Page 128 of Redline Baby

The phone buzzes against the nightstand, and I’m awake immediately. The screen lights the room blue-white for half a second before my hand closes around it. Maren. 2:17 a.m. My stomach drops.

The last time she called me at this hour, it was to tell me her husband hadn’t made it.

“Soren.” Her voice is tight. “We’re at the ER. Rue has a fever. High. And the cough won’t stop. She couldn’t catch her breath between fits, so I brought her in.”

“I’m coming. How high?”

“One-oh-three. They’ve already seen her. They’re doing something for her breathing now.” Her voice catches. “I’m scared.”

“I know. I’m coming.”

The call ends. I sit on the edge of the bed in the dark.

Kit is still asleep beside me. He doesn’t wake easily after taking his evening medication. His back is turned toward me, one arm curled beneath the pillow, the blanket pulled to his waist. His breathing is deep and steady.

I need to wake him.

Leaving without explanation would be cruel, especially after everything he told me about Charles. I put my hand on his shoulder. He stirs. His body shifts underneath my palm, and after a few seconds he turns his head halfway toward me without opening his eyes.

“Kit. Baby.”

My voice is low.

“I have to go. It’s Rue. She’s sick, and Maren’s at the hospital with her.”

He makes a sleepy sound. Nods. His hand finds the edge of the blanket and pulls it higher around his shoulder.

“I’ll be back.”

Another nod.

His breathing is already settling toward sleep again. I should wake him more fully. The thought occurs to me. I should make him open his eyes. Make him repeat back what I said. Make sure the information actually reaches him instead of disappearing into whatever fog his medication and sleep have wrapped around him.

But Rue is in the emergency room.

Maren is scared.

And the same old panic that lives somewhere beneath my ribs every time my sister calls me in the middle of the night is already moving me toward the door.

So I stand.

I cross to the closet in the dark and pull on jeans without turning on the light. Boots next. I sit on the edge of the mattress to lace them, and Kit shifts when the bed dips under my weight, his body adjusting without waking.

My jacket is on the chair near the door. Keys in the pocket. Wallet. I crouch beside the bed one last time. Kit’s face has turned toward me now, dark hair fallen over his forehead. He looks beautiful. I lean in and press my lips to his temple. His skin is warm. His hair smells like the cedar-scented shampoo he complains about and continues buying anyway.

“I’ll be back,” I murmur again.

He makes that quiet sleepy sound.

I stand and leave.

***

I don’t hear from Kit while I drive to the hospital, and I don’t expect to. It’s the middle of the night. He was barely conscious when I left. There’s no reason he would wake enough to notice I’m gone. I tell myself that at every red light. Mostly, I believe it.

Rue is curled against Maren when I get to the pediatric emergency department, exhausted and flushed, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looks tiny in the hospital bed. Too tiny. Her breathing is still rough, but not the frightening, fighting-for-air sound I heard through Maren’s phone. A nurse has already been in and out twice by the time I arrive, and the doctor comes back not long after.

I stay.