Page 95 of Lance

“I’m sorry, I don’t have information on her,” the woman says. “Hospital policydictates—”

“I don’t care about hospital policy,” I snarl. “She’s mygirlfriend!”

The woman takes a half step back, apparently unnerved by the anger in my voice. “If you’re listed as her emergency contact I’m sure the receptionist will be happy to helpyou.”

I bite back a curse. “Simon, can I put you down for a second so Ican—”

“No!” he cries, choking me now he’s holding on sotight.

“Okay, okay,” I tell him, rubbing his back. “Just relax, buddy. We need to check onWilla.”

He loosens his grip slightly and I know it’s as good as I’m going to get. I turn back to the reception desk, Simon’s dangling feet bumping into my knees as I walk. I realize that Dylan is standing beside me. I’d been so intent on getting to Simon I completely forgot he was here. “What do you think the odds are they’re going to tell me anything about her?” Iask.

He shakes his head. “You have totry.”

Dylan follows us to reception. “My son’s nanny is being treated,” I tell the man behind the desk. “Wilhelmina Nathans. Can you tellme—”

“Are you related?” heasks.

“No, I’mnot.”

His expression is sympathetic. “Then I’m sorry, Ican’t.”

I want to rage at him, to swear and yell and make him tell me what’s going on. But Simon is still clinging to me, still terrified. He needs me. “See if you can do anything,” I mutter to Dylan as I pull out my phone and step a few feet away. I find Haylee’s number and she answers on the firstring.

“How is he?” she asksimmediately.

“He’s fine,” I say. “He wasn’thurt.”

“Oh, thank God,” she says. “We’re almost thereourselves—”

“Haylee,” I interrupt her. “Willawas hurt.” She goes silent on the other end of the phone. “They won’t tell me anything because we’re not related. You need to tell James, he won’t want to hear it fromme—”

“We’ll be there soon,” she says and the line goesdead.

Waiting for James to arrive and get some answers is almost as bad as the drive. But now I can’t afford to be frozen in fear. I have to be here for Simon. I take him back to the seats by the window, rubbing his back until his arms relax. “Can I see your face, buddy?” I ask. “You don’t have any cuts or anything, doyou?”

He shakes his head against myneck.

“Let me see you.” Finally he loosens his grip and allows me to pull him away. His eyes are wide and terrified in his pale face, but there’s no sign of any hurt on his face. Not even ascratch.

“The doctors examined him,” the social worker tells me. “No injuries. Justfrightened.”

“It was so scary,” he whispers. “There was a huge bang and the whole carshook.”

“You’re very brave,” I tellhim.

“Mr. Foster,” the social worker says. “Can I ask you a fewquestions?”

I close my eyes. This is the last thing I need right now. “Can itwait?”

“We just like to make sure that everything is in order for the child,” she goes on. “When the last names don’t match we take a lookto—”

“I’m his father,” I snap. “I have custody. My lawyer should be here any minute, you can ask your questions tohim.”

She opens her mouth, but something in my expression must tell her I’m not messing around because she closes it again without aword.

“You must be starving,” I say toSimon.