Page 43 of This Broken Heart

He follows me, cradling Maven to his chest while she suffers through another fit of coughs. “Do we need to take her to the emergency room?”

I glance back. “I don’t think it’s that serious.”

We check her temperature and I check the reading. “It’s low grade. Nothing dangerous.”

She coughs again, and he looks at me with skeptical eyes. “Can we give her something?”

“What do you usually give her when she has a cold?”

He shrugs helplessly. “She doesn’t get sick very often. She hardly ever goes anywhere. We don’t do preschool or Sunday school. And it’s just my mom who looked after her before.”

“Okay. That’s not a problem.” I pause, smoothing a hand over the back of her head. “Do you have any baby Vaporub?”

He shakes his head. “Should I go get some from the store?”

“Is there anywhere around here that would still be open?”

He thinks that over and shakes his head. “No.”

“Can I hold her?”

He pauses, reluctantly handing her over to me. “Can you put Trace in bed?”

He nods, padding back down the hallway.

I carry Maven into the little bathroom that separates my room from Josh’s. Closing both doors, I turn on the shower, cranking it as hot as it will go. When the room is starting to fill with steam, Josh knocks lightly on the door. “Are you taking a shower?”

I smile. “No. Come on in.”

He slips inside, spotting me sitting on the floor with Maven in my arms. She’s sleeping soundly, the steam having loosened up her congestion. He sits next to me. His knees draw up and he rests his elbows on them. “I’m not very good in these situations. I don’t know what to do.”

That might be an understatement. He looks completely wrecked. I knew he was protective, but this is closer to fear.

“You’ve had super healthy kids. That’s a blessing.”

He nods, but he only has eyes for Maven. “Can I take her back?”

“Of course.”

I pass Maven to Josh like she’s made of spun sugar. He holds her with a tenderness that almost breaks my heart.

28.

Josh

I would have stayed in that steamy bathroom all night, slept on the damn floor, but Erin said Maven only needs a few minutes at a time.

We carefully lay her in her crib and Erin tiptoes away, but I stand there, watching for her chest to rise and fall. When I’m absolutely convinced she’s okay, I start to worry that I might wake her up by standing too close. Reluctantly, I step back into the living room and spot Erin sitting on the couch.

Erin. Our guardian angel.

She looks upset.

I collapse on the couch next to her, knees akimbo.

She turns to face me, almost in tears. “This is all my fault.”

I sit up a little. “Your fault? How do you figure?”