Chapter 17

Christian

I look over in the darkness at Hailey in my bed, her chest heaving slightly, a blissful smile curving her lips. Three times. Her pleasure is my artwork, and I’ve painted a masterpiece tonight.

My mind, though, is racing. Even as I enjoy this, I can’t forget the stakes involved. Hailey is nothing like the women I’ve been with before. I’ve never been interested in someone like her, honestly. But she is without a doubt, someone good for me. She doesn’t expect me to be perfect or have all the answers. She’s strong in a way that complements my need for control, but soft enough to remind me there’s more to life than chasing success. Her vulnerability challenges everything I’ve built around myself.

How can someone who’s been hurt so much still have hope, still believe in people? She makes me question everything I thought I knew about relationships, and about myself. I just wish I knew what to do with that.

Suddenly, a faint cry slices through the intimacy. Addison .

“I can go,” I say gently.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve got it.” Hailey is already untangling herself from the sheets, slipping on a silk robe that does little to conceal the curves I’ve just worshipped. She floats across the room, and I sprawl back on the bed, arms behind my head. Who would’ve thought? Christian Bradford, content in the afterglow, listening for the sounds of a baby. My daughter. “Bring her back with you,” I call softly, hoping my voice carries. I want them both here, in this sanctuary we’ve created.

Time stretches, marked only by the distant sound of traffic and muffled shuffles from the monitor. Then Hailey reappears, Addison cradled in one arm, a bottle in her other hand.

“Hey, sweetness,” I greet as they approach. Hailey sits on the edge, carefully positioning Addison and offering the bottle.

I prop myself up on an elbow, watching them. Addison latches on, her hand wrapping around Hailey’s finger. “Look at you two,” I whisper, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from Addison’s brow.

“She’s radiating heat,” Hailey responds quietly, eyes never leaving Addison’s face.

It’s a picture-perfect moment, yet something twists inside me. My fingers smooth over her forehead, and sure enough, the heat there sparks anxiety in my chest.

I grab my phone from the nightstand, thumbing a message to Dr. Cordelia.

Me: Addison’s had a fever on and off for days now. Not getting better. What do we do?

Cordelia’s response is immediate.

Cordelia: I’m at the hospital. Bring her in now.

“Let’s go. Dr. Cordelia wants to see her.” The words are out before I even register them. With haste that borders on frenzy, Hailey and I dress, avoiding each other’s gaze.

I race down the stairs with Addison in her car seat, heading to the Range Rover. Hailey is hot on my heels. “Come on,” I bark anyway. “Hurry up.”

“I’m right behind you,” she says.

I don’t even remember shutting the garage door as we race to the emergency room. The world outside is a blur, every honking horn and streaking headlight merely background noise to the thudding of my heart.

The hospital looms ahead. We’re ushered into one of the pediatric emergency department bays. Addison only wants to be held, but a series of nurses and PAs need to examine her. We’re in a large area full of assorted equipment, and we can hear a young boy crying. Thankfully it’s not long before Cordelia appears.

“Hello, Addison. I hear you’re not feeling well?” Cordelia says as she takes her from my arms.

She talks to Addison like she’ll understand. “I’m going to use a needle to extract some blood from your finger for a CBC. We want to measure the different kinds of blood cells in your body. It will hurt for just a few seconds, but don’t worry about it.”

Cordelia distracts Addison enough that she hardly notices the prick. She sends the sample off with a lab tech. Then a nurse brings in a portable echocardiogram.

“Dad? Can you hold Addison so I can take some pictures of her heart?”

“Of course,” I say. We strip her down, and I hold her close.

Cordelia coats the pediatric heart wand with warm gel, keeping up a steady stream of conversation with Addison, who simply smiles and remains mostly calm. “You’re doing great,” Cordelia praises. As I watch my daughter’s heart on the screen, my stomach twists at the realization that my little girl is ill.

The lab tech returns and hands Cordelia the results she’s looking for from the blood draw. Her face falls. I shut my eyes to prepare for the bad news.

“Endocarditis,” she says after what feels like an eternity. “A heart infection.”

I know what endocarditis is, and it’s not good for an adult, so even worse for my baby girl, especially since her Down syndrome makes her heart vulnerable. Hailey’s hand finds mine, her grip a cornerstone.

“IV antibiotics,” Cordelia continues. “I’m admitting her up in the peds ward. We’ll start her treatment immediately. And I’ve put in a call to Davis. He’s on his way.”

“Thank you,” I choke out, my throat tight with unshed tears.

“We’re doing everything we can,” she assures us.

As Cordelia walks away to tend to her duties, I look down at Addison, who seems sleepy and a little confused, but mostly unfazed.

We’re moved upstairs to the bright walls of the pediatric ward and placed in a private room with two large chairs that extend for adults to sleep in. The nurses get Addison settled quickly and attach leads to the heart monitor and tubes to her nose for oxygen. I marvel at how fast a child’s heart beats compared to my typical patient.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor fills the room as a nurse enters to attach an IV line to Addison’s scalp. Hailey yelps.

“This is normal for children under a year old,” I assure her, though Addison’s cry brings tears to my eyes as well.

Once the nurse leaves, I sit by Addison’s hospital bed, my hand holding hers, focused on the fragile rhythm of her heartbeat. Endocarditis . The word itself is a punch to the gut. It’s something I should’ve been prepared for, given her condition, but nothing in all my years of medicine has prepared me for this. For her.

I never thought I could love someone like this. I never expected Addison to mean so much. When she arrived unexpectedly, she was just another responsibility, a piece of the puzzle I had to figure out. But now… Now, I realize she’s part of me. She’s everything. Her laugh, her hands reaching out for me, the way she trusts me without question—it’s more than I ever thought I could handle, but I’ll do anything to keep her safe and healthy. Seeing her like this, so small and vulnerable, I feel a helplessness I’ve never known. I’ve saved so many lives, but right now, all I want is to save hers.

“I can’t believe we…” Hailey’s voice breaks. “We were… And she was right there suffering.”

“We didn’t know,” I tell her. “We couldn’t have known.” But my reassurances sound hollow, even to my own ears. I’m wrestling with the same self-reproach. The laughter and shared pleasure now feel like a betrayal, a frivolity we had no right to indulge in.

She nods, but her gaze remains fixed on Addison.

A knock at the door pulls our attention as Davis Martin enters the room, his lab coat crisp. “Christian,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand.

I introduce Hailey, reminding him she’s Addison’s nanny.

He nods his hello. “I’m sorry to say this, but Addison’s heart is struggling. It’s not uncommon for children with Down syndrome to have cardiac issues. We’re going to beat this infection, but eventually she’s going to need surgery for the congenital septal defect, likely before she turns two.”

His words strike me, a blunt-force trauma to my already battered psyche. Surgery . I look down at Addison, her tiny fingers in mine, her trust absolute. She doesn’t understand the trials ahead, the pain she’ll have to endure.

“Okay,” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “Whatever it takes. We’ll do whatever we have to in order to make her better.”

Davis nods as he explains the treatment plan in meticulous detail. I absorb every word, committing them to memory. I’ve said things like this to adults before. I’m well aware of the risks. But for now, my daughter needs me to be strong.

“Thank you, Davis,” I say when he finishes, grateful that he’s a friend as well as Addison’s doctor.

“Of course,” he replies. He takes another moment to assess Addison before leaving us.

I look back at Hailey, whose focus has never strayed from Addison. Even how she’s stroking her finger over Addison’s hand. Our roles, undefined as they may be in many ways, are clear in this instance. We are Addison’s guardians, her warriors against an unseen enemy.

“We’re going to get her through this,” I tell Hailey. “Together.”

“Together,” she echoes, and in that single word, I find strength.

I rise and pace for a moment, needing to move. Eventually, I lean against the cool, sterile wall of the hospital room, focusing on Addison’s small, flushed face. She doesn’t seem terribly distressed, and I don’t know if that makes things better or worse. I don’t want her to suffer in any way, of course, but I hate that this enemy is so subtle. I feel like I may never relax again, though I’m determined to carry this burden for her as much as I can.

Davis returns with his clipboard in hand.

“How’s Taylor doing?” he asks casually, glancing up from his notes. “Should we call her?”

“Taylor’s pursuing her acting career in LA,” I respond, the words automatic. And based on what the PI reported when he confirmed she was there, at least once, she did a little partying on the side. That was all I needed to know. “We’ve had no contact with her.”

“Ah, and Hailey?” He looks over at her. “Would you like her listed as an authorized decision maker? I know she’s usually the one bringing Addison to her appointments…” He trails off, looking at me expectantly.

Suddenly, I’m irritated. What’s he getting at? “She’s the nanny,” I answer too quickly, too curtly. “She’ll continue to be part of Addison’s care.”

A flicker of pain crosses Hailey’s eyes so quickly I almost miss it. But before I can react, she murmurs an excuse and slips into the restroom.

Davis watches her leave, then turns back to me, a knowing look in his eyes. He sees through the facade I’ve tried to put up.

“Let’s go over the treatment plan one more time,” Davis says, returning to the reason we’re here. “Endocarditis is tricky, but we’ve caught it early enough.”

He details the regimen of IV antibiotics, explaining that if they work well, Addison could continue receiving them orally at home after the initial assessment. Antibiotic treatment will be roughly four to six weeks, he estimates, depending on her response.

I hate that immediately. The hospital is a warren of bacteria, viruses, and fungi brought in by patients, visitors, and staff. My little girl has a weakened immune system. This seems the last place she should be. “We need to get her out of here,” I blurt. Addison should be somewhere other than this cold room filled with beeping machines and antiseptic smells, somewhere familiar and warm.

“Exactly,” Davis responds, closing his folder with a snap. “It’s always better for recovery if the patient is in a comfortable environment. If we can get the infection under control, I’m sure we can shift her to home care and oral antibiotics sooner rather than later. We’ll get her managed as quickly as we can and be vigilant in the meantime.”

“Thank you, Davis,” I say.

“Anytime,” he replies and heads out again.

I sit there a moment, my gaze moving to the closed bathroom door. It’s been several minutes since Hailey slipped inside, and I know she’s upset. The silence is killing me.

I take a step forward, my hand raised to knock, hesitating as if it’s not just the door I’m about to breach, but something far more intimate and fragile. “Hailey?”

There’s no response. With a steadying breath, I tap lightly, and then, without waiting for an answer, I push the door open.

Hailey sits on the edge of the toilet, her face buried in her hands. When she looks up, her eyes are red-rimmed, the remnants of tears glistening on her cheeks.

“Hey,” I begin, my throat tight with emotion. “I’m sorry, Hailey. I didn’t mean to—”

She shakes her head, dismissing my words before they’re fully formed. “It’s fine. You told the truth. You don’t have to explain. This is on me. Dana’s always been clear who you are. I’m the nanny. I would do well to remember that.”

Her admission stuns me. That’s not true. “No, I want us to be something more. You are something more. But I don’t talk about my personal life with anyone. It’s not their place to know.” I pause, searching for the right words. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not important, and not just because of Addison.”

There’s a spark in her eyes, and it strengthens my resolve. “What we have, our relationship? It’s ours,” I tell her. “No one else’s business.”

Her gaze holds mine. Then she nods, just once, and the simple gesture feels like a truce. But the wall she’s built is high, and it’s my fault.

What does she want from me? I’m not the settling-down type. Clearly, Dana told her. Do I need to tell her? Do I want to tell her? I don’t really know what’s true for me anymore, and right now, with Addison in crisis, there’s no way I can find clarity.

Her phone pings, then twice more in rapid succession. Her hand clenches into a fist, and she takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Are you all right? Who’s trying to reach you?” I ask.

She hesitates for just a heartbeat before answering. “It’s Franklin. He says he left something in the apartment, and he wants it back.” Her brow furrows. “He won’t say what it was. And I’m certain I didn’t pack up anything that was his when I moved everything into storage.”

“Are you okay handling it?” I ask. “How can I help?” Her stress levels seem to rise with every vibration of the device.

Hailey nods, though it’s clear she’s far from okay. I fight the impulse to take matters into my own hands. “Let me know if you need help,” I offer instead, making sure she knows I’m here.

“I can handle it,” she asserts softly.

“Okay.” I nod. There’s just so much on our plates already. “Thank you for being here with me, and with Addison. She needs you. I appreciate all you do for us.”

She offers a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. With a final nod, I step back into the hospital room and return to Addison’s bedside, where I pull out my phone. It’s after eight now, and we’ve been awake all night. My thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before I dial my mother.

“Mom, it’s Addison…” I say when she answers. “She’s in the hospital.”

“Christian! What happened?” There’s panic in her tone, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself enough to explain.

“Endocarditis. We’re at the hospital now. She’s getting treatment,” I tell her, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

“I’m coming,” she says, and we hang up without further pleasantries.

I turn to Hailey. “My mom is on her way. I need to run home and get a few things, but if I go now, I should be back before she arrives. It seems we’ll be here for a while.”

“That sounds fine. I’ll be here when you return.”

The drive home feels longer than usual, my mind racing with concerns. Once I arrive, I hastily grab fresh clothes. I have a shaving kit and toiletries already in my locker at the hospital. I debate packing things for Hailey, but it feels too personal. She will need a break and can come home herself after I return. Maybe even get some sleep.

I retrace my steps to the hospital and upstairs to Addison’s room without pausing. But when I reach the doorway, the sight that greets me stills my frantic pace. Mom is here, her elegant frame bent slightly as she leans over to gaze at Addison. Hailey stands beside her, a steady sentinel whose conversation with my mother halts abruptly upon my arrival. There’s tension in Hailey’s shoulders, an unspoken upset in the air, but she avoids my gaze.

“Hi,” I greet them.

Mom looks relieved to see me, but it’s Addison’s reaction that tightens my chest with emotion. She squirms in her bed, her little hands reaching for me, her face scrunched in discomfort. As soon as our gazes meet, she releases a tiny, plaintive whimper.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” I say softly. Addison clings to me instantly, her small body curling toward me as if she could burrow away from all her ailments. My heart aches with a father’s love, fierce and protective.

“Mom, thanks for coming,” I murmur, stealing a look over at Hailey. I vow to find a moment to mend whatever has upset her.

My mother strokes Addison’s wispy hair, a tender gesture that feels foreign coming from her. “I don’t like grandma or grandmother. I think I’ll have her call me Mimi,” she declares.

“Okay, Mimi it is,” I reply.

“Christian, dear, should we…?” My mother hesitates, her polished facade cracking with concern. “Should we consider flying in a specialist? Someone with expertise in pediatric cardiology?”

I shake my head. “No, Mom. Davis Martin is overseeing her treatment. He’s top notch, the best out there.”

Her shoulders relax, relief washing over her. “Good, good.” She pats my hand, needing the assurance that only the word best can bring.

As Addison’s eyelids flutter closed, my mom leans in closer, her tone shifting to something lighter. “We should discuss her first birthday party, Christian. You never sent out birth announcements, and I want to make it unforgettable when we introduce her.”

“That’s more than five months from now. What do you have in mind?” I ask, though my thoughts linger on Hailey’s unreadable expression.

“I’m thinking a grand garden celebration, pastel balloons, a petting zoo…” She launches into a list of ideas, each more elaborate than the last. I listen, nodding along, but I can’t entirely focus. What’s happening now seems way more important. Five months is an impossibly long time away.

Hailey rises from the chair she’s perched on, a shadow of discomfort in her eyes. “I’ll be right back,” she murmurs.

“Mom, I should—”

“Christian, stay. We need to finalize these plans,” she insists, her voice a gentle command that no one, least of all me, can refuse.

So I nod, fidgeting with the hem of Addison’s blanket, my gaze flickering to the door Hailey vanished through. “Can’t it wait? Addison may still be here in the hospital on her birthday.” I’m pretty sure this is a lie, based on my conversation with Davis, but I need to buy some time.

“What are you talking about? Hailey told me she’d be home with you for most of her treatment. This is important. Addison will only have one first birthday.” She doesn’t even glance up from her tablet, where I suspect she’s already recruiting a party planner.

“Fine,” I relent. “But it needs to be at our house, and it needs to be small. She will have just recovered, and infection is a risk.” As we delve further into the details of a party that seems too grand for a one-year-old, I feel like I’m betraying Hailey with every nod, every forced smile.

Suddenly, a soft whimper disrupts the conversation. Addison stirs, her fussiness cutting through the talk of ice sculptures and mini carousels.

Without thinking, I rise and carefully find a way to lift her, patting her gently, my movements surprisingly instinctive. “Shh, it’s okay, princess,” I whisper.

“Look at you,” my mother says, her eyes wide as if truly seeing me for the first time. “You’ve really taken to fatherhood.”

I look down at Addison, her hand gripping my finger, and feel a swell of protectiveness. “I’m growing to love her very much,” I admit softly.

“Who would have thought?” Mom muses, her astonishment a rare crack in her polished demeanor.

“Certainly not me.” I glance once more toward the door, wishing Hailey were here to see this—to see us.

I’m smoothing the creases from Addison’s blanket when the question comes, unexpected and sharp as a pinprick.

“And Hailey?” Mom asks. “How does she fit into all this?”

“Addison adores her,” I say. “She’s been a godsend.”

Mom tilts her head. “Christian,” she begins, her voice taking on the tone I recognize from many a childhood lecture, “she’s young and rather na?ve. It’s not…appropriate for her to be overly involved. Stay away from complexities you don’t need.”

“Thanks for the advice, Mom,” I reply, though the words are more dismissal than gratitude. “Right now, I’d just like to focus on Addison.”

“Of course,” she concedes, but there’s an edge to her acquiescence as she gathers her purse. “Please keep me posted on how things are going. And just remember what I said.” With a final look that tries to pierce through me, she leaves, the door closing behind her.

The silence left in her wake is brief. The door reopens, and Hailey returns, looking slightly disheveled.

“Everything okay?” I ask as she settles into the chair beside the small hospital bed.

“Your mother arrived just before you did,” she says. “But she had time to ask a few questions.”

“Nothing too invasive, I hope?” I’m well aware that my mother’s few questions could be akin to an interrogation.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Hailey assures me.

“Good.” I nod, letting the subject drop for now.

I return Addison to her bed now that she’s settled and step back to lean against the doorframe. Hailey’s fingers trace circles on Addison’s back. The tension from earlier has ebbed away.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I tell her. “How everything turned out… It’s not what any of us expected.”

She offers a tired nod.

“It’s tough, juggling all this,” I continue, gesturing vaguely to encompass the hospital room, the unspoken worries, the weight of responsibilities that neither of us asked for. “But I need you to know, I need your patience. With Addison, with me. We’re navigating untraveled waters here.”

Hailey’s gaze holds mine, searching. I feel a twist of unease at the vulnerability exposed between us. “This is new to me as well,” she reminds.

I nod, wondering exactly how much of our current situation she’s referring to. “When all this is over,” I tell her, stepping closer, “I have other plans for us, plans that involve just you and me, no interruptions, no hospitals… I want to show you how much you mean to us, how much you mean to me.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak, and the silence stretches out. I watch the emotions play across her face, hoping she reads the truth in my eyes, the truth of my intentions, both spoken and unspoken.