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It was close to four in the afternoon, the Texas summer sun beating down on the open fields just north of San Marcos. Carlos crouched behind the hood of the SUV, scanning the cluster of picnic tables in the distant city park where they’d been tipped off about the arms exchange. His earpiece buzzed with radio traffic—Campbell’s terse updates, the distant hum of local PD on the perimeter, the soft rustle of leaves as a breeze pushed through the grass. Carlos’s mind should’ve been razor-sharp, but he found himself distracted, his phone buzzing insistently in the inside pocket of his jacket.
He slipped the phone out quickly, thumb swiping across the lock screen as he caught TK’s name. The first message was simple:
TK:
Jonah’s got a tummy ache. Pretty sure
he ate something he shouldn’t have.
Keeping him hydrated, watching him close.
Carlos felt a cold rush of worry, glancing up to make sure Campbell hadn’t noticed. He typed back, his fingers stiff.
Shit. Is he okay? How bad is it?
The reply was almost immediate, a photo attached—Jonah bundled in a blanket, eyes puffy and cheeks flushed.
He’s been on the couch all afternoon.
Vomited once, been to the bathroom a bunch.
No fever. I called Dr. Bhatt, just keeping an eye for now.
He keeps asking when you’ll be home.
Carlos’s chest tightened. He pressed his knuckles into his thigh, staring at the photo, guilt gnawing at his gut. He typed, erasing and retyping, wanting to sound calm for TK’s sake.
I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I could be there.
We’re close to wrapping up here, but it might
be another hour or two. Give Jojo a
kiss from me. Tell him Papa loves him.
He stared at the screen, hoping for reassurance, but only got another message a minute later.
Don’t worry about us. I’ve got him.
Just come home safe, okay?Promise. Keep me posted?
I’ll call if I can step away.
Just then, Campbell strode over, clipboard in hand, his face pinched with concentration. He stopped, catching the worried look on Carlos’s face. “Everything all right, Reyes?”
Carlos hesitated, trying to tuck his phone away, but Campbell just raised an eyebrow, the kind of look only a seasoned partner could give. “Family stuff?” he asked, voice dropping to something quieter.
Carlos sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Jonah’s not feeling well. Tummy bug or something. TK says he’s okay, but I feel like an ass being out here when my kid’s asking for me.”
Campbell’s features softened with understanding, something a little wry tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Welcome to the club, Reyes. Joys of being a Texas Ranger—saving the world, missing dinner, and watching your kid get sick through a text message.”
Carlos managed a shaky laugh. “Yeah. I just…he’s still so little, you know? And after everything we went through to finally have him home with us, I hate not being there when he needs me.”
Campbell nudged his shoulder, voice warm. “You’re a good dad, Carlos. Being out here, doing your job, doesn’t make you any less of one. Jojo’s got two people who love him more than anything. That’s more than most kids can say.”
Carlos nodded, swallowing down the knot in his throat. “Thanks, Soup. I just hate this part.”
“Yeah, well,” Campbell grinned, “you get used to it. Doesn’t make it suck any less, but you do what you can. Go home soon as you can, and when you get there, just be his dad. That’s all that matters.”
Carlos gave a grateful smile. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”
Campbell just clapped him on the back. “Let’s wrap this up. You’ve got a family to get back to.”
As the last glimmers of daylight faded on the drive back to Austin, Carlos barely remembered the radio chatter or the thrum of traffic. The road home felt endless, every red light stretching his patience thin. Campbell’s last words echoed in his mind—just be his dad when you get there—and Carlos gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, willing the world to give him a break for once. He texted TK at a stoplight:
Almost home. Give Jojo a hug for me. Love you.
TK replied with a simple heart emoji and another photo of Jonah curled up under his dinosaur blanket, half-asleep, clutching a water bottle. Carlos stared at the image, his chest aching. He promised himself he’d make it up to both of them.
By the time he entered their building, Carlos’s heart was heavy with worry and longing. He moved through the familiar lobby on autopilot, the smells and sounds of home grounding him as he made his way upstairs. Each step felt heavier than the last—he could picture Jonah’s little face, could practically hear TK’s quiet voice in the kitchen. At the door, he paused, taking a steadying breath, then let himself in as softly as he could.
He set his hat and badge on the hallway shelf, quietly toeing off his boots so as not to wake Jonah if he was finally asleep. The hush of the loft wrapped around him, broken only by the faint clatter of dishes and the soft simmer of a pot. The living room was softly lit, casting gentle shadows over Jonah’s makeshift bedroom—the little nook in the corner, walled in by colorful dividers and strewn with crayon masterpieces and plushies in various states of disarray. But tonight, Jonah wasn’t in his bed. He was sprawled on the couch, now on his stomach, knees tucked in and face scrunched in pain, a stack of half-empty water bottles and a large bottle of blue Gatorade lined up on the coffee table beside him.
The sight made Carlos’s breath hitch. All the stress and guilt he’d carried through the day seemed to settle in his chest. He crossed quietly to the kitchen, drawn by the gentle scent of ginger and broth. TK stood at the stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows, brow furrowed in concentration. Even from behind, Carlos could read the fatigue in the set of his shoulders.
He stepped up and wrapped his arms gently around TK’s waist, dropping a kiss to his cheek from behind. “Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late.” His voice was thick with apology and exhaustion.
TK leaned back into him, letting himself be held for a long moment before turning slightly, their foreheads almost touching. “Hey,” TK whispered, his voice soft and warm with relief. “You made it home. That’s what matters.” He reached up, squeezing Carlos’s hand. Up close, Carlos could see the lines of worry on TK’s face—he’d been holding it together for both of them.
Carlos kept his arms wrapped around TK a little longer, letting himself just breathe in the kitchen warmth, the comfort of his husband’s presence. “How’s our boy?” he finally managed, voice cracking as he nodded toward the living room.
TK exhaled, the concern still heavy in his eyes. “Jonah’s been pretty miserable. Threw up once, then, uh, you don’t want to know how many times he’s used the bathroom.” He managed a tired smile, but it faded fast. “I called the clinic, talked to Dr. Bhatt—he said just to keep him hydrated and watch for fever. He’s been drinking some Gatorade and water, but he’s exhausted. He keeps asking when you’ll be home.”
Carlos felt another sharp pang of guilt. He peered over at Jonah, who shifted restlessly and let out a small whimper, barely aware that his Papa was home at last. “Should we take him to the ER?” Carlos asked, worry leaking into every word.
TK shook his head softly, reassuring but just as tired. “Not unless he can’t keep fluids down or spikes a fever. Right now he’s holding on. Just…worn out and scared. He missed you.”
Carlos squeezed TK’s hand, his eyes shining with gratitude and worry all at once. He pressed another kiss to TK’s cheek, a silent thank you for carrying the weight of today.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Carlos whispered, giving TK’s waist one last squeeze before he slipped away. He crossed the room and knelt beside the couch, the worry etched in his heart deepening at the sight of Jonah’s small, curled-up body. Carlos gently brushed a hand over Jonah’s tousled curls, fingers lingering in the soft hair. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly.
Jonah turned toward him, glassy eyes ringed with red, little nose stuffy from crying. “Papa…” he whimpered, voice fragile as tissue paper. He reached out, and Carlos immediately took his small, clammy hand in his own, rubbing slow circles over the tiny knuckles. “My tummy hurts so bad. I don’t wanna poop anymore.”
Carlos’s heart twisted, a wave of helplessness washing over him. He wished there was a way to take the pain for Jonah, to make it all go away. He smoothed the hair from Jonah’s forehead, doing his best to keep his voice light. “I know, mijo. I heard you’ve been real brave today. Did you drink some water for me?”
Jonah nodded, his lower lip trembling as another little groan escaped him. “Papa, how come my belly feels like there’s worms fighting inside?” He looked so confused, so desperate for answers, and Carlos felt the sting of tears behind his own eyes.
Carlos glanced back at TK, who offered a tired but sympathetic smile from the kitchen. TK just shrugged, as if to say, You try answering that one for the twentieth time. Carlos squeezed Jonah’s hand a little tighter. “Well, sometimes your tummy gets upset when you try new things. Did you maybe eat something you weren’t supposed to, little man?”
Jonah squirmed, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I tried the green soap in the bathroom. It smelled like apples. But it tasted yucky,” he admitted in a whisper.
From the kitchen, TK groaned, but the worry in his tone was laced with gentle exasperation. “Jonah Morgan Reyes-Strand,” he called, “that soap is for washing hands, not for eating.”
Jonah’s lower lip wobbled and he shrank into the couch, looking toward TK with watery eyes. “I’m sorry, Papa-bro. I didn’t mean to,” he sniffled, his guilt and discomfort written all over his little face.
Carlos caught TK’s eye, sharing a moment of relief—it could have been so much worse—and exasperation. He stroked Jonah’s back, feeling the fine tremor of discomfort in his son’s muscles. “It’s okay, Jonah. But next time, let’s just stick to the snacks Papa-bro gives you, okay?” he said, his voice soothing and steady. “We’re going to take care of you, promise. Papa-bro’s making your favorite soup. And I’m right here with you.”
Jonah whimpered, shifting again before pushing himself closer, finally resting his head in Carlos’s lap. The trust in that small gesture made Carlos’s chest ache. “Can you rub my tummy, Papa?” Jonah whispered, barely audible.
Carlos smiled softly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Of course, little man.” He began rubbing gentle, careful circles over Jonah’s sore belly, whispering comfort. “Just try to relax. We’re not going anywhere, okay? Papa’s here. Papa-bro’s here.”
Jonah closed his eyes, soothed by his father’s touch and the soft cadence of his voice. Carlos kept rubbing his back, murmuring little things—how brave Jonah was, how soon he’d feel better, how much they loved him.
Dinner was a quiet, gentle ritual that night. TK ladled out small bowls of chicken and rice soup, each spoonful carefully cooled before offering it to Jonah. TK sat on the edge of the coffee table, Carlos on the floor, and together they coaxed Jonah into tiny bites, sandwiching him with encouragement and praise. Carlos dabbed at Jonah’s mouth with a napkin after each spoonful, sometimes blowing gently on the soup, sometimes just letting his hand rest on Jonah’s back, grounding him.
Jonah only managed a few bites before pushing the bowl away with a tired little pout. “My tummy says no more, Papa-bro,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping.
“That’s okay,” TK reassured, crouching beside him, meeting Jonah’s gaze with a gentle smile. “You did really well, Jojo. You don’t have to finish it. How about a little more Gatorade, just a sip?” he offered, holding out the bottle.
Jonah wrinkled his nose, but took a careful sip, then looked up at Carlos, eyes huge and glossy. “Papa, I pooped six times already. How many more do I have to?”
Carlos couldn’t help but smile—he knew the question was pure exhaustion, pure honesty. He pulled Jonah closer, easing him onto his lap. “However many your tummy needs to, buddy. And if it gets any worse, we’ll call the doctor again. But you’re going to feel better soon. I promise,” Carlos said, pressing a kiss to Jonah’s sweaty forehead.
Jonah whimpered and burrowed into Carlos’s chest, his arms circling tight. “But it hurts,” he whispered, his words muffled.
Carlos held him close, rubbing his back, wishing his own warmth and love could heal everything. “I know it does, baby. But you’ve got me and Papa-bro right here. We’re not going anywhere. Okay?”
Jonah just nodded, too tired to argue, clutching Carlos’s shirt in his fist as though it were a lifeline. TK pressed a soft kiss to Jonah’s head, his own eyes misty. “You’re the bravest boy, Jojo. We’re so proud of you.”
As the night deepened, bedtime loomed and with it, Jonah’s anxiety. He lingered by his nook in the living room, peeking around the divider, his face streaked with tears. “Papa-bro, Papa, can I sleep with you tonight? Please? My tummy hurts and I don’t wanna be alone,” he pleaded, voice trembling.
Carlos and TK exchanged a quick look—no words needed. In a heartbeat, TK swooped Jonah up and carried him to their bed, tucking him gently between their pillows. Jonah immediately curled into Carlos’s side, letting out a shaky sigh, his small body still tense with pain.
Carlos wrapped both arms around Jonah, cradling him gently, rubbing slow, soothing circles on his belly. He bent down and pressed a lingering kiss to Jonah’s temple, breathing in the scent of his son’s hair.
“Right here, buddy. We’re not going anywhere,” Carlos whispered, brushing a thumb over Jonah’s cheek. TK slid in beside them, nestling close on Jonah’s other side, his hand stroking Jonah’s hair with infinite tenderness. “You’re safe, Jojo. Papa and Papa-bro are right here,” TK murmured.
Jonah’s breathing finally began to slow, his little hand reaching out—one clutching Carlos’s shirt, the other finding TK’s fingers. “I love you, Papa. I love you, Papa-bro,” he mumbled, already half-asleep, the words thick with trust.
Carlos felt his heart squeeze tight, all the exhaustion and guilt fading into fierce, protective love. “We love you more, mijo. Sleep now. We’re right here.”
TK pressed one last kiss to Jonah’s head, his voice a whisper in the quiet night. “We’ve got you, Jojo. Always.”
As the city’s lights shimmered outside and Jonah’s breaths evened out, Carlos and TK stayed awake a little longer, each holding onto their son and each other. The long day slipped away, replaced by the simple, unbreakable bond of their little family—safe and together, no matter what tomorrow brought.