Page 122 of His Surrender

“Is she—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“Dean.” She says my name gently, the same way she does when I’m spiraling over something at work. “She’s breathing just fine.”

I force myself to inhale, then exhale. “What have you done so far?”

“I ordered a thermometer.”

“I don’t have one?”

She ignores my original question. “I also ordered infant acetaminophen.”

Of course she did. She’s already thinking three steps ahead while I’m still trying to process the fact that my daughter has a fever.

“When does it get there?”

“They said about twenty minutes.”

I glance through the conference room window. Charts still cover the screen while people wait for me to come back.

I don’t even hesitate. “I’m coming home.”

She sighs. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m already leaving.”

“Dean—”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

I end the call before she can argue. For half a second, I simply stand there, staring at the dark screen of my phone.

Three months ago, I didn’t even know Liana existed.

Now the thought of her feeling miserable makes it impossible for me to think about anything else.

I push back into the conference room. Every conversation immediately stops.

Brady looks up first. He knows.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Liana’s sick.” The words feel strange, coming out of my mouth.

Without another question, Brady closes his notebook.

He nods. “I’ve got everything here.”

“I’ll reschedule this afternoon,” I tell everyone.

“You don’t have to worry about work.”

I nod back, grateful I hired someone who doesn’t need an explanation.

“Call me if you need anything.”

I don’t bother with my office. My laptop stays on the conference table. My jacket remains draped across my chair. Nothing matters except getting home.

Every red light between Midtown and the penthouse feels personal.