Page 22 of Rush

“I’ll send it to you.”

I glance at her. “Thank you.”

Sam inhales and exhales loudly before addressing the elephant in the space. “Braysen came.”

My hand tightens on the wheel, but I school my features and shrug. “He visits me when he can. It's easier for him to come to me with Dylan instead of driving to Wisconsin.”

“He looked good. Mature. I missed so much,” she says shakily. My hand reaches for hers before I can talk myself out of it.

“They get it, Sammy. Braysen, Luca, they both get it. And they let you take the time you needed to adjust to life as a new mom. But they love Dylan. They like being her uncles.”

Her shoulders shake and tears streak down her cheeks. “I never wanted to push them away. It was just–they were your friends. I wanted you to have people. I couldn’t handle it if they were disappointed in me.”

Fuck. I always knew it. We were close, the four of us. I knew Sam wouldn’t cut them out and drive them away for no reason. Granted, her reason is shit, just like all her other beliefs, but the situation is delicate. I’m not exactly a saint in the whole mess either.

“They love you, Sammy. They get it. You don’t have to freeze them out anymore. We’re okay. We’re here.” I rush to reassure her, calming myself down as well.

Her head leans back against the headrest and her eyes close briefly. “Thank you, Jameson.”

“Don’t thank me, babe.” I shake my head with a chuckle. “You already know I’ll do anything for you. You and Dylan.”

Sam is quiet the rest of the drive, but she never takes her hand out of mine. My truck pulls into her parking lot, and I jump out, helping get Dylan unbuckled. My little pretty girl never stirs, except to clasp her tiny arms around my neck. Sam reaches for her bag and stick, but I stop her.

“Take Dyl. I’ll grab your bag.”

Sam grabs Dylan from me, settling her little body against her front and hustles inside to get her out of the cold. I follow them into the building and up to Sam’s apartment. Thanks to the thumb reader, Sam is able to get in without jostling Dylan. I follow her inside and place her bag down, opening it up to air it out, and putting her stick against the wall. Sam watches, her body swaying side to side, keeping our girl lulled to sleep. I stalk over to them and press a kiss to my baby’s head.

“Night, Dyl. I love you.”

Sam’s lips part in a soft smile and our eyes catch. “Good game tonight, Sam. You still skate like a dream.”

Her cheeks pinken from the praise. “Thanks for being there. And for bringing her.”

“Anytime,” I tell her and press a kiss to her forehead. Sam goes still and her lips part slightly. “Night, Sam.”

Without giving her the chance to speak or to overthink, I turn and leave.

sam

. . .

I wake up in darkness, my body aching and my skin burning up. I twist to the side, and my stomach rolls. I know what's coming and barely make it to the bathroom before the contents of my stomach from the night before empty into the toilet. Once there’s nothing left, I collapse on the bathroom floor. My skin feels clammy, and I’m chilled. I just know my hair is a disaster as well, and I want nothing more than to just swish my mouth out with water and crawl back into bed. My fingers grip the counter, and I pull myself up. The room sways slightly, and my eyes slam shut, trying to pull myself under control. When they open again, I can see my face in the mirror: pale with bluish marks under my eyes.

Running a washcloth under the warm water, I wash my face before changing the tap to cold and rinsing my mouth out. Slowly, I make it back to my room and toss my sleep shirt into the hamper before grabbing a new pair of flannel pants and a cami t-shirt. I’m freezing, but I know it’s fever chills. Judging from past experience, I have at least a twenty-four-hour flu bug. I get one every year at this time, right when the fall turns to winter, and my body is run down with classes, hockey and the stress of the upcoming end of the semester testing as well as the holidays. It’s the perfect storm, and every year I fall victim to it like clockwork. I just need to rest. My head hits the pillow at the same time I reach for my phone. That's when I hear it. The unmistakable chatter of my adorable two-year-old. Dylan is awake and unlike years past with my aunt around, there is no one to help me.

Feeling panicked, because there is no way I want my baby to catch this too, I swipe the first contact on my phone. My fingers hover over his name, even though I know he’s the best option. Jameson is close by, and he would do anything for Dylan, including rescuing her from her mother’s germ-infested apartment.

“Sam?” Jameson’s voice is still heavy with sleep, and I can picture him sitting up in bed, half-naked and taken by surprise.

“Morning,” I croak and feel the start of a hammering headache in my temple. “Um, I hate to bother you so early, but do you think you can come get Dylan and keep her for the day. Maybe the night too?”

There's a rustle on the other end, and I can hear him getting out of bed, already in daddy mode. “Is Dylan okay? Are you okay?”

A ghost of a smile crosses my lips. This man undoes me in the smallest of ways. I love how he’s not even arguing; he just instantly wants to know if we’re alright. “I have the flu.”

He exhales into the phone. “Oh babe. Okay, I’ll be there soon. Is she awake?”

“Yeah,” I answer him. A small sob escapes me, and a single tear falls onto my pillow. I feel overwhelmed, knowing I need to get up while my body aches everywhere and my head is pounding. I still need to take care of my girl.