"Then just whatever he can keep down. Push fluids. Maybe toast. Or applesauce. You know the drill."
I totally don't know the drill, and I feel like an asshole because of it. How many times in Nolan's short life has Denali already had to deal with this sort of thing?
Nolan stands up in the tub.
"Okay, looks like he needs me, I gotta go," I say to Denali.
"Nash?" she says as I'm about to hang up.
"Yeah?"
"You got this, Dad."
Dad. I feel pretty fucking far from a dad. The word makes the space between my ribs tighten and I have to force my breath out.
"I'll do my best," I say.
I pull the plug in the tub and wrap a towel around Nolan after I lift him out. He shivers, standing docile and subdued. I dry him quickly and carry him to his room. "Where are your pajamas, bud?"
He points to a drawer and I pull out a pair of Spiderman jammies and make a spectacle out of myself trying to figure out how to dress him.
"I'm going to get you settled on the couch. We'll find a good show for you on television, okay? Do you want anything to eat or drink?"
He shakes his head, so I get him settled and find Curious George on the television.
"Is it okay if I go clean out the car, bud? I'll be right outside if you need me."
Nolan nods so I head outside with a bucket of water and a scrub brush. The whole time I'm out there, I'm worrying about getting inside, getting back to the poor kid, in case he gets sick again or needs me.
Fuck.
If this is what it's like to be a parent, I don't know if I have the emotional stamina for it.
And that's seriously crazy coming from a guy who a month ago was completely emotionally dead.
DENALI
I COME home to find Nolan curled up and sleeping on top of Nash's large body on the couch. Nash has an arm curved around Nolan's soft form, cradling him close.
Heart. Melted.
Nash is watching cartoons, which is hilarious and sweet. I'm guessing he didn't want to move to turn off the TV or change the station.
It nearly killed me not to go racing to the preschool myself when they called, but I couldn't get away from my client-especially after I'd rescheduled with her earlier in the week. Plus, I wanted Nash to have a chance to be a dad. I can tell he's majorly uncomfortable with the role. Hell, I was terrified to be a parent, too. But you don't get special training. It's a sink or swim kinda thing and the only way to figure it out is to jump right in. So yeah, taking care of a sick kid is sort of the Parenting 101 crash course.
"How is he?" I murmur, walking over to feel Nolan's forehead. It's clammy, but not hot.
Nash rubs Nolan's cheek with his thumb. "Okay," he whispers. "He's been sleeping for about an hour."
"Thanks for picking him up."
Nash gives an impatient jerk of his head. "Don't thank me. It's what I should've been doing for the past three years."
I hate how much blame he puts on himself. I touch his shoulder. "And you would have, if I'd let you know about him." I wait until he meets my eye and then a moment longer until he relaxes and nods his agreement.
"Want me to put him in his bed?" I ask.
Nash shakes his head. "No. I've got him."
I smile, and Nash gives a sheepish grin. "I'm pretty proud of myself for getting this far with him."
I run my fingers through his close-cropped hair, massaging his scalp. "As you should be, Daddy."
He only stiffens for a moment at the word daddy, which I take as an excellent sign. Nash is finally getting used to his new role.
For the first time in years I'm filled with genuine hope. Maybe Data-X didn't completely fuck up my life forever. Maybe good things are still possible. A loving father for my son. A partner and mate. Maybe even a white picket fence.
This calls for a celebration. I walk to the kitchen and start to hum, taking out the ingredients to make peanut butter cookies.
Agent Dune
HE DRIVES by a little cottage sitting on a property with a larger house in Temecula. Nash, the one who set his whole investigation into motion, has been staying here. There's nowhere to stop and set up surveillance because the area is too sparsely populated, so he drives on, not turning around for another mile.
He's been watching the San Diego fighters every minute he can get away. He doesn't know what he thinks he'll see-one of them suddenly sprout hair and drop to all fours? Or go on a jog with a pet wolf?
All he knows is the queasy feeling he's had ever since Gray mentioned wolves is only getting stronger.
The Data-X labs were out in the country. He'd assumed it was to keep away from prying eyes, but what if it was because they needed wilderness around for animals?
But was he seriously believing there might be such thing as werewolves?
He remembers the way Nash's eyes glowed yellow. How Charlie picked him up naked, covered in blood after the massacre in Afghanistan. All their men had been shot except Nash. All the insurgents were dead-torn open, body parts scattered as if mauled by a wild animal.
Is Nash a werewolf?
Is Charlie's father?
How did Jared Johnson know? As far as Charlie knows, his own eyes never change color. He never sprouts a tail and howls at the moon.
His father used to show up for a couple days every month, always at night, like seeing them was a big secret. Christ, had it been with the moon?
He gives his head a hard shake. None of this makes sense.