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T.K. wakes up to a knee in his gut and hot morning breath in his face. “Did Carlos leave?”
He groans, rolling over to look at the clock. 6:42am. Ugh. He had eighteen more minutes before his alarm went off.
“Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes and throwing an arm over his face.
“When is he coming back?”
“Two sleeps,” T.K. mumbles.
Jonah squirms, narrowly missing smacking T.K. in the eye. “But did he kiss me goodbye?”
Carlos headed out early this morning to a conference in Dallas, where he and Campbell volunteered to do a session on Ranger/Community relations. They’re staying over two nights and sharing a room and T.K. already knows his husband is going to come home pissed as hell, because he has it on good authority from Ashlyn that Campbell snores and is planning to short sheet Carlos’ bed.
Jonah is not thrilled that one of his favorite people will be out of town for the weekend, and has thoroughly expressed that displeasure multiple times this week. At bedtime last night, Carlos had promised that he would go into Jonah’s room this morning and kiss him goodbye while he was still sleeping, which he did before coming back to give T.K. his own kiss.
“Mhm,” T.K. grunts out an affirmative as he rolls over, sleep tugging him back down despite the conversation.
“And, T.K.? T.K.!” Jonah yells into his ear when he doesn’t respond fast enough.
“What??” T.K. groans. Sleep is apparently not happening.
“Is he gonna bring me a present?”
“He said that he would, so I’m sure he will.”
“But what is it gonna be?”
“Jonah.” T.K. mashes his face into his pillow. “I will give you one million dollars if you go play by yourself for twenty minutes.”
“Okay, but will you buy me some Pokémon cards at the store too?”
“Yes,” T.K. says desperately. “Yes, just, please go.”
“Okay!”
Jonah jumps off the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a loud thump before he thunders away down the hall.
T.K. snuggles back into his pillow, feeling himself drifting…drifting…
“T.K., I spilled!”
T.K. groans. This is revenge. He was a chaotic, never-sit-still, always on the go kid and the universe has delivered a mini version of himself right into his lap. He needs to apologize to his dad. And Enzo. And all the nannies who watched him when he was little. Probably his teachers too.
“Okay, I’m coming,” he calls back, dragging himself upright and heading downstairs to conquer whatever mess awaits him.
It’s milk. All over the counter, the floor, the stool Jonah is standing on, and his pajamas. “I’m sorry!” he says sweetly. “I can help!”
He hops down, trailing wet milk footprints behind him as he grabs a roll of paper towels and starts throwing them onto the mess.
“Okay, okay, just wait a second,” T.K. says, reaching for a kitchen towel instead. “Jojo, remember how we talked about you asking for help with the milk?”
“Yes, but you were sleeping. And I was thirsty.”
Valid points.
“Right, but next time let’s wait until a grown up can help, okay? Because this is a really big mess now and we don’t have anymore milk.”
“I said sorry!”
“I know,” T.K. says quickly. “I know, and I appreciate that. Let’s get this cleaned up and next time I want you to remember to ask for help.”
“I can try,” Jonah says. “But sometimes I don’t ‘member stuff you tell me. It’s like my brain goes poof!” He claps his hands together. “And then I don’t ‘member it.”
T.K. chuckles in spite of his early morning annoyance. You just have to love this kid. “Well let’s try and keep this lesson inside your brain.”
“Okay! But when can we go get my Pokémon cards?”
“You didn’t let me sleep. That was our deal,” T.K. tells him, proud of himself for sticking to his parenting guns as he dumps the sopping wet towel to the laundry.
“But…can we make a new deal?”
“I’ll think about it. You have Luca’s party today anyway, I don’t think you need more Pokémon cards. You’re going to get some fun things there probably.”
“Oh yeah!” Jonah brightens. “I’m gonna go get my party guy outfit!” He takes off down the hallway, yelling behind him, “But I still need more Pokémon cards!”
T.K.’s phone pings as he wipes up the last of the milk and puts the carton in the recycling.
Carlos
[7:18am] Halfway to Dallas. Campbell won’t stop playing elevator jazz music. He claims he likes it. I think he just likes fucking with me. How’s the morning going?
T.K.
[7:19am] Woke me up and asked me if you’d kissed him goodbye and wants to know what you’re bringing home for him. Tried to swindle me into Pokémon cards. Spilled half a gallon of milk. Has gone to put on his ‘party guy outfit’. No idea what that is.
Carlos
[7:22am] Very sad to be missing the ‘party guy outfit.’ Please send pics. Did you remind him about the milk?
T.K.
[7:23am] Yes. He says he can’t ‘member when we tell him things.
Carlos
[7:23am] Kind of like how his brother can’t ‘member how to load the dishwasher correctly?
T.K.
[7:24am] Or how his papa can’t ‘member the password for the Spotify account and asks for it constantly?
Carlos
[7:24am] Touché. Gotta go. Campbell has switched to EDM and I’m going to kill him.
T.K.
[7:24am] Tell Sam to drive safely. I want my baby home in one piece.
Carlos
[7:24am] Will do. Love you.
T.K.
[7:25am] Love you too.
“Okay I’m ready!”
Jonah bounds down the stairs and T.K. has to bite his lip to keep himself from cracking up. He’s wearing his cowboy boots, a pair of floral shorts, a clashing Hawaiian shirt with frogs on it, a bowtie from last Easter, and a sparkly fedora that he saw at Marjan’s house and fell in love with. And because his Auntie Marj adores him, she’d caved immediately and let him keep it.
“That is definitely a party guy outfit,” T.K. says.
“Yeah Luca likes frogs a lot so I weared my frog shirt for him,” Jonah says happily. “And my bowtie because sometimes you wear ties at parties.”
“It’s perfect,” T.K. tells him, and means it from the bottom of his heart. “Your papa wants a picture, can I send one to him?”
“Yeah! And tell him that I’m wearing my boots like a cool guy like him!”
“I will definitely tell him that.”
T.K. grabs his phone and Jonah strikes a pose, then another, then another, then wants to see them all, then wants to make a video, then asks for pancakes for breakfast.
Parenting a first grader is constant whiplash.
T.K. brews himself coffee, throws some pancakes in the toaster oven, and they chat amiably while they eat. Jonah is so excited about the birthday party and the fact that his friends Luca and Oliver and Farid and Sunny and Lyla and Mateo (“He has the SAME NAME as Tío Teo!!”) will be there. And there’s going to be a bounce house, but—and Jonah is very serious about this—no water balloons because if the birds eat the little pieces they will get so sick.
They wrap Luca’s present (a Lego set), which Jonah eyes longingly and T.K. makes a mental note to put on his Christmas list. Then they hit the grocery store for some new milk and frozen pizza and chicken nuggets for their special bro dinner later that night.
Bro dinner doesn’t happen very often, only when Carlos isn’t around. Jonah picks the menu and the movie, T.K. makes the popcorn and together they build a blanket fort in which to feast and watch. It’s one of the few things that makes Jonah less sad about Carlos not being with them.
They drop their purchases at home and around noon they head to Luca’s house for the festivities.
“T.K.! Look at the balloons!” Jonah says excitedly from the backseat.
T.K. notes the red, blue, yellow, and green cluster tied to the mailbox and pulls into the driveway. “I see them.”
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Jonah starts unbuckling himself the second that T.K. puts the car in park, waiting impatiently for his brother to open the door.
Signage directs them through a gate into the backyard where the aforementioned bounce house is set up along with more balloons, a swing-set, a back patio that T.K. might have to take design notes on for their own house, and a table laden with snacks and gifts.
“Hey you guys!” Lacey, Luca’s mom, greets them cheerfully. “Thanks for coming. Luca, come see who’s here!”
Luca pops his head out of the bounce house, a smile lighting up as he slides down the entrance ramp and comes running over. “Jonah! You came to my birthday!”
“Yeah! Here, we got this for you. It’s Legos,” Jonah says, thrusting the gift toward him.
“Jonah,” T.K. says quickly, too late to stop the surprise from being spoiled.
“Oops!” Jonah says. “I’m not supposed to tell you it’s Legos. Sorry!”
“It’s okay, I like Legos!” Luca says. “You wanna come in the bounce house?”
“Yeah! T.K., can you hold this?” He thrusts the present back into T.K.’s hands and takes off across the lawn, tossing his shoes aside carelessly and then scrambling inside the bounce house’s walls behind Luca.
“He cracks me up,” Lacey says. “I’m so glad he and Luca are in the same class again this year. I’m sure they drive Mrs. Hunter a little crazy, but Luca is so happy when he gets home at the end of the day.”
“Us too,” T.K. says. “Luca is such a good friend to Jonah. He’s been talking about this party for weeks.”
“Oh my god, I’m so glad it’s finally happening,” she says with a laugh. “Luca kept trying to change the theme on me. First it was bugs, then it was trucks, he could not make up his mind! But anyway, let me get you a drink. We’ve got lemonade, bubbly water, what would you like?”
The other kids and their moms start arriving and the party kicks off in full swing. Lacey is a great host with a ton of kid friendly activities, including a puppet craft and a piñata. They eat pizza and cupcakes and open gifts, jump enthusiastically in the bounce house, and chase each other around the yard. It all culminates in an animal expert who shows up with a bunny, a snake, a chinchilla, and a parrot that the kids get to pet and feed.
Jonah, like T.K., is incredibly social and has barely stopped to talk to T.K. at all, other than to ask if frogs have ever been to the moon before. So T.K. is surprised when he wanders over and plonks his head into T.K.’s bicep about an hour before the end of the party. “Hey bud, what’s up?” he asks.
“My belly hurts,” Jonah says pathetically.
“Your belly hurts?” T.K. reaches over and lifts him into his lap as all the moms make sympathetic sounds.
Jonah immediately mushes his face into T.K.’s shirt. He’s hot and sweaty and there’s a smear of dirt on his nose. “Let’s have some water, okay?” T.K. reaches for the bottle he’s been drinking out of and helps Jonah take a few sips.
When he’s done he lays his head against T.K.’s chest and T.K. feels a small thread of concern. This is not typical Jonah behavior, but it’s also pretty hot out and T.K. watched him hoover down a slice of pizza, a handful of goldfish, and two cupcakes earlier. His mouth is still stained blue. Plus he’s been bouncing and running around like a maniac. None of that lends itself to a happy tummy.
There’s no reason for T.K. to blow this out of proportion, but he finds himself searching for Jonah’s pulse anyway even as he continues to chat with the moms, pretending like everything is fine.
He expects Jonah to sit for a few minutes to catch his breath and then bound back into the fray. But his sticky hot body stays squished into T.K.’s lap, even when Mateo comes over and says, “Hey! Jonah! Do you wanna play alligators with us?”
Jonah shakes his head and tries to curl further into T.K. Alarm bells start going off in T.K.’s mind and he frowns, smoothing Jonah’s hair back from his forehead. “Bud, you really don’t feel good?”
Jonah shakes his head again and then gags.
In a flash T.K. pulls him off his lap and gets him on his feet where he retches, vomit hitting the lawn and narrowly missing T.K.’s shoes. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” T.K. soothes as Jonah starts to cry, the other moms getting up in a flurry of activity.
Sunny’s mom corrals the kids so they’re out of the way, and Mateo’s mom grabs some napkins to clean Jonah up, while Lacey runs inside to grab a spare shirt and shorts from Luca’s room. T.K.’s shoes are clean, but Jonah’s party guy outfit is another story.
“I wanna go home,” Jonah sobs and T.K.’s concern ratchets up several notches.
“We will bud, let’s just get you cleaned up first,” T.K. says, already mentally going through the supplies they have at home for upset kid tummies.
He gets Jonah cleaned up and changed into Luca’s clothes in the downstairs powder room, then wipes away the tear marks on his cheeks. “Does your belly feel any better now?” he asks.
“It still hurts,” Jonah says, his lip wobbling and fresh tears welling up in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry Jojo. When we get home you can take a little rest on the couch, okay?”
“Can I watch Bluey?”
“Yeah, you can watch Bluey.”
Jonah throws up again in the car. Thankfully Lacey had the forethought to send them off with an empty plastic bag in addition to Jonah’s party favors. He manages to catch most of it, but T.K. will definitely still be spending some time de-vomiting the car later.
When they get home he lifts Jonah out of his booster seat and carries him inside, setting him on the couch, and tucking a blanket around him. His next step is to retrieve the large plastic bowl they keep for these occasions. It only takes one toddler vomit incident to learn that you need a designated receptacle for this kind of thing.
“I’ll be right back,” he tells Jonah when he’s got Bluey going on the TV. “If you feel like you’re going to throw up again you can call for me, okay?”
“Okay.”
T.K. cleans out the car and then heads upstairs to grab their thermometer, his stethoscope, some Pedialyte, and a popsicle, texting Carlos as he goes.
T.K.
[5:45pm] Jonah threw up at the party. We’re home now. Hoping it was just too much sugar and heat.
He doesn’t get a response, but he’s not surprised. Carlos and Campbell are working, he’ll text when he can.
“Hey bub, I brought you a popsicle,” T.K. says. “I’m going to take your temperature and check your belly and then you can have it, okay?”
“Okay,” Jonah says, his voice tiny and sad.
T.K. places the thermometer in his ear and gets a reading of 99.8. Not a super high fever, possibly the result of all of Jonah’s party exertion, but he’s definitely going to keep an eye on it. Then he palpates Jonah’s abdomen, searching for anything abnormal, feeling relief when there’s no rebound tenderness. It doesn’t fully rule out appendicitis, but it’s a good sign.
“Good job,” he says when he’s done. “How about that popsicle now?”
“Papa says we’re not allowed to eat on the couch,” Jonah tells him and T.K.’s heart melts a little bit.
Jonah frequently refers to Carlos as “my papa” in a possessive sense, the same way one would refer to “my best friend” or “my favorite color.” But a straight up “Papa” is a rarer occurrence, a sign that Jonah is particularly happy or feeling particularly vulnerable. It’s one of T.K.’s favorite things, even if the circumstances this time aren’t the best.
“I know,” he says, “but this is a special situation. It’s okay this time.”
He gets Jonah sitting up with a towel underneath him to try and prevent as much mess as possible. Bluey continues to roll as they both slurp on their pops, orange for Jonah, red for T.K.
An hour passes and T.K. is almost ready to chalk the whole thing up to sugar and overexertion when Jonah barfs all over Luca’s shirt. T.K. drops his popsicle onto the coffee table and grabs the bowl, but it’s too late.
“I frewed up again,” Jonah says, tears threatening to fall.
“It’s okay,” T.K. says. “I’ll clean it up and then let’s take a bath.”
Jonah is listless in the bathtub, uninterested in playing with his toys like usual. When T.K. pulls him out and gets him into his jammies, he becomes extremely clingy, not wanting to be away from T.K. for even a second.
They end up back on the couch, an old episode of Doc McStuffins playing on the TV. T.K. tries to convince Jonah to take a few sips of Pedialyte, but he refuses, adding to T.K.’s growing concern.
T.K. has just gotten up to make Jonah some toast when his phone rings with a FaceTime call from Carlos. T.K. picks up immediately. “Hey babe.”
“Hey,” Carlos replies, concern furrowing his brow. “How’s our boy?”
“He’s been better,” T.K. says, glancing back at the couch where Jonah is staring blankly at the TV. “Low grade fever, no appetite. I think it’s probably a stomach bug.”
“Poor guy,” Carlos says, sympathy twisting the corners of his mouth.
“Hopefully it’s one of those twenty-four hour things.”
“Hopefully. How was the party otherwise?”
“It was fun. He got to pet a snake.”
Carlos shivers. “That’s…great.”
“Do you want to talk to him?”
“Yeah, if he’s up for it.”
T.K. walks back to the couch. “Jojo, look who’s on the phone.”
Jonah perks up a little bit. “Hi Papa.”
“Hey monkey, how are you?”
“I frowed up at lot,” he says sadly.
“I heard. I’m so sorry.”
“Are you still gonna bring me a present?”
“Yes.” Carlos chuckles. “I will definitely still bring you a present.”
“Will you bring T.K. a present too?”
T.K.’s heart melts. Their boy is the sweetest.
Carlos smiles. “Yes, T.K. can have a present too. Did Luca like his birthday present?”
“Yeah, he likes Legos.”
They chat for a little longer until Jonah begins to flag and then say their goodbyes before T.K. returns to the kitchen to finish his conversation with Carlos. “How are things with Campbell? Did you get checked into your room?”
“We’re all checked in. I’m trying to convince him to go over the presentation one more time, but he keeps saying we don’t need to. That I’m overdoing it and taking all the spontaneity out of things. Who wants spontaneity in a presentation?!”
Carlos looks perturbed and T.K. suppresses a chuckle. “I’m so sorry babe. I have a feeling Campbell wasn’t great at group projects in school.”
“I just think slide five needs to be adjusted.”
“Then go fix it and leave Campbell to flounder.”
Carlos huffs a little. “Yeah. I think I will.” His face turns more serious. “Hey, just a heads up, there’s like no reception in the convention center. We get some here in the room, but if I don’t answer right away, it’s because nothing is coming through.”
“Got it,” T.K. says. “I should probably go put the little man to bed. Hoping for a good night’s sleep so he can bounce right back in the morning.”
“Keep me posted please.”
“I will. Good luck tomorrow. Tell Campbell I hope they put vanilla creamer in his coffee instead of milk tomorrow morning.”
Carlos laughs. “I can always count on you for petty vengeance.”
“Always. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The night that follows is long and awful. Jonah throws up three more times and T.K. ends up sleeping under a blanket on his bedroom floor because Jonah won’t stop crying or let him leave the room.
When T.K.gets up in the morning, he’s bleary eyed and has a headache from lack of sleep. He finishes a full cup of coffee while Jonah is still asleep, which is concerning. Jonah is typically the first one up in the house, and if he’s not, he definitely starts to stir as soon as he senses anyone else is waking up. T.K.’s coffee is usually abandoned after a few sips in favor of playing cars or coloring or doing play-doh.
When he checks on Jonah post-coffee he finds his breathing and pulse a little fast, and his temperature has soared up to 101.9. A second check reveals the same results and T.K. starts to wonder whether a trip to the pediatrician is warranted.
It’s so easy for him to veer directly to worst case scenarios after all his years of working with the fire department. Carlos has had to talk him off a ledge more than once when it comes to Jonah’s health and safety. It’s gotten better as Jonah has grown, but in the early days T.K. felt like he might fall apart any time Jonah scraped his knee or refused to eat fruit, certain his little brother was going to end up with a flesh eating bacteria or scurvy.
Today T.K.’s anxiety is once again soaring. When Jonah wakes up and immediately throws up again, then refuses any and all food or liquid, it makes the decision for him. He snags a mid-morning appointment at the pediatrician and swiftly gets Jonah changed and into the car.
It’s not until they arrive that T.K. realizes their usual doctor is out and they’re seeing someone different, a doctor T.K. has never encountered before.
He comes in after they’ve already been waiting for forty-five minutes. Jonah has been crying for at least thirty of those, snuggled tightly in T.K.’s lap. He hasn’t thrown up since they arrived, but T.K. suspects it’s because there’s not much left inside him anymore.
“I’m Dr. Reynolds,” the man says when he finally enters, eyes glued to the iPad in front of him. “Jonah Morgan, right?”
“Yes,” T.K. replies.
Dr. Reynolds takes a seat on a stool and finally looks up. “So, Dad had to bring you in today huh? Where’s Mom?”
T.K. is exhausted and worried and his blood boils so hot and fast he’s surprised steam doesn’t come out of his ears. “I’m his brother and legal guardian,” he bites out. “It’s all notated in his file.”
Dr. Reynolds looks at his iPad again. “Oh. Right. So, tummy ache?”
“He’s been throwing up since yesterday afternoon,” T.K. says. “Fever consistently over a hundred even after medication. Belly is soft, no rebound tenderness.”
“Rebound tenderness?” Dr. Reynolds chuckles. “Okay slow your roll there Mr…?”
“Strand,” T.K. says, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“Mr. Strand. We don’t need to be worrying about that, I don’t think. Anxious parenting never helped anybody. Sounds to me like a run of the mill stomach virus.”
“He can’t keep anything down,” T.K. says. “Everything I’ve tried comes back up. And now he’s refusing to eat or drink anything. I’m worried about dehydration.”
“Probably one of those twenty-four hour things,” Dr. Reynolds says, tapping a few more times on the iPad. “Okay, let’s take a look.”
The exam happens so fast T.K. doesn’t even have time to protest before Dr. Reynolds is back out the door prescribing rest and liquids. “Try popsicles,” he suggests as he heads out. “Kids love popsicles.”
T.K. is livid, but Jonah is crying again, so that takes his full attention as they head miserably back to the car and home.
The late morning stretches into afternoon and by three o’clock T.K. has had it. Jonah is lethargic and refusing to try anything he offers, including soda, which is usually completely off limits in their house. His temp is still elevated and he’s cranky beyond belief; one second he wants T.K. holding him, the next he’s pushing him away and demanding space.
Feeling desperate T.K. calls the one person he can count on for solid medical parenting advice. “I’m worried he’s dehydrating,” T.K. says, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “But I’m also worried that I’m being paranoid.”
“It doesn’t sound like you are honey,” Tommy tells him, the squeal of the ambulance siren cutting into their call. “You’re his parent. And a paramedic. You need to follow your instincts.”
“Okay,” T.K. says heavily. “Then I think we have to go to the ER.”
“You’ve got this,” she says. “Stand up for your kid.”
“Yeah! Don’t take anybody’s shit!” Nancy yells into the phone.
“And call us if you need us. We’re here for you,” Tommy adds.
“Thanks Cap,” T.K. says, the habit still ingrained even after a year and a half of being a stay-at-home-brother-dad.
He hangs up and looks down at Jonah who is glassy eyed and completely unmoving on the sofa. Better to be safe than sorry.
He packs an overnight bag and Ziggy, Jonah’s comfort zebra, and calls Carlos from the car. It goes straight to voicemail and T.K. grimaces at having to leave such a distressing message, but it can’t be helped. “Hey babe, it’s me. I’m taking Jonah to the ER. He’s not getting better and I’m worried about dehydration. Call me when you get this. Love you.”
“You should have told me you were changing slide five,” Campbell drawls as they pack up their laptops and presentation materials.
“You lost the privilege to know about additional slide changes when you short sheeted my bed,” Carlos tells him without remorse.
“That,” Campbell says, pausing his work to point at Carlos, “was funny. And you know it.”
“It was juvenile,” Carlos says, mostly annoyed because he hadn’t realized what Campbell had done until it was too late. But the joke’s on Campbell because Carlos has stolen all of his underwear and he doesn’t plan to give it back anytime soon.
“You gotta lighten up a little bit Reyes,” Campbell tells him, shouldering his bag as they head back into the main hall of the conference. “This job’ll eat you alive if you don’t laugh about it once in a while.”
“I laugh plenty,” Carlos says, flashing him a smirk. “I laughed last week when that woman sucker punched you.”
Campbell frowns. “That was a low blow. Good thing Ash and I are done having kids.”
“Your voice went up about three octaves. ‘Ma’am, we just need to ask you some questions about your neighbor, we don’t care if you’re illegally de-clawing cats,’” Carlos imitates, pitching his voice up.
“I did not sound like that!”
“And, I laughed when the Chief chewed you out for scraping the paint off the Ford.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Campbell says in annoyance. “You were the one in the passenger seat telling me not to lose the suspect. What was I supposed to do? Let him get away? That bridge was real narrow and we were in a high speed pursuit!”
“I’m just saying, every time I drive the Ford it comes back in pristine condition,” Carlos says primly.
“Y’know what? Next time we do a presentation, I’m gonna change all the slides to pictures of you asleep in the bull pen. Let’s see you talk your way outta that one,” Campbell gripes.
“They’re power naps,” Carlos says defensively. “They help me refocus during a long case.”
“What part refocuses you? The part where your mouth is hanging open so wide a bronco could buck its way through?”
“Excuse me?” Their good-natured ribbing is interrupted by a fellow ranger who has a question about their presentation.
When they bid him goodbye they head back to their room to drop off their things before rejoining the convention.
“So,” Carlos says, as they head down the hallway to their hotel room, “which session do you want to go to next? Looks like there’s a good one on case management systems in thirty minutes.”
“I’d rather fall ass first into a cactus.” Sam unlocks their room. “I’m hitting the bar. I need a beer after all that. And some barbecue. Or a taco.”
Carlos sets his bag down on the small desk in the corner. “A beer and one taco is going to be enough help you recover from today?”
“Probably more like six beers and six tacos, but we’ll see. The day is young. Are you coming? Or are you going to sit on your ass in one more mind-numbing snooze fest?”
“Wow, I really hope that’s exactly how everyone described our presentation,” Carlos says dryly.
He’s about to concede that the bar sounds like a much better option than another session when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket; he must finally be getting some reception after several hours of no service. A bunch of messages come through at once: a reminder about his haircut on Tuesday, a picture of his niece’s soccer game from his sister, and a voicemail from T.K. time stamped forty minutes ago.
Carlos frowns and holds it up to listen, his heart beginning to pound as he hears T.K.’s tense tone and clipped words.
“What is it?” Sam asks, having clocked Carlos’ abrupt change in mood.
“T.K.’s taking Jonah to the hospital,” Carlos says, fear clenching at his insides so tightly he almost can’t breathe. “He’s been sick and I—”
The panic rises up swift, white hot, all consuming. The last time he felt this panicked was the night his father died. He can’t think, can’t process what’s happening, all he can see is Jonah’s scared little face and T.K., terrified, alone with him at the ER.
“You need to go home,” Sam says firmly.
“I—I don’t have a car,” Carlos says faintly. They drove up in Sam’s truck. He could take an Uber, but that would be crazy expensive. There’s the bus, but that will take forever—
“Take mine. I’ll have Ash come and get me when the conference is over.”
“Are you sure?”
“That you need to get home to your kid and husband and this is the fastest way to do it? Yes. Pack your bag and go. I’ll handle everything here.”
His things are back in his suitcase within five minutes and they’re in the parking garage within ten, Sam handing over the keys and clapping a hand firmly on Carlos’ shoulder. “Keep me posted, all right?”
“Yeah,” Carlos says, his mind already miles away in Austin. “Thanks Sam.”
“Don’t mention it,” Sam replies. “Drive safe.”
He calls T.K. the second he hits the highway. “Hey,” his husband says, answering after the third ring.
It’s just one word, but Carlos tries to parse a thousand meanings out of it. Is that a slight tremor? A crack on the vowel? Does T.K. sound exhausted or terrified or sad and what do each of those emotions mean?
“I’m on my way,” Carlos says.
“Oh I didn’t—I didn’t mean you had to come home. Your conference—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Carlos says firmly. “I’m coming. How is he?”
“Um,” T.K.’s voice definitely breaks a little bit now and Carlos’ heart twists painfully inside his chest, his foot pressing down harder on the gas. “He’s still pretty out of it. They took blood to run some tests and he didn’t even flinch.”
Carlos winces. Jonah hates needles. For him to get a blood draw without any kind of fit is not a good sign.
“They started him on fluids to help with the dehydration,” T.K. continues. “His fever is still pretty high, but they gave him a dose of Tylenol, so hopefully that will help. Tests should be back in a couple hours. I’m hoping it’s just a really bad stomach bug that’s wiping him out. If so the fluids should perk him up soon and then we can go home.”
“Okay,” Carlos says. “That all sounds good. I should be there in about two and a half hours.”
“Okay. How um, how are you getting here?”
“Campbell gave me his truck.”
“Oh. Good.”
There’s a beat of silence, both of them hurting and too far away from each other to do anything about it. “I love you,” Carlos says, at a loss for anything else. “Give Jonah a kiss for me. Tell him I’ll be there soon.”
“Yeah, yeah I will. Love you too.”
Carlos’ mind feels blank during the rest of his drive. The miles seem to stretch in front of him forever and yet somehow, before he knows it, he’s pulling into the hospital parking lot.
His heart thumps painfully in his chest as he makes his way into the ER, past people with pale faces and injured limbs and crying babies. The woman at the intake desk walks him to a quiet corner and when she pulls back the curtain Carlos’ eyes immediately land on Jonah.
He’s asleep in a bed that makes him look even smaller than he is at six-years-old. There’s an IV in one arm and Ziggy is tucked securely into the other. His iPad with its blue case lies next to him, an episode of Daniel Tiger frozen on the screen.
T.K. is curled up around him, one hand stroking through Jonah’s hair, and relief fills his eyes when he looks up and sees Carlos.
“Hey,” he says, softly, slowly extricating himself from Jonah’s sleeping form and rising from the bed.
Carlos pulls him into a hug, trying to project safety and warmth and comfort, even though he feels like he’s about to shake apart. T.K. holds on tightly and takes several shuddery breaths.
“Are you okay?” Carlos asks. He didn’t ask on the phone, because if their roles had been reversed, Carlos would have fallen apart the second the question was posed. He didn’t want to risk T.K.’s composure shattering while he was still too far away to help him bear the weight of it..
“Um,” T.K.’s voice cracks, “not really.”
“Yeah.” Carlos nods in understanding, holding on tighter. He’s not sure which of them needs the hug more, but either way, neither of them seems to want to let go.
“Thanks for coming home,” T.K. says, his voice muffled in Carlos’ shirt.
Carlos pulls back a little so he can cradle T.K.’s face in his hands. “I’ll always come home for you guys. Always.”
He punctuates this with a soft kiss and then looks toward Jonah. “How’s he doing?”
“Better. His fever is down. Test results came back negative for anything serious, so it seems like it’s just a wicked stomach bug. He was definitely dehydrated, but he perked up about an hour after we got here. The fluids are really helping. And he hasn’t thrown up in a while.”
“That all sounds good,” Carlos says, more relief flooding through him.
“I think they’re going to send us home once this IV finishes. Maybe another hour or so.”
“Okay great,” Carlos says. “What can I do? Do you want me to get you anything? Coffee or tea? Something to eat?”
“No, I’m good,” T.K. says. “You’re the one who just drove three hours to get here.”
Carlos opens his mouth to insist that T.K. take a little break from parenting duty, but there’s a small, “Papa?” from the bed and everything beyond their kid goes out the window.
“Hey monkey,” Carlos says, sitting down next to him and running a hand over Jonah’s hair. “I missed you.”
“Papa, did you come home?”
Being called Papa always lights Carlos up from the inside out, even in less than fun circumstances. “I did come home,” Carlos says, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I heard you weren’t feeling very good. How’s your belly?”
“It hurted a lot,” Jonah says. “But T.K. taked care of me.”
“He’s a good brother huh?” Carlos says.
“Yeah, he gaved me popsicles on the couch and I told him we couldn’t eat on the couch, but he said it was okay this time.”
T.K. huffs a tired laugh at being ratted out by his brother and Carlos chuckles along with him. “It was definitely okay this time.”
“Yeah, hey, um Carlos? Did you bring me my present?”
Now Carlos laughs in earnest. He and T.K. are hanging on by a single emotional thread, but the six-year-old has his priorities sorted. “I did. Do you want it now? Or when we get home?”
“Can I have it now?”
He should have known. Carlos hands Jonah the plastic bag he brought in with him and Jonah pulls it open eagerly. “Oh I like it!” he says excitedly when he gets the little stuffed armadillo in his hands. “He has two belts and a hat like you do!”
“He does,” Carlos says. “He’s Ranger Armadillo.”
“Armadillos can’t see very good,” Jonah tells him. “But they can smell so much instead.”
“That’s very cool,” Carlos says.
“Where’s T.K.’s present?” Jonah asks, looking around as if another gift will magically appear.
“His is in the car. I’ll give it to him later,” Carlos promises.
“Okay. Can we go home now?”
An hour and a half later Jonah has been diagnosed with a violent stomach virus and they’re free of the hospital and headed back to the house. It’s beyond late and Jonah falls asleep again on the drive. He doesn’t even stir as Carlos carries him upstairs and tucks him in, making sure Ziggy and his new armadillo friend are right next to him and that his covers aren’t too tight or falling off. He gives Jonah’s hair one more ruffle before heading back downstairs to find T.K. trying to clean up the mess that has become their home.
There are crumpled up tissues and half finished drinks all over the coffee table in the living room along with some half eaten crackers and a piece of cold toast. The puke bowl is on the floor—clean, thankfully—along with a handful of popsicle wrappers, several of Jonah’s favorite toys, and almost every blanket they own.
The kitchen is in almost the same state, the sink full of dirty cups and bowls, evidence of twenty-four hours worth of war against the world’s worst stomach bug. T.K. is currently scrubbing at a pot in the sink, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion.
Carlos comes up behind him and gently removes the pot from his hands, setting it back into the sink. “Come with me,” he says.
“There are a million dishes in here Carlos, I have to get at least some of them cleaned up.”
“No you don’t.”
“This place is a mess,” T.K. argues. “You left two days ago and came home to a disaster.”
“It’s not a disaster. It can wait. You need to take a break. Come on.”
He takes T.K.’s hand and bypasses the living room, guiding him upstairs instead. “I want you to take a bath,” Carlos tells him, putting just a little weight into the words, not quite a command, but also not just a suggestion. T.K. has spent the last two days taking care of Jonah, and now he needs to be taken care of. “I’m going to order some food. Do you want to pick or do you want me to?”
“You can pick,” T.K. says, looking like the exhaustion is finally hitting him full force.
Carlos hesitates. “Are you okay up here by yourself?”
“Yeah,” T.K. says, working unsuccessfully at the buttons on his shirt.
Carlos brushes his hands away and takes over, fingers working much faster than his husband’s. “Are you sure?”
T.K. fixes him with a withering look. “I’m not going to fall asleep and drown in the bathtub, Carlos.”
“Mhm.” Carlos will be checking on him in ten minutes just to be sure.
He leaves T.K. to it after finishing his buttons and then places an order for dumplings before doing some of the tidying up he shooed his husband away from. When he checks on T.K. he is, predictably, nodding off in the tub, so Carlos coaxes him out, wrapping him in a towel while T.K. grumpily protests that he is not a toddler and doesn't need help.
“I know you don’t need help,” Carlos says, letting him go so he can dry himself off. “But you’ve had a hard few days.”
“So have you,” T.K. protests, pulling on a well worn pair of sweatpants. “You literally had to steal a car to get here.”
“That was the only part I liked,” Carlos says with a smile. “Do you think I can get the truck painted electric green before Campbell comes home tomorrow?”
T.K. snorts. “Revenge for short sheeting your bed?”
Carlos’ mouth falls open. “You knew he was going to do that?”
“Ashlyn ratted him out.”
“Wow, some husband you are. Pretty sure it was in our vows that you have to tell me when my work partner is out to get me.”
“Huh, was that in there? I don’t think I was listening during that part. Too busy thinking about how hot you looked in your tux.”
“You’re so easily distracted,” Carlos says fondly as T.K. sits down next to him. He reaches over and threads their hands together. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry you had to do so much of this by yourself.”
“It’s okay,” T.K. says, not meeting Carlos’ eyes. “We were fine.”
“Were you?” Carlos asks softly, already knowing the answer. “Because it would be okay if you weren’t.”
T.K. slumps, exhaustion and the stress of the whole ordeal washing away the last of his defenses. “I hated this weekend,” he says, the picture of defeat. “Will you hold me?”
Carlos doesn’t even hesitate, folding himself onto the bed and pulling T.K. into him. T.K. sighs and burrows into him. “The bed feels lonely when you’re not here,” he says. “I mean, not that it really mattered this time. Mostly I slept on Jonah’s floor. Which was also lonely.”
“You slept on his floor? Baby your back must be killing you,” Carlos says, rubbing T.K.’s hip in sympathy.
“He didn’t want me to leave. He was so sad and he was already all tucked in, it just seemed easier than trying to move him to our bed.”
Carlos hums into his hair, pressing his lips into the still damps strands. “You were super dad this weekend. I’m so proud of you.”
“It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I did awful. He was so sick he had to go to the hospital, Carlos. That’s not a good parent.”
“Kids get sick,” Carlos says. “You did everything you could. You took care of him, and he’s okay. That’s what matters. There’s no reason to beat yourself up for things you can’t control.”
“Mhm, just like you’re not beating yourself up for being far away when all this happened because you’re aware that that was also outside of your control and there’s nothing you could have done differently?”
Carlos grimaces. They know each other too well. “Guilty.”
T.K. looks up at him. “Being a dad is really hard sometimes.”
“It is,” Carlos agrees. “But he’s worth it. Jonah is so, so worth it. And I’m so grateful that you took such good care of him this weekend.”
“I love him so much,” T.K. says, his eyelids drooping. “I love you both so much. No more hospitals for a while, okay?”
“Okay,” Carlos says, kissing his forehead. “Go to sleep. I’ll get Jonah if he wakes up.”
“But you ordered food,” T.K. mumbles, already losing the battle against slumber. “And I want my present.”
“I’ll wake you up when the food gets here,” Carlos says. “You can have your present tomorrow.”
He expects a protest, but all he gets is a deep sigh of contentment and the feeling of T.K. going soft in his arms. Carlos closes his own eyes and breathes him in. It doesn’t matter where he is in the world or what’s going on. Being home with his two boys is everything.