Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Her cringing swiftly eradicates any momentary placidity I had found.
“Miss. Rous.”
“Everything was happening so fast with the ambulance and the cops and then the fucking Lyft or Uber or Heyyyle drive who couldn’t find The Frost Luxury Hotel to pick up their person! And then everyone said everything so fast! And then we get here and two people were talking to me at once and I didn’t know who I was supposed to be listening to. And I didn’t know which one was the fucking doctor! And then and then and then Lauren arrived, and she was crying and then Clark was trying to calm her down and then that OnlyFans trynatobe was all over Jeff who was trying to call Park and then before I realized it everyone just broke in different directions like our football huddle was over and it was time to get a Superbowl!”
Bewilderment drops my jaw along with Holmes’s.
Okay.
None of that was fucking helpful.
Hell, most of that was not even comprehensible.
“We have to check in at the desk anyway,” Jessie casually motions a finger that direction, “so they should um…just tell us again?”
“Is that a question or statement, Miss Rous?”
“Both?”
“It cannot be both.”
“But like…it is?”
New, deeper, rumbles rattle my chest encouraging Holmes to intervene.
Again.
“Boss,” my eyes cut over just in time to see him kick his chin, “there.”
Spotting the large, half circle desk a few feet down the hall gets me storming away from the young woman I may be firing at the end of the day and over to the golden bronze, plus-sized female that must have all her shit in order given that she’s openly reading a paperback novel.
“Wilcox,” I practically bark upon my arrival. “I need to see my son.”
Her big, dark brown eyes hesitate to pull away from the Sloan Mather’s book in her possession to meet mine as she greets in a flat tone, “Hello, sir.”
“Wilcox.”
“Wilcox,” she echoes in an unimpressed nature. “I’m pediatric medical administrator Bigpond. How may I help you?”
“I need to see my son.”
“Your visitor pass will grant you that access.”
“Pass?!” Consternation claws its way through my voice. “What pass?!”
“The visitor pass you are issued upon your child’s admission into the hospital.”
“I wasn’t here when that happened!”
“There’s no need to raise your voice.”
“And there’s no need for you to make the process of me getting to him this fucking difficult.”
“If you prefer, I can make it extremely difficult by taking an emergency phone call you didn’t hear ring – initially forcing you to wait for an additional twenty to thirty minutes – before taking my next break, which would increase your wait time by at least fifteen more given that there is no one else to assist you in this process at this time,” she threatens in the most emotionless tone I think I’ve heard. “Or,” her round face cranes slightly forward, “you can lower your volume and I’ll inform you of your child’s whereabouts.”
I force myself to swallow my displeasure.
“Is your son located in the NICU? PICU? PIMU? ER? Or in the main medical vicinity?”
Unpredicted dread completely paralyzes my vocal cords.
What do all of those letters mean?
Why are there so many?
Should there be that many?
Is that excessive?
Is she purposely attempting to aggravate me further as punishment for interrupting her reading?!
For speaking too loudly?!
Can I buy a hospital?
Can I get a nurse fired for trying to play fucking mind games with me instead of getting me to my son?!
Bigpond adjusts her grip on her reading material prior to asking, “Would you like me to look up the information?”
Holmes plants a harsh hand on my shoulder that encourages me to suck in a deep breath.
Calm down.
Remember that this isn’t a time to make a powerplay but simply do whatever it takes to get to my son.
“I would greatly appreciate that, Administrator Bigpond.”
The woman purses her pink painted lips together, relocates the novel to the side of the keyboard, and moves a hand over to the mouse. “I need the full name and age of the patient as well as a photo ID for security protocol. Only parents and guardians listed on a minor’s contact information can be granted direct access.”
An unexpected sense of relief nestles into the pit of my stomach prompting me to nod my understanding.
This is good.
This means that whoever tried to take my son can’t just walk in here and finish the job.
That they can’t pick up where they left off.
That this irritated female won’t let some random asshole who simply claims to know my child into his life.
This level of security – even if it causes me a minor inconvenience – is what I want.
Expect.
What I didn’t expect was someone trying to kidnap him in the first place.
Of course, when Wy was born, it – like many other scenarios – was discussed but that’s all I ever assumed it would be.