Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

A week later …

Ganrax

As soon as Ava goes down for a nap, I step onto the back patio and pull out my phone to call Surgient. I’ve spoken to him several times in the past week about when we can get the girls together.

He picks up on the first ring. “Ganrax. How are things going?”

“Better, but she’s a very stubborn Little girl.” I chuckle. “She’s up to speaking ten words a day.”

Surgient laughs. “She is the most obstinate Little I’ve ever heard of. At ten words, why bother? Why not just start talking?”

I sigh. “It’s calculated. She’s only willing to do the bare minimum to keep from going to the doctor. I told her she had to add one word a day, so she carefully constructs her daily sentences.”

Surgient laughs harder. “What was today’s sentence?”

“I want to have a play date with Mia, Papi.”

“And?”

“I told her she could have a play date when she was done with her ornery stage. And then she started pouting.”

“You have your hands full. I’m so sorry. Mia is chomping at the bit. She probably thinks you and Ava did not actually return to Eleadia, and I’m lying to her.”

I cringe. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to worry. You have to do what’s best for your Little girl. I would handle things the same way as you if the situation were reversed. Is she standing or furniture surfing yet?”

“No. I’m certain she’s capable, though.”

“I guess when she gets desperate enough to see her friend, she’ll stop fighting you every step of the way.”

“I hope so.”

“I’ll put Mia off as long as necessary. She knows her friend is probably not handling things well. They’ve known each other a long time,” Surgient says.

“Thank you. I wish it were easier, but I need to be firm. As long as Ava insists on being stubborn, she will not earn special privileges.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I end the call and resume watching Ava in the monitor. She’s sound asleep. Or she’s faking. Also possible. She’s masterful at faking sleep, and there’s no way she’s sleeping as many hours as she pretends. No Little needs that much sleep this close to the two-week mark.

I swipe a hand over my face and head back inside, aiming straight for my office. I wander around my favorite space. My heart hurts that I haven’t shared this with Ava yet. It’s important to me, so I don’t want to share until she’s more agreeable. If I were to bring her in here and have her pretend she doesn’t care about what I do for a living, it would cut to the quick, so I’m waiting.

How much longer do I have to wait for my Little girl to come around?

A piercing scream yanks me out of my thoughts, tearing my heart out of my chest at the same time. I turn around and run for the nursery, heart pounding.

My Little girl is on the floor next to her crib, sobbing now and holding her arm. She lifts her gaze up as I run toward her. “I’m s-s-sorry, Papi.”

Her arm is twisted at an odd angle, and panic seizes me. I crouch down next to her, unable to breathe. She’s hurt. I wasn’t watching her closely enough, and she got hurt.

I glance at the crib. Obviously she climbed out. Why wasn’t I watching her? I took my eyes off her for only a few minutes. I’m so angry with myself. I tuck my arms under her and lift her off the floor to carry her out of the room.

What should I do? How bad is it? It looks bad. I can’t strap her in the stroller. That would cause her too much pain. I’m going to have to carry her. It’s only a few blocks to the clinic. Carrying her isn’t an issue.

She’s crying hysterically as I hurry out of the house. I don’t even grab her diaper bag. I just walk as fast as I can down the street, berating myself the entire time. What sort of Papi am I that my Little girl got injured this badly before I’ve even had her a full two weeks?

I race into the clinic, breathing heavily.

Jeikin, the receptionist, stands from behind the desk. “Oh my.” He waves me past the people in the waiting room. “Come on back. I’ll get a doctor right away.”

I follow Jeikin into an exam room, but I’m on autopilot. Inside my head I’m yelling at myself. My Little girl got hurt before I’ve even consummated our mating. She’s in pain. Sobbing uncontrollably.

Jeikin doesn’t even have to go find a doctor. Chadka must have heard Ava. He rushes in immediately. “Oh, you poor thing.” He pats the exam table. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

I lower her gently to the table, cringing as she cries harder. Her pacifier? Where is it? She must have dropped it when she fell. I pat my pockets. I don’t have another one on me. What kind of Papi doesn’t have a spare paci in their pocket?

Thabo, the other doctor, joins us. He sets a hand on my arm. “Take a deep breath, Ganrax. You’re white. It’s just a broken arm. We’ll get her fixed up in no time.”

I glance at him. He’s so calm. I’m a horrible Papi, and he’s so calm.

Thabo squeezes my bicep. “She needs you to be strong for her, okay? How about if you numb her arm to stop the pain? Then you can hold her other hand and talk to her while we get it all fixed.”

I slap my forehead. I forgot to numb her. I forgot I could have numbed her arm. Why did I go this long without easing her pain?

Chadka is carefully examining her arm, and he leans back so I can bend forward. I kiss her right below her elbow and then pierce her skin with my quill, holding it there for a few seconds to let my serum enter her bloodstream.

Using our quill on our mates is instinctive. It’s not something we do before we meet them. I’ve had this ability behind my front teeth for a hundred and twenty-five years without using it. I didn’t have any need to use it.

I pricked my Baby girl’s skin several times before we left Earth for the purpose of calming her and enhancing the bond between us, but I haven’t used my quill on her in the six months since then, and I certainly haven’t used it to ease her pain.

It’s not something I need instructions on, though. I just do it. In seconds, her sobbing slows to sniffles. Thank the heavens.

“Good,” Thabo says. “Round to her other side now so you can hold her hand while we get her all fixed up.”

Is it that easy? “Will she be okay?” It’s the first time I’ve spoken. My voice is rough. High-pitched. Filled with fear. I don’t know shit about broken females. This is my first encounter with one. I know on the rare occasion an Eleadian breaks a bone, we heal quickly. But what about humans? I don’t think they mend as easily. They’re more fragile, which is why I should have been watching her more closely.

Thabo sets a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll be fine. I promise. Littles get hurt sometimes. No matter how much we coddle them and try to protect them, they fall. They break bones. They get cuts and scrapes. It just happens.”

I clasp her good hand in mine and stare down at her, but I’m still panicking. “I should have been watching her closer.”

Thabo shakes his head. “We try. Heaven knows we try. I don’t like to leave my mate for even a moment. I want to wrap her in bubble wrap so she can’t get hurt when I look away. Janie is my world. But sometimes even toddling across the living room, she takes a tumble. She doesn’t have to be running. She might just trip. When a Little lands wrong, they sometimes break a bone. It just happens.”

I’m probably squeezing her hand too tightly, and I can’t look at her. I failed her. “She was in her crib. I wasn’t watching the monitor. I…”

Thabo pats my arm and smiles. “Little girls have minds of their own, Ganrax. Most of them climb out of their cribs at some point. Some of them fall. It’s not your fault. She isn’t even strong enough to climb like that. She made a poor choice, and you know what? She’ll make more bad decisions as the years go by because Little girls are obstinate sometimes. They like to test us. One day, she’ll get too close to the stove and burn herself. One day she’ll hit her head on a rock and need stitches. As a Papi, we lose our minds, but I promise it gets easier.”

I shift my gaze to Ava. She’s sniffling, but much calmer. She’s watching Chadka. Her face is white, and I fear she might bite a hole through her lip if she doesn’t release it.

I turn to Thabo. “Do you have a spare pacifier?”

“Of course.” He turns toward the cabinets and a moment later holds up a sparkly pink paci. It’s perfect for Ava.

“Thank you.” I lean over my Little girl and hold it to her lips. “Here, Baby girl.”

She opens her mouth and lets me slip it in. Immediately she suckles, and her heart rate slows. I can feel her pulse in her wrist.

I stroke her cheek. “Look at me, Little one.”

She turns her head toward me.

“Does it hurt?”

She shakes her head.

That’s good. “The doctor is going to fix it. I promise.” I have no idea why I’m making such a promise. I’m still doubtful. Can he fix her? Will she mend?

I know intellectually she will. I’ve studied human females. They do break bones more often than Eleadians, but they almost always heal.

I can’t stand to see her hurting, and I hate the tears running down her face. It’s my fault. I should have been watching her.

“I’m going to realign the bones,” Chadka says. “It would be best if you don’t look and keep her gaze your direction also.

Realign the bones? I might puke. Since when am I squeamish?

I cup Ava’s face and hold her head toward me, staring into her eyes. I need to be strong for her. “It’s going to be okay, Baby girl. Keep your eyes on Papi.”

I’m aware of Chadka jerking her arm hard, and then it’s over. She felt nothing. I numbed her well. At least I did one thing right. When I look again, her arm looks far better than it did when I brought her in. Her hand is in the right place.

Chadka is holding a wand over the injury. “This is just taking pictures of the bone, Ava. Have you ever had an X-ray before?”

She nods.

“This is like a portable X-ray machine only far more advanced. I can see every single nuance. If there’s even a tiny shard of bone, I’ll see it.”

She sucks her pacifier harder.

Chadka smiles. “It looks perfect. It’s all realigned now. I’m going to put a cast on it to hold it in place. It will heal quickly.”

She frowns.

Chadka pats her arm and meets her gaze. “I know it takes about six weeks to heal on Earth, but humans on Earth don’t have the special Papi serum we have on Eleadia. Your Papi can inject you every few hours. It will keep the arm from hurting, lessen the swelling and inflammation, and speed up the healing process.”

I’m as surprised as Ava. “It will really be okay?”

“Definitely. Inject her with your quill every four hours for the first day, then spread it out to six hours the second day and eight hours the third day. Her recovery will be faster if she sleeps a lot. Encourage her to take her bottles, but don’t worry if she can’t finish them for a few days. Rest is the best thing. If she’s experiencing pain in three days bring her back. Otherwise she’ll be fine.” He pats her shoulder and gives her a semi-stern look. “No more climbing out of your crib, Little one. You shaved some years off your Papi’s life,” he teases.

Her eyes are wide as she nods.

It doesn’t seem like we were at the clinic very long before I’m carefully carrying my Little girl back home. I’m moving gingerly and much slower this time, trying not to jostle her too much. She’s mostly asleep, though she does suckle the pacifier non-stop.

I can’t catch my breath. I’m still shaking with nerves. It’s hard not to feel responsible for what happened.

I vow to myself to be more diligent and keep a closer eye on her from now on. She’s mine to protect. I won’t fail her again.