“Hey, bud,” I say. Luckily, he’s sitting on my left side, so I can run my hand along his arm.
His eyes roam up and down my body. When his eyes settle back on mine, they’re filled with tears.
I know how scary this has to be for him. He lost his mom in a car accident. Hell, we almost lost him in the same accident.
“Oliver, come here,” I say, holding my arm out.
He shakes his head, eyes darting to my injured arm.
“You aren’t going to hurt me.” I motion up and down my left side. “This side is perfectly fine.”
It’s mostly the truth. The right side of my body took the brunt of the impact in the crash, but my whole body is sore.
I’m not about to tell him that, though. I need the comfort of him being in my arms just as much as he does.
He hesitates but eventually lies down beside me. Wrapping my arm around him, I pull him into my side. He snuggles his head against my chest, then looks up to make sure he isn’t hurting me.
“It will hurt worse if you leave,” I tell him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
He usually doesn’t like me doing things like this anymore, but right now he doesn’t seem to mind.
“I’m going to be okay, bud. My arm is broken, and I have a lot of bruises, but that’s it. I’m going to be just fine.”
He’s silent, but his body shakes against me. His sobs make tears well in my own eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere. Ever. I promise,” I say, trying to reassure myself as much as I am him.
We lie there in silence with him cradled against me. He cries for a long time, but eventually his breathing evens out as he falls asleep. I can’t seem to do the same now.
My body might be sore, but nothing hurts worse than seeing your kid hurting. It doesn’t matter if it’s physical or emotional pain. It all hits the same. If Oliver’s hurting, then I’m hurting.
My bedroom door creaks open. I expect it to be one of the guys, but I’m greeted with a pair of light brown eyes and a soft smile.
She’s no longer wearing her scrubs. She’s in a pair of joggers and a hoodie. Her hair is still wet from a shower, I’m guessing, and it’s piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
Her gaze softens even more as she takes in the image of Oliver cuddled beside me, fast asleep. “Hey,” she whispers, looking back up at me.
“Hey,” I whisper back, not wanting to wake Oliver.
She walks a little closer. “How are you feeling?”
I actually let my mind process what she’s asking. “It hurts.” I could lie and say I’m fine, but what good would that do?
I might own a bar and drive a motorcycle, but I’m not some macho guy who thinks I have to act tough all the time. My dad was always the perfect example of being strong through vulnerability and honesty.
“It’s time for meds, so that’s probably why it’s hurting more,” she says, holding up a bottle of pills from the pharmacy. Linc must have picked those up when he was out picking up Oliver.
I was so drained by the time we got back to the house that I was concerned about little else besides making my way to my bedroom and lying down.
She removes a pill from the bottle and sets it down on my nightstand. My hands are occupied at the moment, so I just open my mouth.
She smirks but silently sets the pill on my tongue. She positions the water bottle so it doesn’t hit Oliver.
I take a big enough drink to get the pill down. At this angle, it’s hard to do anything more than that.
“Do you need anything else?” she asks.
I look down at my son and back to her. “No, I’m good.”
