“C’mon, your dad’s worried about you,” Brad said.
“He’s always worried about me! I’m fine!” Her cheeks were flushed, though, and Brad glanced around, trying to figure out the best way to calm her down. Couldn’t let her get more agitated.
“Gwen,” Ian called from Brad’s other side, hurrying over. He looked embarrassed. “Let’s get back to the center, please. I have class in fifteen minutes. I need to be back at the college.”
“It’s always work, work, work!” Gwen yelled. “You hardly ever have time for me!”
Ian faltered, his shoulders sagging.
Then she ducked out from the other side of the trucks, back into the station. Brad ran after her. “Gwen! C’mon, listen to your dad.”
She tore up the stairs leading to the station’s office. Brad doubled up the stairs after her. Behind them, Ian pressed his hand to his belly, climbing the stairs carefully.
“I’ll tell Dale to let you join in during playtime,” Ian said.
Gwen was almost at the top of the stairs, panting hard. “He won’t let me! He sucks!”
Two steps away, Brad reached out for her. Gwen stumbled before he could catch her, lurching forward. She fell with a thump, her breath knocking out of her. Gwen wheezed.
“Hurts,” she said, curling into herself.
Brad’s heart stopped. Fuck. “Gwen, you okay?”
She shook her head. Brad scooped her into his arms, jogging down the stairs. Ian followed him to the landing, terror in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Ian asked. From the dread in his eyes, he already knew.
“Says her heart hurts,” Brad told him anyway. Ian’s mouth fell open, his despair building.
Brad had been reading up on Gwen’s heart defect. The repair of her heart left her with a leaky valve; given enough time, the pressure in her right ventricle could increase far too much. It was why Ian had babied her like he had.
Brad wasn’t an EMT. Seeing his daughter panting in his arms, he sorely wished he was. Couldn’t stand being helpless, watching someone he loved hurting. Didn’t want to think of the worst possible outcome.
He scanned the garage for a medic. Some of the other alphas were jogging over in concern. “Where’s Philippe?”
“Philippe!” Cole yelled. “Adele, some help here!”
Philippe burst out of a storage room in the garage, his brown hair a mess. “You called?”
Brad dashed up to him; Philippe was already jogging to the paramedic van, pulling out his supply bag.
“What happened?” Philippe asked, all business-like.
Gwen’s eyes were half-shut. She dug her fingers into her chest, breathing shallowly.
“My daughter,” Brad said. “Her heart hurts. She was running around too much—overexertion. She’s had a complete repair for tetralogy of Fallot.”
Ian came to stand beside them, his face pale. “Will she be okay?”
Philippe pulled out a stethoscope, listening to Gwen’s heartbeat. Then he checked her allergies and medications with Ian, turning to his paramedic kit. “Her pulse rates are high. I’ll give her a shot to stabilize her heart, but we need to get her to the hospital. I can’t do much here.”
Ian’s nails bit into Brad’s arm. Brad lay Gwen down on the floor, and Philippe pulled out a needle and vial. Gwen whimpered.
“It’ll be okay, hon,” Ian whispered, brushing Gwen’s hair away from her face. “You’ll see. You’ll feel better soon.”
Neither of them really knew if Gwen would be okay, though. Ian’s hands were shaking when he knelt beside Brad, holding their daughter.
Philippe slid the needle into her vein, and Gwen whined.
Brad’s pulse thundered in his ears. What if this wasn’t enough? What if there was no way to fix Gwen’s heart?
When the shot was done, Philippe pulled out an oxygen mask, pressing it onto Gwen’s face. “Brad, get her on the stretcher. We’ll take her to the hospital.”
Brad scooped Gwen into his arms, Ian looking anxious next to him.
Adele, the other EMT on duty, came hurrying over, and so did Harris. Philippe briefed Adele on the situation.
“What happened?” Harris asked Brad, his eyes shrewd.
“She ran around too much,” Brad said. “Her pulse is too high.”
“Get going,” Harris said, nodding at the paramedic van. “I’ll have Valen cover for you.”
“But—” Brad hesitated. He was supposed to be on duty. He wasn’t legally Gwen’s father.
“I’m team leader,” Harris said wryly. “You don’t question my orders.”
“Thanks.” Brad flushed. Maybe Harris was looking for an excuse to have his alpha bondmate at the station with him. Maybe it was okay if Brad took the shift off.
Brad hurried with Gwen to the back of the ambulance. He strapped Gwen to the stretcher—it looked far too big around her.
“No space for you here,” Philippe told him. “Ride up front with Adele.”
“Daddy?” Gwen panted weakly, her voice muffled by the mask.
Brad hesitated. Ian leaned over her, kissing her forehead. “You’ll be fine,” Ian murmured. “I’m here.”
On impulse, Brad pressed a kiss to Gwen’s forehead, too. Then he kissed Ian on the temple. Ian looked up at him, his eyes worried. Brad wanted to do so much more, wanted to ease Ian’s worries, but he was powerless to.
What kind of dad was he, if he couldn’t solve his daughter’s problems?
16
Brad
Brad squeezed Ian’s hand. Then he left his omega and daughter with Philippe, jogging to the front of the van. If anything happened to Gwen on the way… He didn’t want to think about it.
They were out of the station in seconds, the siren wailing above their heads. Brad counted the minutes to the hospital. It still took far too long, when all Brad could look at was the video feed from the back of the van, Philippe monitoring Gwen’s heartbeat, Ian peering worriedly at them both. Gwen had to be fine.
It made him sick, just thinking about everything that could go wrong.
“That your kid?” Adele asked, glancing at Brad.
“Yeah,” Brad said. “She just turned seven today.”
Adele winced, clucking her tongue. She’d
