screaming baby in your arms. It’s also hard to hear anything when she’s so loud.
Alex jumps out of bed and walks to his closet, returning in sweats and a hoodie to sit right next to me again. He starts rubbing her back, and for a nanosecond, she’s silent, only to projectile vomit all over me again.
When the screaming returns, it’s louder.
“Oh my God,” I mouth to Alex, then make my voice as soft as possible for Everly. “Oh baby, okay, it’s okay.” Only I don’t know if it’s okay. It doesn’t feel okay. It feels different.
Everly’s been sick on me more times than I can count, but not like this. And she’s never screamed in pain.
Alex holds his hands out. “Haven, let me take her. You can change, and I’ll put her in something clean.”
I nod, trying to wipe away the puke from my chin, and follow Alex through to the nursery. The movement seems to soothe her a little, and the screaming turns down a notch, but the second we put her on the changing table, it goes right back up again. Along with my tears.
Alex and I work together as quickly as possible to gether out of the vomit-soaked romper and cleaned up, all the while he talks to her in that voice she loves.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, I know. I know, we’ve all been there. Especially your uncle Miles. When you’re a little bit older, I’ll tell you all about the times he’s thrown up on himself.” He scoops her up, cradling her head until she’s resting on his chest.
He stands there gently swaying from side to side, his hands rubbing in calming circular motions on her back while he lets her cry.
I’m watching them—watchinghim—when his eyes meet mine. “Babe, go and get changed.”
Easing off my T-shirt as carefully as possible, I toss it into the hamper and pick up a washcloth. I thought I’d gotten used to the smell of stale milk, but something about this one has me gagging, and as hard as I try to clean myself quickly, it’s still following me around.
Then I find it in my hair, crusting the ends together, and try to rinse that too.
While I’m in the bathroom, Everly’s screams subside. But my panic doesn’t, even when I use my breathing exercises as I stand at the mirror trying to regulate my heartbeat. Because I know when I panic, so does Everly. “Babies get sick,” I tell myself over and over.Babies get sick. But it doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make me feel any less helpless.
But I’m not helpless, and I’m not alone. That thought pulls me up.
I dry my tears and sniff hard.Get your shit together, Haven.
Alex is pacing across the bedroom when I go back out there, lips pressed to our daughter’s head as she cries. I want to take her back, to comfort her, but she seemscalmer in Alex’s arms, and watching them together makes me calmer, so I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for the doctor.
“Was she crying when you went in?”
I shake my head. “No, but when I lifted her, she puked. Then started?—”
“I’m sorry you had to wake me up.”
I smile at him, holding Everly like the most precious cargo in the world, marveling at the fact he thinks he needs to apologize for not helping when that’s literally all he does. I never asked him to prove himself as a father, but he does it every day, over and over again.
I’m starting to believe there’s a chance this is our life now, Alex and me. What’s more, I’m hoping it is, and I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t. Because after six weeks in England, the idea of living apart again hurts me. It makes my chest ache to the point of physical pain.
