Right before noon, my phone vibrates, and it’s Jennifer. I debate about answering the phone. After the fourth ring, I decide to answer, and she immediately starts talking.

“Drew,” she says, out of breath, “I’m running into the school. Dawson—he—high temperature.”

“I’m on my way.”

I rush out of my office and see Remy in Reagan’s office. She looks up at me and smiles for a brief moment.

Then, she hastily gets up and walks around her desk. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve got to go to Dawson’s school. He’s sick, and Jennifer’s there now, but she’s leaving at three for Nashville for an event she can’t miss, so I need to go to him.” I look at Remy. “Can you handle the meetings?”

“Of course, man. Go, hurry.”

I hurry out of the building, and find an awaiting taxi by the curb. As soon as I'm in, I tell him where I need to go and if he can get me there in less than ten minutes I'll tip him extra. The cabbie speeds toward Dawson’s school. Luckily, it’s only a few miles away, and the traffic isn’t too bad. The thought of Dawson being sick worries me. He’s generally a healthy kid. On the occasions when he does get sick, it runs him down for a few days, and even when he’s better, it takes another day or two before he’s back to himself.

"Can you stay here for about fifteen minutes so I can get my son?"

"Yeah, sure. No problem, boss." He salutes me and I nod my head before hurrying inside.

The door to the office slams against the wall and I quickly apologize. I let the secretary in the office why I’m here. Before she can give me a name tag and check me in, Jennifer and Dawson walk inside the office.

“Hi, Dad.” His voice is low, and his face is pale.

I know he’s not feeling good. Jennifer hands me his bag and I take his other hand. She tells the secretary we’ll call when he’s better, and the nurse wishes Dawson well as we lead him from the room.

“What happened?” I look at Jennifer.

I haven’t seen him since last night after dropping him off, and he seemed fine. When we talked, he didn’t tell me he was feeling sick.

“I don’t know. I picked him up from your parents' this morning and he seemed perfectly fine. Then I dropped him off with a smile and a wave.”

“I’m really tired,” Dawson mutters as he leans into my side.

I pick him up, and he immediately rests his head on my shoulder.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I called his pediatrician, and no one can see him,” I bite out. “What kind of doctors are they?”

“Calm down, Drew,” Jennifer reassures me. “Keep him hydrated tonight and see them tomorrow. You do have an appointment, right?”

I nod. “Yes, tomorrow morning at eight. Go,” I tell her. “Call me when you land, and if anything happens, I’ll let you know.”

She grimaces and kisses his back, placing her hand in his hair and resting her forehead on my arm. “Thank you.”

“He’s our son, Jennifer. No need to thank me.”

“No,” she answers. “Just thank you for everything. I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with, so thank you. Maybe we can grab a drink when I get back into town.”

“Um, I don’t know. I’m kind of seeing someone.”

“What?”

I close my eyes and calmly repeat myself.

“Oh, okay. Uh, that’s great. I should go. I’ll call you guys later,” she says fleetingly, attempting to recover from her reaction.

“Have a safe flight.”

* * *

When we get home, I put Dawson on the couch and run upstairs to grab PJs for him. I gather whatever I can find and run downstairs to the medicine cabinet to pull out the thermometer, children’s cold medicine, and a disposable ice pack in case he needs it.

After I change him and lay him back down, the thermometer is under his tongue, and I place a call to the nearest deli, ordering subs, chicken noodle soup, and drinks. He’s going to need to eat something to keep up his energy even though I know he won’t want to. The thermometer beeps, and his temperature is one hundred point three. It’s not terrible. I give him a dose of children’s cold medicine and hand him a cup of juice I had gotten on the way back from getting his PJ’s.

“Thanks, Dad. Sorry I made you leave work. I tried getting through the day.”

“Dawson, it’s fine. I’m always here, and you don’t have to be sorry for being sick, buddy. You come above everything else, and besides, I’m Superdad, remember?” I raise my arms and flex, looking side to side, and stand up. “No matter what virus you have, Superdad is here to the rescue. No virus is too scary for me. I will beat up everything that hurts you,” I roar.

Dawson holds his belly, laughing and telling me to keep going. “Jump on the table, Superdad!”

I look to make sure there’s nothing that I’ll break, and then I jump on the table in a squat position, partially covering my face and looking around. I whip out my pretend gun and jump off the table, still in a squat form, before going on my hunt for the evil viruses.

“Over there, Superdad!” His laughter in the midst of how crummy he is feeling makes this silly behavior all worth it.

“Bang, bang!” I shout. I tuck and roll, landing on my side and pretending to shoot. “Where else are they, little dude?”

Dawson stands up on the couch and pretends to compute something on his wrist. He shakes his head. “I don’t see anything, Superdad.”

“Try harder, little dude!”

“Superdad?” A male voice echoes throughout the area.

Dawson and I turn to see a laughing Remy and Reagan holding bags, which meant Remy used the code to enter unannounced. She’s trying hard not to laugh, and she covers her mouth with her free hand.

“Oh, man, I wish I had a camera,” Remy adds with a gleam in his eyes.

“I do, Uncle Remy!” Dawson slowly gets off the couch and coughs a little before getting his iPad.

After thirty minutes of laughing and Reagan and Remy telling me they can’t wait to share my Superdad antics with the office, my phone rings, and it’s security telling me the delivery man’s here. I tell him to send him up, and I grab my wallet from the counter. Since Remy’s on the guest list and the security staff know him, he can easily come into the building and to my apartment without any issues.

When I first found this building, I had to make sure it was secure and there was a security guard on shift at all hours.

Reagan’s sitting on the living room floor while Dawson’s lying on her lap, watching some cartoon he likes. I look at them together. She’s rubbing his head. I know how uncomfortable my floor is, yet she’s not fazed by it. She continues to sit with him, comforting him, and in that moment, I see my future.

Remy helps me put the food out, and he brings the food they brought over as well. We talk about what happened during the meetings, and it’s nothing that needs my attention right away.

“I’ll be away for a few days. I have my laptop in my office, but I’ll need you or Mom to drop me off the files. It’s in my drawer under Benson and Towler. I need that file, so the deal can get finalized.”

“No worries. I got it.”

“So”—I fucking hate asking this question, but I need to know—“how was lunch?”

“Really good. She’s a great girl. So sweet and nice. The conversation flowed really well, and we got to know each other so much better than the office allows, ya know.” He skeptically looks at me. “You okay?”

The container of soup spills over onto the counter, and I don’t feel the heat of the food on my hands until Remy says my name. "Damn," I mutter, and walk into the kitchen to put my hands under the cold water. "Can you clean that for me?" I ask Remy.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I bite out. “Do you fucking like her?”

Remy pats my shoulder. “I do, but she has eyes for you. This was her idea, getting you and Dawson food and bringing him some toys.”

“She bought him toys?”

He nods. “Yeah. They’re in my car. She wasn’t sure how Dawson would be or how’d you feel about her buying him things.”

“Oh.” I know, in the past, I was a bit of an asshole, but we’re starting over. I don’t want her feeling that way.

A few hours pass, and Dawson’s back in his room. His temperature went down a little, but he still feels warm. He ate a little bit, which is better than nothing.

When I come downstairs, Remy and Reagan are in the kitchen, cleaning.

“Leave it. Don’t worry.”

“It's no problem.” Reagan smiles. “I’m so glad he’s feeling a little better. I hate being sick.”

“He’ll be okay. Thank you for coming over. Both of you.”

Before either of them can say anything, I hear Dawson yelling for me. I storm upstairs and hear someone following me. When I walk into Dawson’s room, I quickly pick him up. There’s puke everywhere, and he’s burning up. Remy starts stripping his bed.

“I’m taking him to the ER.”

“Go! I’ll take care of everything here.”

“Thank you.” I quickly change Dawson into something else and pick him up again, rushing downstairs and looking for my keys.

“What happened?” Reagan asks.

“My keys. Where are my keys?” I frantically look, trying not to lose it.

“Stop, Drew. First, your keys are in your hand. Now, let me take you guys. Emergency room?”

“Yes, please. We have to hurry. He’s burning up.”

Reagan opens the door for us, and we rush to the elevator. Once we’re downstairs and out in the garage, she follows me to my car. While she gets in the driver seat, I'm with Dawson in the backseat in case he gets sick again.

“Do you know where to go?”

“Yeah. I had to bring Aimee a few months ago because she was sick. Don’t worry, Drew.”

“Okay.” I'm trying my best to slow my racing heart.

Dawson's always so healthy and happy, so seeing him sick isn’t sitting well with me at all.

We get to the hospital in fifteen minutes, and Dawson’s quickly brought back. Reagan excuses herself, and I’m in the room with Dawson and a nurse.

He’s settled, and they’re pushing medicine and fluids. I pull out my phone and update my parents, Remy, and Jennifer. The only person who doesn't respond is Jennifer and that doesn't surprise me.

Before I try to call Jennifer to let her know what's going on, Reagan comes back. I stop walking and stare at what she’s holding—a balloon and water bottles. I forget about calling Jennifer and put my phone in my pocket.

This woman is too damn good.