Chapter 29

29

H ollywood Studios is an enormous park. Considering we're on day four of one after the other, I've about had it. I wouldn't have minded a day off where we sat by the pool, Estlin in a bikini, but with Rory's cast, that's not advised. So it's been parks. And more parks.

I'm going to need a vacation from my vacation, and I only have one kid.

Though Estlin did in fact jinx us last night as Rory threw up after breakfast this morning.

We're moseying along the shops. Rory is munching on a pretzel and Estlin is eating popcorn, and with the hot sun beating down on us, I think we all need a break.

"Daddy, I want to go on the drop ride."

Estlin's eyes burst open wide, and then scroll up to the large pink tower not too far from us. "For real?"

She shrugs. "I bet it's not too scary."

"Oh, I beg to differ, but if you're game, I'm in."

"I might sit that one out."

Estlin smirks. "Wimp."

"I hate drops. "

"I think it looks fun."

"I'm with Rory. It looks fun."

I rub my thumb along my bottom lip. "Then go have fun and report back. I'll get you a drink for when you come off it."

Estlin gives me a look that says if I could kiss you right now I would . "You've got a deal."

Rory drags her off, and for a bit, I head through a recreation of Old Hollywood, going through shops and enjoying the bursts of air conditioning as I come to them.

Estlin texts to let me know they're next in line, and I head toward the spot where the margarita stand is. I get in line behind three drunk college-aged women who are chatting about who cares what. As is required anytime we're in line for anything now, I pull out my phone, but it instantly starts ringing against my palm.

"Kit-Kat," I answer, more than a little happy to hear from her. "How's it?—"

"Something is wrong with Willow."

Immediately, I freeze, ice filling my veins, even as I shuffle dutifully forward. "What do you mean?"

Katy makes a panicked noise. "I don't know. I mean, I could be nuts. I could be. She didn't sleep well the last two nights and I just started back to work and?—"

"Katy, cut the shit and talk to me."

She sobs. Katy fucking sobs into the phone, and I'm starting to lose my mind.

"Bennett is in a board meeting. He had to go, and I had the day off. He told me to have him paged out of it if I need him, but I don't know if I'm crazy or not."

"Katy. What the fuck is going on?"

I don't even care about the perturbed looks I'm getting from the teeny-bop group in front of me. I glare hard, and they shrink, turning immediately away from me.

"She's super fussy. I mean, fussier than normal. And she's not eating. Not nursing or taking a bottle. Plus, her legs hike up like she's in pain." She squeaks out short, choppy breaths. "Her belly looks distended to me."

"Any vomiting or diarrhea?"

"No. If anything, she's constipated."

Sweat clings to my brow, my eyes flittering around at nothing. I wish I were there. I can't stand this helpless feeling of being too far away.

"Katy, can you take a set of vitals on her?"

She sniffles, and I hear Willow crying in the background. "I don't…" She sucks in a breath. "All I have is my stethoscope and a thermometer. What kind of mother am I?"

"You called me, didn't you? Grab your stethoscope and check her temperature. I want to know if Willow has a fever and what her heart sounds like, and then I want you to tell me if she has bowel sounds."

"You're thinking bowel obstruction?"

"I'm not thinking anything yet. I want to hear what you have to say."

"Next?" the guy behind the counter calls. "What type of margarita would you like?"

"Shit. I'm interrupting your vacation. I'm sure this is?—"

"Katy, I need your report in two minutes," I bark into the phone before I turn to the guy. "Whatever you have that's strong."

He pours a large cup—like we're at a freaking keg party cup—of a margarita, and I pay the man and then head out into the mass of Disney-goers.

"Where are we, Kit-Kat?"

She sniffles into the phone, and Willow is a screaming mess in the background, which is only flustering Katy more. "Temperature is a hundred point one. Her heart rate is about one fifty with no murmurs. Her belly is tense, and I can't tell if I'm hearing bowel sounds or not because she's so upset. "

"Katy, I need you to think like a doctor and not a mother," I tell her, spotting Estlin and Rory as they come off the ride, laughing and smiling with each other. I flag them over and Estlin immediately notes my panic and moves briskly, practically dragging Rory behind her.

Katy sobs. "I don't know how, Owen. This is my baby."

"If it were Rory, what would you tell me to do?" I trail off, leaving that hanging.

She sucks in a series of breaths. "I'd tell you to take her to the hospital."

"Yes, you would. So you're going to do that now. You're not to drive, Katy. I fucking mean it. I want either Bennett to do it, or I want you to call Callan or Layla or any of your other thousand relatives to pick you both up and take you. If no one can, you call an ambulance."

"What's wrong?" Estlin mouths.

"It's Katy," I reply just as silent.

Worry covers Estlin's face as we start walking.

"You got me on that?" I check when Katy doesn't say anything.

"Yes." Katy sniffles again and then clears her throat. "I texted Uncle Cal, and he replied immediately to say he's on his way. He's at the hospital too and is going to go get Bennett out of his meeting first." Katy is emotional, but she's also cool under pressure—she's a trauma surgeon, so it goes with the territory—and it's a relief to hear she's getting herself together. Plus, a tense belly on a baby who was premature at birth worries me.

Estlin grabs the cup from my hand and chucks it into a trash bin as she and Rory start walking toward the exit along with me.

"Good. That's a relief. It's okay, Katy. You're doing everything right. We'll be there in four hours or so. "

"No!" Katy cries. "No, Owen. You're on vacation. You're in Florida. I just?—"

"It's not an argument we're going to have. I will be there in four hours. Check and see if Stone is working in the ED tonight. We'll be home soon."

I disconnect the call and blow out a breath, trying to get my own frazzled nerves under control.

"Baby Willow has a very bad tummy ache," I tell Rory while throwing a meaningful glance at Estlin. It might be nothing, but my gut is telling me otherwise and I've been doing this long enough to know the difference. "Are you okay if we head home tonight instead of tomorrow?"

Rory doesn't even hesitate. She grips my hand tighter, and that's that.

"What about my stuff?" she asks after a minute as we speed walk toward the exit of the park.

"I'll have someone pack up our stuff and ship it home."

That's how it goes. I make phone calls and send texts. Donna assures me she's got it covered, and she does. I wasn't lying when I called her a magician.

Within forty minutes, we're stepping onto a private plane, our bags already arranged to be packed up and shipped home. We'll also be greeted by a helicopter at Logan Airport that will take us right over to Children's. I offer to have a car waiting to take Estlin and Rory home, but Rory tells me in no uncertain terms that if baby Willow is at the hospital, that's where she'll be too.

When we're an hour into our flight, I get a text from Katy telling me that they're at the hospital and that Stone and his team were waiting for them. They're about to do an ultrasound and run some blood. Stone chimes in and creates a group text with Mason, Vander, Keegan, Kenna, Wren, Tinsley, and me to provide updates. Another hour passes, and Katy informs us they're going to take Willow into surgery within the next hour for a bowel obstruction.

Katy may be a trauma surgeon, but this is her baby.

It's exactly how I was when it was Rory on that table.

I text her back to let her know that I'll be there and will join mid-surgery. Then I text my surgical team, every freaking doctor and nurse I know, and tell them that this baby is my goddaughter and that she needs everything we can give her. My heart is racing out of my chest, and yet I do everything I can to stay calm and composed. Not so easily done, but Rory is scared, especially when I tell her Willow is getting surgery like how she did, only on her tummy.

I promise her that I'll take care of Willow just as Kaplan and Stone took care of her.

She seems relieved by this, but then destroys me when she asks, "Daddy, do you promise baby Willow will be okay?"

Here's the thing. In medicine, there are no promises. No guarantees we can make, and as doctors, we're taught to never promise an outcome to a patient's family. But this is my little girl. The thought of letting her down or disappointing her in any way breaks my heart.

I bring Rory onto my lap, hold her tightly against me, and kiss the top of her head. "I will do everything I can to make her so. That I can promise you." It's all I've got, and it's the best I can do, but I refuse to let her worry more than she should.

Estlin is quiet, and the moment we touch down in Boston, as in the second the airplane doors open, I race the three of us to the waiting helicopter. Rory and Estlin have never been on one of these, but as part of my residency, I worked with the pediatric medevac crews around the city.

Rory is wearing massive headphones on her ears, and to her, right now, this is an adventure. I give her full marks for bravery. Going up in a helicopter is a lot scarier than the ride she went on earlier today. Fifteen minutes later, we reach the helipad at Boston Children's Hospital, and I fly out of the helicopter leaving Rory with Estlin. My feet hit the elevator, and one of my regular scrub nurses is there waiting for me.

"It's intussusception. No sepsis or leaking. The team made their first incision thirty-two minutes ago and are proceeding laparoscopically."

"They're going to have to deal with me coming in and taking over."

She nods. "They already know."

I blow out a breath and scrub my face. "How bad is it?"

"She's likely going to need a small section of her small bowel removed unless a miracle can be performed, but nothing she can't recover from."

"Well, let's see if we can work a miracle."

Bowel obstructions of this nature are common in premature babies. Willow was born at thirty-four weeks. So was I. In the back of my uncle Oliver's car, to be exact. Kaplan delivered me and revived me when I came out blue and not breathing. There is no rhyme or reason why one baby gets obstructed and another doesn't. That doesn't mean as parents we don't blame ourselves for everything.

Katy is already on a tear about it even when on some level she knows better. I have to fix this for her. For Bennett. For our families. And for Willow. This is my goddaughter, and I don't think I have it in me to tell her mother that I had to remove a piece of her bowel, no matter how unobtrusive the loss would be.

I scrub in, listening as a resident comes out and gets me up to speed.

A moment later, I'm entering the OR, getting gowned and gloved up. Ready to work that miracle because I won't accept anything less.

"Good evening, everyone."

I glance up at the gallery and find Stone, but he's not alone. He's surrounded by all of my uncles, with the exception of Rina's husband Brecken, who is not a doctor. I glare at Oliver and shake my head. He's essentially Willow's grandfather or great-grandfather or whatever he likes to call himself. Regardless, he shouldn't be up there watching. He's not a surgeon, but that doesn't matter.

If anything, it might make it worse.

I point to the exit, indicating he should go.

Oliver doesn't give a shit. He flips me off, and I chuckle.

"Don't worry," I call up to them since I know they can hear me. "I've got our girl."

The doctor who was working the laparoscope shifts to the left and I take over, focusing my attention on the surgical field before me on camera and not the patient on the table. Willow is so small, her anatomy tiny, but I've performed surgeries on babies half her size.

Still, time is of the essence.

The less time we can have Willow under anesthesia the better.

Regardless, I don't plan on leaving this room until my goddaughter is as perfect as I left her.