Chapter 8 — The Watch

“You can put her down now,” I whispered. I didn’t want to break it. “You did incredible work — really. But your arms have to be exhausted. Let me settle her back in the isolette.”
He opened his eyes.

They were bloodshot, and rimmed with something so deep and so sad that I took an involuntary step back from it.

“Negative, ma’am.” His voice was thick. “She needs the contact. If I put her down, the fire comes back — you saw it. The second she loses the rhythm, she’s got nothing again. I’m staying right here.”

“Sarge.” I said it gently. “Your shift is two hours. That’s the program.”

“My shift,” he said, and there was no argument in it, only a flat, quiet certainty, “ends when she doesn’t need me anymore.” He shifted his shoulders against the hard plastic, settling in, and looked down at the sleeping baby. “Not before.”

I should have insisted.