“I’m sorry, Clay. I didn’t mean to sound so cold. It’s just…been a stressful morning already. Jack is sick, and I haven’t even had my coffee—” “Jack is sick?” he asks, interrupting me. The resentful tone in his voice is replaced with frantic concern. “Yeah, it’s just a fever,” I reply nonchalantly as I move toward the coffeepot, pulling a cup from the cupboard. “Did you take him to the doctor? What are his symptoms?”
like he's always meant to be Jack's dad.
