“Yes.” He nodded, not letting go of my hand. “Jess, I know this is random, but if you aren’t doing anything next week, I have a day off, and…”
“I’ll be with my son,” I cut him off. It wasn’t like me to be so clipped, but I was in no mood. Not only had my son been injured on his watch, but I had no patience for any man who wasn’t named Quinn McKallister. “Sorry, I’m just overwhelmed.”
And without a backward glance, I turned and walked away.
* * *
I pushed the door open and spotted a sleeping Noah across the room. My heart clenched. It didn’t matter that he was directly responsible for his own misery; he was still my son and had suffered injuries that needed his mom. There was only one thing I’d promised myself the first time I’d held Noah in my arms, and that was I’d never abandon him like my parents had me. And I always kept my word.
Approaching quietly so as to not wake him, I looked over my sleeping angel. His shaggy head of hair had been forced into compliance by an alarming number of cords and tubes attached to his body, and his slight frame was dwarfed by a bed intended for a person twice his size. Noah looked so small and helpless. It was moments like this I was overwhelmed by my love for him. Yes, my boy was a handful, but he was also wickedly funny and a sweet soul who loved his mamma above all else.
Noah’s eyes flew open. “Boo!”
I jumped back, slamming into a tray and knocking everything to the ground with a colossal ruckus. And just like that, any goodwill my son had banked was grievously spent.
“Dammit, Noah,” I swore, slapping a hand to my chest. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“Sorry,” he replied. “But you should’ve seen your face.”
“Did it look something like this?” I asked, contorting mine into something worthy of a slasher flick.
“Worse.” He giggled.
“Worse?” I teased, palming his face with my hand. “Don’t you be dissing my looks, stinker.”
I couldn’t describe the relief I felt to hear him laugh, even at my expense. I’d pay any cost to keep him safe and by my side. At least I still had the opportunity to teach him the difference between right and wrong, although in this particular situation, it should have been quite obvious.
Playtime over. I needed answers. “What were you thinking, Noah?”
“It was windy.” He shrugged. “I thought the gusts would carry my weight.”
“Why?”
“’Cuz I saw it in a cartoon.”
“Hmm… and you understand that cartoon characters don’t have spleens that splatter on impact, right?”
“Yeah. But the nurse said it didn’t splatter.”
“Not for lack of trying. Honestly, Noah. I worry about you. What would you say if someone asked you to jump off a bridge?”
“I’d ask how high.”
I flashed him the evil eye.
“Fine. I’d say, ‘No, it’s a bridge and my mom says I can’t.’”
I shook my head, pulling the sheet down to assess the damage. “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
“Did they give you pain medication?”
Noah dropped his voice to a whisper, checking for spies. “No, they gave me drugs. I told the nurse I wasn’t old enough to take them yet, but he said it was a good drug. So I said sure.”
“You said ‘sure’?” I chuckled. “How agreeable of you.”
“Can I still go to baseball practice tomorrow?”
