Mad about the Banker

by Piper Rayne

  “Lennon,” he says and I dip my head to see he’s crying.

  “Oh, Brady,” I say, rubbing his arms. “It’s okay,” I try to soothe him, but we’re moving into advanced stages of mom-in-training and I’m still stuck in the orientation.

  “I want to get off. I don’t feel good.”

  Just then the ride starts going and there’s no way we’re getting off until it’s over. We swing by and I raise my hand to grab the guy’s attention, but he’s busy flirting with a blonde bimbo. Just my luck.

  “Just keep your head in my side. It will be over in a second.”

  We pass by again and I raise my hand, but he still doesn’t look at me.

  “Fuck,” I mumble.

  “What?” Brady asks.

  Great, I swore in front of the kid.

  “I told you this ride wasn’t for babies,” the kid says, like we’re about to go over the hill on one of those crazy rollercoasters you see on Facebook that says, Would you do this?

  I lean over, our cart tipping back a little, to finally shut this kid up. “Listen, right hand man—”

  “Lennon,” Brady groans, looking over the back with me. A second later, a stream of vomit leaves Brady’s body, right onto the redhead’s head.

  I purse my lips to try to keep from laughing. Nice work, buddy.

  “What the hell? I’m gonna kill you, kid!” He points to Brady, who is still throwing up.

  Serves him right.

  “You won’t lay a hand on him,” I warn and Brady looks up at me, the first smile crossing his face since the funnel cake.

  Brady leans forward and finally the guy stops the ride after all the commotion.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to the guy and he looks at the cart and the kid behind him, snickering another laugh.

  “Priceless,” he says.

  I dig into a purse, handing him a twenty.

  “Not necessary.” He hands it back to me.

  I dig out my card instead. “Here, free tattoo on me.” I eye his skin and that excites him.

  “Thanks,” he says and Brady hunches over again.

  I get him off the ride, onto stable ground, and run him over by a trashcan, where he throws up again.

  “Let’s get you home, buddy.”

  We walk toward the car and once we’re secure in the van, he looks over at me. “Thanks, Lennon.” His head leans back on my seat cushion and his eyes drift closed. “I don’t like unicorns,” he mumbles.

  I laugh to myself, driving down the street while sneaking looks at him. It’s probably weird, but this is the first time I’ve felt like a real mom.

  30

  We pull into Jasper’s designated parking spot, which he has informed me he’s not thrilled about me using because though he doesn’t want to change anything about me, he does want to change my car. I see his point a little. Were the unicorns a little drastic? Yes. Will Brady like it if I have to pull up to his school with unicorns shitting rainbows on the car that drops him off? Probably not.

  I climb out of my car and then go around to the back passenger side to get Brady out. He’s fast asleep already. I nudge him and he moves his head, blowing a stream of vomit breath right into my face.

  A deep rumble flows up my throat and my breath is about to match his before I can swallow it back down. “Brady,” I coo, nudging his shoulder again.

  He sits up, looking around lost until his eyes focus on me. I smile and his shoulders fall.

  “Let’s go take a bath and get to bed,” I say.

  He holds his arms out to me and I stand there. Am I supposed to pick him up? Sure. I mean that’s okay, right?

  “My legs hurt,” he whines and so I swing my purse over my shoulders and pick him up. He wraps himself around me like a koala bear and I struggle to make it to the elevator.

  The occasional yoga class I take hasn’t exactly prepared me to carry however many pounds this little guy is and my arms are aching by the time we reach the elevator. I press the button and my phone rings. There’s no way I can answer it so I let it ring, figuring I’ll catch it once I get inside.

  The elevator doors open and after I struggle with the key in the lock, the door opens to a dark condo. Using my knee, I prop Brady up on me a little higher. This carrying a kid thing is really a dad’s job. Sorry, feminists.

  “Okay, we’re home,” I say to Brady, blindly making my way to the couch.

  My phone starts going off again, but instead of answering, I go to the bathroom and start the bath.

  “Do you want bubbles?” I holler out the door, but hear nothing.

  I walk out, finding Brady curled in a ball with a blanket over himself, a corner of it still clasped to his hands.

  A text message dings from my phone and since whoever it is is persistent I walk over to my purse near Brady and scramble to find my phone in the big bag. Pulling it out, I sit in the chair, seeing two missed calls from Jasper and a text message, asking me where we are. I poise my fingers ready to text him back, but my phone rings with his name flashing.

  “We’re fine,” I deadpan.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call.” His voice is tense and scared.

  “Sorry, Brady fell asleep on the way home and I was carrying him up.”

  “Where did you guys go?” he asks, his voice relaxing.

  “The Pier. Remind me to tell you how your kid schooled this older kid who was making fun of him.” I laugh, thinking about that redheaded prick’s face as Brady was puking on him.

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” he says, and I hear a smile on his lips.

  “I’m going to get him into a bath if I can get him up.” I place my hand on him.

  “Okay, call me after he goes to bed. I’m horny and hoping you can instruct me on how to stroke my cock. In explicit detail.”

  A tingling begins between my legs and man, do I wish he was here. “Well, I am the best,” I say in a singsong voice.

  “The only one who gets me off.”

  “Don’t forget it down there in Los Angeles,” I say, my insecurities coming forth.

  He chuckles. “No worries on that front.”

  “Good.”

  “Talk to you soon.”

  I hang up and Brady still refuses to roll over. Having no choice, I start taking off his shoes and socks, thinking that he’ll start stirring once I make him uncomfortable.

  By the time he’s down to his boxers, he’s only gotten up long enough for me to wiggle him out of his clothes. His forehead falls on my arm and it’s hot.

  Adjusting him so that he’s sitting up, I place my hand on his forehead, thinking I must be wrong because he was fine an hour ago, but no, he’s so hot.

  “Brady?” I ask and his eyes float closed again.

  I place his head back on the couch and run down the hall, scouring the bathroom for a thermometer. I should call Jasper. And tell him what? That his kid is sick and you’re panicking? I listen to the devil on my shoulder and run into the ensuite.

  Finally, I find a thermometer in the medicine cabinet with bottles of medication that all have the word ‘children’s’ plastered all over them. I so have this. I look over the bottles, grab the acetaminophen and the thermometer.

  At least I know how to use an ear thermometer. Thank you to Tahlia for getting the flu months ago.

  I stick it in his ear and the seconds it takes for his temperature to register seem like forever. He hasn’t moved an inch.

  “103 degrees,” I screech, clearing it and placing it in his other ear. As though that’s going to have a different reading. A second later it beeps. “102.6 degrees. Same fucking difference.”

  I read the back of the bottle. Okay, apparently kids are dosed by weight. As if I know how much he weighs.

  Jasper knows.

  Weigh him, the devil on my shoulder urges.

  So I run into Jasper’s bathroom where I know there’s a scale. I weigh myself and then run back out to grab Brady. Picking him up like I’m his mama bear, I walk u
s to the bathroom.

  We step on the scale and I struggle to hold my balance. Bingo. So, one hundred and fifty-two minus one hundred and twenty-five is, fuck, I hate math. Take one away from the five, making it twelve. Twelve minus five is seven. Four minus two is two. Twenty-seven pounds.

  “That can’t be right. I can lift twenty-seven pounds.” I put Brady on Jasper’s bed and re-weigh myself.

  Nope, one hundred and twenty-four. Maybe I lost weight with all this running.

  Picking up a moaning and groaning Brady now, I clear the scale.

  One hundred and seventy-one pounds. Here we go with the math again. Take one away from the seven this time, making it eleven. Eleven minus five is six. Six minus two is four. Forty-six pounds. That makes sense.

  I carry Brady back to the living room and lean him up on the couch.

  “We need to take some medicine, Brady,” I coax him, after pouring the right amount into the small shot glass.

  He shakes his head.

  “Come on, Brady, just a little.”

  He shakes his head again.

  “Here comes the train, choo choo.” I make the glass stutter along toward his mouth.

  Hey, don’t knock it, I’m desperate.

  He shakes his head.

  “Please,” I beg and he opens his mouth. “Thank you.” I pour it into his mouth and then he lies down on the couch again. I place the blanket over him and sit down in the chair to call Jasper.

  As I dial his number, I wonder if I should keep the fact that Brady’s sick to myself.

  “I’m naked, and I’m fisting your favorite guy,” he answers and I laugh, wishing every limb of my body wasn’t depleted of energy.

  “I do love that guy,” I say.

  “Talk me through it, baby,” he says in a husky voice.

  “Hold that thought for a second.”

  “What is it?” His panicked voice returns.

  “Brady has a fever.”

  “How high?” The tension increases.

  “103 degrees in one ear and 102.6 degrees in the other.”

  “Okay, there’s some Tylenol in my bathroom. He takes a teaspoon.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised that Jasper knows the exact amount. He’s not in training. He’s the real dad deal.

  “Yeah, I weighed him and figured it out.”

  He laughs. “Weighed him? I’m surprised, usually when Brady has a fever, he’s like dragging an elephant around on a leash.”

  “I weighed myself and then I held him and weighed us together.”

  His laughter bursts out and I’m sure if he was drinking it’d be spit out all over his room. “Seriously?” he asks after he’s calmed down somewhat.

  “Yes, seriously. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You could call me,” he says.

  “And make you think I can’t handle it?” I lean back in the chair, my eyes on Brady.

  “Baby, I wouldn’t have left you with him if I didn’t trust you could handle it.”

  His words calm me but I know deep down he’s still on guard. “Do you mind if we wait until you get home tomorrow and I demonstrate the stroke for you?”

  “You sound tired,” he says and a yawn escapes me at the exact moment.

  “Yeah.”

  “Parenting will do that to you. I’m sure I can find someone around here to stroke me.” The teasing tone in his voice clear.

  “Try it and you won’t have anything to stroke,” I warn and he chuckles.

  “Man, that was scary. You made him turtle.”

  “Good night, Jasper,” I say.

  “Night, baby. See you tomorrow,” he whispers and we hang up the phone.

  I click on the television, turning on whatever will fill the noise of his quiet condo. I must doze off because when I wake up a few hours later, the television is going, Brady’s still asleep.

  Grabbing the thermometer, I take Brady’s temperature to make sure it went down, but when my hand touches his forehead, he still feels hot.

  “104 degrees,” I say, my heartbeat picking up pace.

  Clearing it, I take the other ear. “104.3 degrees.”

  No, no, no.

  I look at the back of the bottle and sure enough, he can’t even take another dose.

  Picking up my phone, I call the only person I know can help. The phone rings and I glance at the cable box, seeing it’s after ten, which means she’s asleep.

  “Hello,” her groggy voice answers.

  “Mom!” I say.

  “What is it?” Her voice clears quickly.

  “So…” I realize I’ve told my mom nothing about Jasper. I haven’t even talked to Jacob about Jasper. Fuck a duck. “I’m watching someone’s kid and he has a fever of over 104 degrees. I gave him Tylenol a couple hours ago and it hasn’t brought the fever down.”

  “You’re babysitting,” she clarifies.

  “Kind of, yes.”

  “Okay, go get a cold cloth and put it on his forehead.”

  I scramble into the kitchen, run a washcloth under cold water and come back and place it on Brady’s forehead. “What else?”

  “You need to call the parents,” she says. “They need to come home and care for their child.”

  My stomach plummets.

  “Um. That can’t happen.”

  “Lennon?” She uses the same tone she has my entire life. The one that suggests she already knows I’m in over my head. The one that says, What crazy thing did you do this time?

  “It’s my boyfriend’s son and he’s out of town.” I ramble on as though she wouldn’t clue in.

  “Boyfriend?”

  Of course that’s the one word she pulls from my sentence. “Yes, and he’s in LA, so he can’t come back.” I glance down to Brady, my worry deepening. “Mom, my gut says this isn’t good.”

  “How long ago did you give him the medicine?”

  We start from the beginning and I even tell her how I let him gorge on sweets all night, for which I receive the disappointed sigh I’m so familiar with.

  “I’m going to tell you to do something but don’t panic, okay?” she says, which makes me, guess what… panic. “Go to the emergency room.”

  “Emergency room? Surely this can be handled at home.”

  She sighs. “It’s a high fever and honey, I’m out of practice. You could call the pediatrician if your boyfriend left the number, but if the medicine isn’t working, I don’t think you have any other option.”

  “Okay. Okay.” I straighten my back as though my inner mom-in-training is armed and ready. “I’m going.”

  “Lennon,” she says before I have time to click her off. “I’ll meet you at Memorial. And call his dad.” She says the last part because she knows me well.

  “Okay, see you at Memorial,” I say and as I’m hanging up, I hear her repeat.

  “Call the dad…”

  31

  I swing my purse crossways over my body, pick up Brady and we head out of the condo, down the elevator and into my van. I’ll never have to do another bicep curl in my life. My adrenaline must be pumping because Brady hardly even feels heavy now. I feel like I could compete in the world’s strongest woman competition.

  I hit Jasper’s number on my phone and put it on speaker as I turn the corner on his block, heading toward the hospital.

  “Did you get a second wind?” he says when he picks up and I so wish I could be in his bed right now, ready to seduce him with my dirty words.

  “Jasper.” The panic can’t be missed from my voice. Tears prick my eyes because I’m a horrible mom-in-training.

  “What is it?” His own tone matches mine now.

  “Brady’s fever hasn’t gone down. I’m taking him to Memorial.” My foot presses on the gas.

  “How high?”

  “104 degrees and 104.3 degrees.”

  “You gave him Tylenol how many hours ago?”

  “Like two hours ago, maybe a little less.”

  He pauses for a while.

  �
�Jasper?”

  “Yeah, I’m just thinking. Go ahead. I’m going to see if I can catch a flight. If need be, I’ll rent a car.”

  “I can handle it.” Though it’s not how I’m feeling right now.

  A long breath flows across the receiver. This is the do-or-die moment. Does he trust me enough? Hell, should he?

  “As hard as this is, call me when you get word. I’m going to call his paediatrician. I’m hoping this is viral.”

  Viral? I rack my brain for any medical jargon I know. I think there’s viral and bacterial. Damn Whitney for always distracting me in Biology. Actually, it was the other way around.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I get him in.”

  “Okay,” he says, and I can tell he’s distracted by his thoughts.

  We hang up and I pull up to the emergency entrance, stop and round the car, pluck Brady out and walk through the sliding door.

  “Ma’am,” someone calls out but I ignore them.

  Walking up to the nurses’ station, I see the waiting room is packed. Well, I’m going all Terms of Endearment on their asses if they don’t get Brady in ASAP.

  “Hello,” the exhausted nurse says to me. I’m assuming that based on the bags under her eyes and stench of irritation and impatience wafting off of her.

  “He has a fever of 104 degrees,” I say, placing him on the counter so he can lean on my chest.

  “Fill out the paperwork.” She plops a clipboard down on the counter beside us.

  I glance down at the paperwork and slide it over. “I don’t think you’re listening. He’s six and has a high fever. I gave him medicine—”

  “Lady, look at the room.” She points to the waiting area. “All those people are sick, too.”

  I grit my teeth. “I don’t care about them. I only care about this boy.”

  “Lennon,” my mom says, coming alongside me, surprise in her face when she sees me clutching Brady to my chest.

  “Fill out the forms and we’ll get him in.”

  My mom grabs the clipboard. “What’s his name?”

  I tell her and we go through any of the information I do know. I don’t know the insurance information or even their paediatrician’s name.