Dalton
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more inadequate as a father, than right now. Standing in this line of parents waiting to get registered in order to be seen is trying my patience. People aren’t being polite, and Walker is burning up.
A couple minutes into this stand-off we’ve got going on, he hugged himself to me and hasn’t let go yet. He’s on fucking fire. I’m about at the end of my rope when the woman at the front of the line starts making a fuss about paying a fifteen-dollar copay.
Normally, I’m the cool one and Drew is the hothead, but I wear my VP patch proudly. “Look, lady, if it’ll get you to move your ass, I’ll pay your damn copay. There’s other people with sick kids here.”
Everyone turns, eyeing not only me, but Walker, and my cut. It’s not very often I use it to my advantage, but today I stand to my full height and let them look their fill. She doesn’t say anything else, she turns, grabs something out of her purse and slides it across the counter.