“I’ll have to check my roster and it will depend—”
“Simon,” she interrupted in that tone that brooked no argument.
“Yes, Megs.” He rolled his eyes. “We’ll book in a date. Or maybe we can get together at Thanksgiving. I know it’s short notice, but maybe you want to come to us?”Oh, God, what have I just suggested?
“That sounds fabulous. Let me see if we can work something out. Now off you go and cook a wonderful meal for your new man.”
It didn’t take long to load the cart up with the makings of dinner—pork chops, cream, wholegrain mustard, and a bottle of sparkling apple juice. Simon threw in a couple of other items they needed, and the staples of bread and milk. On the way to the checkout he eyed the display of cellophane-wrapped flowers. Would roses be over the top? Without dwelling on it too much he selected the biggest bunch of red roses, smiling at the thought of Patrick’s face when he presented the bouquet.
As he headed back to the car, his head was full of thoughts of introducing Patrick to his sister and his niece. He’d never taken anyone home before, and most definitely hadn’t invited his family to a dinner before, but he suddenly itched to show Patrick off. There was no doubt that Patrick would adore Megan, she was easy to like—friendly and outgoing, and honest and down-to-earth. She didn’t pull any punches or put on airs and graces—what you saw was what you got. Of course, for a couple of years after she’d lost Bobby she’d been a shell of her former self, at least until Samantha had come along and put the smile back on her face. But that was understandable; Simon knew he hadn’t been the same after the accident either. The only downside to the visit was seeing his mother. Maureen Dawson had never forgiven him for letting her grandson die.
Simon blinked back the tears. He refused to let his mother’s opinion ruin his life and keep him away from the rest of his family anymore. Josh was right. Simonhaddone everything in his power to save Bobby, and nothing he did or didn’t do caused Bobby’s death. Megan didn’t hold it against him, and he had to let his mother stop getting into his head.
He pulled out his phone to message Patrick and let him know he was on his way, but didn’t even get to unlock the screen.
The grating sound of the shopping cart scraping against metal was sudden and shocking. The handle was ripped from his grasp as the cart spun and slammed into his thighs, knocking him from his feet. He automatically put out his arms to soften his fall. Pain screamed through his wrist, the agony hot and nauseating. He struggled to sit up, grasping his injured arm as another jolt of pain speared through the joint.
“Oh, my God. Are you all right?”
Simon looked up to meet the gaze of an older woman. She didn’t look familiar as she peered down at him nervously. “I… uh… what?”
He turned his head as a young guy knelt next to him. “That car rammed into your cart. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed.”
Simon’s gazed around the parking lot. Not too busy for a Friday evening; some cars, but lots of vacant spaces. He looked at the old lady grasping her purse to her chest, then the young man at his side. A few other people were gawking at the scene he made as he sprawled on the asphalt next to his overturned cart. His groceries were strewn around, the cream running in white rivulets and pooling on the dark ground.
“My dinner.” He needed that cream to make Gram’s pork chops. There’d be no sauce without the cream. “And my flowers.” Tears welled at the sight of the crushed bouquet.
A touch on his shoulder brought his attention back to the young man. “I wouldn’t worry about that now, buddy. I’d be more concerned about whether you have any injuries.” Simon met the young man’s gaze. His brow was furrowed in concern.What did he say? What was the question?“Are you okay?”
Simon shook his head and blinked a few times. The fog cleared slightly. Focusing on the pain in his arm helped bring him back to the here and now.
“I’m okay. I think I am, anyway. Just my wrist.” He stretched the injured arm out experimentally. At least the joint moved, the pain flaring but receding fairly quickly.
“You’ve got blood on your hand.” He looked up as the old lady passed him a small packet of Kleenex from her purse.
“Thanks.” He pulled one from the pack with shaking hands and dabbed at the grazes on his palm, flinching at the sting.
A few more people wandered over. Simon hated that he was drawing a crowd.
An employee from the store appeared. “Someone came into the store and reported an accident. Is everything okay here?” he asked.Is this guy kidding? Of course it isn’t okay.I’m sitting on my ass in a parking lot surrounded by groceries.
Before Simon could speak, the young man stood. “I think we need to call an ambulance.”
“No.” Simon struggled to his feet, grateful when the guy gave him a hand. He maneuvered his wrist again and winced, but the movement felt somewhat normal. He was almost certain it was just a sprain, and most likely not a bad one at that.
The store guy, who Simon assumed was a manager, didn’t look happy. “In a situation such as this, I think it’s best we call an ambulance, sir.”
“No, really. It’s fine. I’m a paramedic and I can already tell that my arm’s okay.” He held out his arm and swung his hand back and forth to demonstrate, clenching his jaw against the pain. All he wanted to do was get out of here, get back to Patrick, and away from the scene he was causing. “I’ll take care of it myself. I know exactly what I need to do. I’ll be fine after some painkiller, ice, and rest. And if it’s still not right in the morning then I’ll go see someone.”
The store manager scowled slightly and dragged a cell phone from his pocket. “Whatever. But this needs to be reported to the police, and I need to get some details for an incident report.”
Damn! This is the last thing I need. I’ve had enough of police reports to last a lifetime.
“Yeah, okay,” he reluctantly agreed.
A couple of people, obviously disappointed Simon was up and standing and clearly not in grave danger, started to walk away. The manager stopped them, then let them leave once he’d been reassured they hadn’t witnessed anything. The old lady and the young guy stayed.
“I’ll pick up your stuff.” The young guy gathered Simon’s groceries and squashed flowers while the store manager made the call. Simon stayed where he was and stared at the man’s leather-clad back, finally thinking clearly enough to start taking in some details. He didn’t want to test his wrist any further. He appreciated the guy collecting his groceries so he didn’t have to. Plus, if he was honest, he felt a little bit wobbly. He took a couple of deep, focused breaths.
