Must Be Wright (The Wrights 3)

“It’s got to be almost eight,” Paisley said, running a hand over her son’s wet head. “Eight is Sammy’s bedtime.”

Eight? Eight o’clock at night?

“Oh, Jesus.” Panic created a fiery spiral straight down his spine. Kailey’s mom had offered to watch Belle until dinnertime. But, damn, it was way past. “I’m late.”

He moved into the mixing room and swept his phone off the counter, relived to find there weren’t a ton of voice and text messages. He breathed a little easier. Kailey’s mom had probably taken it in stride. The kids were probably happily playing. He’d definitely have to pay Kailey’s mom twice what she’d asked for.

With a sigh of relief, he tapped into his phone and called Kailey’s mom to let her know he’d be there soon. He held the phone to his ear and waited for the dial tone, but nothing happened.

“Oh, you won’t get service down here,” Paisley said easily, as if it didn’t matter. “You’ll have to get to the top of the stairs before—”

He didn’t wait to hear the rest of that sentence. He bounded up the stairs and tried to place the call again. But before the call went through, a series of dings chorused in the air, signaling numerous text messages. But they weren’t from Kailey’s mom. They were from Gypsy.

Where are you? Let me know you’re all right, please.

Belle was hurt at school. Why did you put me on as her emergency contact? Where the hell are you?

Call me when you get this. As in yesterday.

“Oh my God.” Wyatt wiped a hand down his face. His stomach dropped to his feet. A steel strap tightened around his chest. “Fuck me.”

He passed Paisley and dropped his guitar into the case. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Send me the rough sheet,” he said on his way to the stairs again. “We can set up another time to polish it.”

“Sure.”

He bolted up the stairs two at a time, his heart beating in his throat. He couldn’t connect the dots to get an idea of where Belle would be now. Jesus Christ, he’d lost track of a kid. A kid who depended on him for stability.

Self-loathing burned a path down his torso as he hit the top stair and swung the door to the main floor open.

At the front door, more messages pinged his phone. These were voicemails. His heart slammed against his ribs as he tapped into the first voicemail from Gypsy.

“Jackson,” she said, her voice tight. “If you’re not dead, you’re going to wish you were when I get ahold of you. Belle broke her fucking arm at school. What were you thinking, putting me on the list as her emergency contact without asking?”

Wyatt dropped his head back and closed his eyes. His stomach burned with fear, his throat thick with regret. “Ah, fuck.”

In the next message, the heat had drained from her voice, leaving her sounding irritable, exhausted, and oddly detached. “We’re still at Vanderbilt. Get your ass down to the emergency room when you get this.”

18

Gypsy was exhausted—physically, mentally and emotionally. And her heart felt like an empty shell that would crack with any more pressure.

Belle and Cooper were both sprawled across Gypsy, asleep. Both kids wore streaks on their faces where tears had made multiple tracks down their cheeks. Gypsy couldn’t look much better. After they’d fallen asleep, Gypsy had cried as well. For their pain, their disappointment, their fear. And for disappointment in herself.

She’d fucked up her life in a lot of ways, but since she’d discovered she was pregnant, Gypsy had purposely and deliberately started down another path. For Cooper.

But she’d let him down today, in a big way. And she hated herself for it.

The tingle in her left arm was so intense, it ached, and she had to shift beneath the dead weight of two sleeping children to inch herself into a better position, careful not to jostle Belle’s bad arm. The break turned out to be worse than first thought. Deanna was right about the broken wrist, but Belle had also cracked her ulna and had to have a full cast placed.

By then, Cooper had figured out they’d missed his doctor’s appointme

nt and kept asking if he was still going to camp. As soon as she’d told him the truth, he’d joined Belle in meltdown mode. His disappointment had broken Gypsy’s heart and made her feel like the worst mother in the world.

By the time she realized she wasn’t going to make it to the bar by the time it opened, she’d had to call in Miranda to help get Brandy acclimated, which was made worse by the fact that Jack had gotten home today after being gone a week, and Gypsy had, yet again, pulled Miranda away from him.

They’d been in the ER almost five hours, much longer than usual because of a multi-victim trauma that had come in and taken priority, and Gypsy was long past ready to get out of here. She still didn’t know what was going to happen with payment for this visit. She certainly didn’t have the cash to pay a bill of this kind, but to get out of here and get home, she’d be willing to put it on a credit card. Belle had pain meds and X-rays and cast setting. Gypsy wasn’t even sure the limit on her credit card would cover the expense.

A nurse’s aide stopped in the doorway and popped her head through the break in the curtain. In a whisper, she asked, “Can I get you anything?”