by Witt, L. A.
He nodded, and I realized he was still keeping one arm protectively against his side. Being very, very careful to speak calmly so he had no idea that my heart was beating oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, I said, “Does your arm hurt? Or your chest?”
“My arm.” He pulled it in a little tighter, protecting it with his other hand. “It hurts.”
Kim crouched beside us. “Arm? Can he move it?”
I put a hand on Tariq’s to keep it still. “Let’s just put some ice on it and let the docs see how well it moves. No point in jarring it any more than we have to.”
Kim grunted. “Probably a good idea.”
“We need to get him to the ER anyway. See if they can do anything about that tooth. Where’s— Good, there he is.”
Sven came back with a container of solution, presumably with Tariq’s tooth in it, and some ice packs. “Take him over to the hospital in Port Angeles. They can fix it.”
As I carefully helped Tariq to his feet, I asked, “They actually keep a dentist there?”
Sven laughed. “Yeah. Didn’t used to, but I guess one of the Wolf’s Landing stunt guys knocked a tooth out and had to wait forever, so they keep somebody around now.”
“Must be a boring job,” I muttered. But thank God they had somebody there.
“I think they keep the guy on call.” Sven pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the ER and let them know you’re on your way so they can get him in.”
“Good thinking.” As it was, the hospital was thirty miles away—giving them a heads-up would hopefully keep Tariq from waiting much longer than he already had to.
“What about my dad?” Tariq asked.
I took out my phone. “I’ll try him again right now. Let’s go get in the car.”
As we walked and I speed-dialed his dad, I kept my arm around him in case he got dizzy, but he seemed steady.
Zafir’s phone went to voice mail again. Shit.
“I’ll call his work when we get to the ER.” I pocketed my phone. “I promise I’ll keep trying.”
Tariq just nodded, but didn’t answer.
In Zafir’s car, I strapped Tariq in and put some ice packs against his sore arm. Then I gave him one more and told him to keep it against his mouth.
Port Angeles wasn’t that far away, but it felt like we had to drive all the way to Seattle. Every light was red, and though there weren’t many cars out, the few that were had all decided to drive twenty below the speed limit.
I gripped the wheel and tried to stay calm. No point in scaring the kid any more than he already was.
I took a breath and forced a smile. “You were rocking your form, by the way.” I glanced in the rearview. “A bit more practice, and you’ll be on the bigger ramps with me before you know it.”
“Really?” The ice pack muffled his voice.
“Yeah.” I paused. “And I’ve fallen like that too. Everybody has.”
“I didn’t fall,” he muttered. “That guy crashed into me.”
“He did. You’re right. And you were nailing that ramp before he did.”
He mumbled something else that might’ve been “jerk.”
Finally, we made it to the ER. I parked him in a chair by the fish tank, then went up to the triage desk.
“Can I help you, sir?” the nurse asked.
“Yeah, my friend’s kid . . .” I nodded toward Tariq. “He took a spill on a skateboard. He’s got a tooth out, and some cuts and scrapes.” I glanced at him. He was still holding his left arm gingerly. “And he might’ve banged up his arm too.”
“Oh, yes. Someone called ahead, so we’ve got the dental resident on her way in right now. She lives close by, so it shouldn’t be more than five minutes. Do you have the tooth?”
I held up the container. “Yeah.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Now, you said he’s your friend’s son?”
I nodded.
She pursed her lips. “We can’t waste time getting that tooth back in, but before we x-ray him or anything, we’re going to need consent from his parent.”
“I’ll keep trying to call his dad.”
Her thin eyebrows rose. “Is he in the area?”
“He is, but he’s at work. I’ve tried him a couple of times, but I’ll keep at it.”
I tried not to let Tariq see that I was starting to panic. I couldn’t reach Zafir on his cell, and the girl who’d answered at the pizza place said he wasn’t available.
Come on, Zafir . . .
While the nurse quickly took Tariq’s vitals and ran him through some questions to assess if he’d conked his head, I left Zafir another message.
Right as I hung up, a woman strode into the ER. The triage nurse flagged her down.
“Dr. Pierce.” She pointed at me. “This is the gentleman who brought in the boy with the lost tooth.”
The woman extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Pierce.”
“Brennan.” I shook her hand and gestured at Tariq. “And that’s Tariq.”
“Do you have his tooth?”
“Yeah. We put it in some salt solution.” I handed her the sealed cup. “That Hanks’ Balanced stuff.”
“Oh good.” She took it from me. “How long has it been?”
“About”—I glanced at my phone—“half an hour. Maybe a little less.”
“Perfect.” She turned to Tariq and smiled at him. “Okay, sweetie. Let’s have a look.”
He opened his mouth, and it took everything I had to casually look away without letting him see that my stomach had tried to lurch into my throat. Hopefully he hadn’t damaged his other teeth, but he’d definitely made hamburger out of his lip and gums. I suppressed a shudder.
Yep, Zafir was going to kill me. Tonight was my last night on earth. So screwed.
The dentist turned to the triage nurse. “Can you grab me a wheelchair, and we’ll take him down to dental?”
The hairs on my neck stood up. “A wheelchair?”
“Hospital policy.” She offered a reassuring smile. “Nothing to worry about.”
Says you.
As she wheeled him down the hall, I stayed with him.
Tariq lowered the ice pack and looked at me. “Is my dad coming?”
“As soon as you get situated with the dentist, I’m going to call him again.”
His eyes widened and started to well up again, but I squeezed his uninjured arm.
“It’s okay, buddy. My signal’s been iffy since we’ve been in here. But I’m sure he’s on his way right now.”
He watched me uncertainly, but then relaxed a bit. Okay, so it was a little white lie, but if it calmed him down, I’d tell him Santa Claus was in the next room.
Which would be totally reassuring to a Muslim kid. Smooth thinking.
In the dental department, he moved from the wheelchair to the dentist’s chair.
I came down to his eye level. “Do you want me to stay in here with you while she works on your tooth?”
He glanced at my phone, then back up at me. “Yeah, but I want you to call my dad.”
Well, shit.
Dr. Pierce turned to me. “It’s going to take me just a minute to set up. If you want to step out and make the call, I’ll probably be ready when you come back in.”
“Perfect.” I looked at Tariq again. “I’ll be back in two minutes. All right?”
He nodded.
I patted his arm. “Back in a second.”
Then I stepped out into the hall, and thank God, I had signal out here, so I called Old Country Pizza.
And waited.
Chapter 12
Zafir
“He’s what?”
“Did you get my message?” Brennan asked. “I—”
“No!” My heart was going crazy, my stomach sick with panic. “I couldn’t answer my phone and— What’s going on?”
“We’re at the ER in Port Angeles,” Brennan said quickly. “Tariq is fine. He really is. But—”
“What happened?” In a split second, my brain sh
owed me every possible disaster that could have befallen my kid, and I was another split second away from vomiting unless Brennan started talking fast.
“I was showing him how to skate,” Brennan said, “and one of the guys collided with him. God, Zafir, I am so sorry. I swear, I was watching him, and he was wearing a helmet, so—”
“How bad?” Visions of broken bones and gaping wounds flashed through my mind. “Is he okay? Is he bleeding?”
“He’s walking and talking. Just shaken up a bit.”
Well, that was something. But the ER? “Okay, but how bad?”
Brennan took a deep breath. “They want to do an X-ray of his arm, just to be sure. It’s bruised, and he’s got some road rash, but the doctor doesn’t seem all that worried.”
I swallowed. “Could you put him on the phone?”
“Uh, well . . .”
“Brennan . . .”
“Look, when they crashed, he got clocked pretty hard in the mouth. He’s . . .” Brennan sighed, and quietly added, “He’s got a cut lip, and, um, one of his front teeth . . .”
I winced. “Oh no.”
“The emergency dentist is numbing him up right now to put the tooth back in. I’m . . . I’m not sure how well my signal will hold up, but I can try?”
“Okay. Okay. That’s fine. Let me talk to him anyway.”
“Hang on.” Movement on the other end. Muffled voices. A female voice.
Then, “Dad?”
Oh, thank you, Allah. Eyes closed, I covered the phone so Tariq wouldn’t hear my relieved sigh. Then I schooled my tone and managed, “Hey, kiddo. You doing okay?”
“It hurths.”
I winced. “I’m on my way now. Can you hang in there for me?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t sound like he was freaking out. That was a plus.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Can I talk to Brennan again?”
“’Kay.”
There were muffled voices in the background again.
“Hey, Zafir?” Brennan said. “The nurses need to get your consent to do some X-rays and check him out. They’re taking care of the tooth now, but they—”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Put them on.”
The nurse quickly ran me through what needed to be done—putting his tooth back in and x-raying his arm—and asked if I consented. Then a second nurse came on and went through the same routine. Once they were satisfied they had my full consent to treat my son—yes, please!—they put Brennan back on the phone.
“The dentist is numbing him up right now,” he said. “He’s doing good. And I’ll stay with him while they’re working on the tooth.”
I swallowed. “Okay. Great. Thanks. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just keep him calm if you can, all right?”
“Doing the best I can.” With a hint of a smile in his voice, he added, “He’s holding it together pretty good, though. Kid’s a trooper.”
We’d see about that. Tariq and doctors didn’t mix very well, especially if there were blood or needles involved.
After we’d hung up, I shoved my phone in my pocket and hurried into the back office. “Hey, boss. I need to leave early. My kid’s at the ER. I need to go get him.”
“He okay?”
Yeah, that’s why he’s at the ER. Really?
“Took a spill and knocked out a tooth.” I rocked from my heels to the balls of my feet. “They’re still doing X-rays and stuff, but I need to get there.”
Calmly, Pete craned his neck and looked out at the kitchen. “I’m short-staffed, but Mike’s on his way—soon as he gets here, you can go.”
I blinked. “But . . . my son’s at the ER. In Port Angeles. I need to go.”
“And he’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Just hang tight.”
Hang tight? Hang tight? Are you serious?
I knew better than to argue, though. It wasn’t below Pete to find a reason to make someone stay when they needed to leave early. Laura had been stuck here a full hour last month when her boyfriend needed to be picked up after a car accident. Just because she’d lipped off at Pete when he hadn’t let her go right away.
Teeth grinding, I left his office. It took all I had not to pace back and forth in the front of the restaurant as I watched the parking lot for Mike’s battered old car.
Come on, man. Don’t be late tonight. Just this once, be on time.
I’d never been crazy about Pete, but that resentment burned deeper with every minute he kept me here instead of letting me get to my kid. There was nothing I could do for Tariq, but I needed to be there with him. The longer it took for me to get there, the more he was going to panic. I still hadn’t forgotten the time I’d needed to pick him up early from kindergarten because he was sick, and it had taken almost an hour because I’d been hung up at an appointment. To this day, I was haunted by the moment I’d walked into the nurse’s office, and he’d burst into tears and sobbed, “I thought you weren’t coming!”
Even now, as he was getting older and understood that delays and obstacles happen, his sense of abandonment was on a hair trigger. I was the only constant figure in his life, and any inkling he got that I was going the way of his mother or my ex-fiancée would send him into a panic.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d talked to him. He knew I was on my way. He knew Port Angeles was a bit of a drive from Bluewater Bay. That had to mean something, right?
With each passing minute, it was tempting to just walk out of Old Country and never come back. My son needed me a lot more than I needed this abuse.
“Hey, Hamady,” Pete barked. When I turned around, he pushed a loaded pizza bag across the counter. “I need you to take this one.”
My lips parted. “But, I’ve—”
“You’re not clocking out until Mike gets here, so you might as well earn your pay.” He gestured at the pizza bags. “It’s in the Sunnyside Condos. You can damn near walk. Won’t take you long.”
I was a heartbeat away from telling him where he could put the pizzas, the Sunnyside Condos, and the time clock, but I needed this paycheck.
So I gritted my teeth and took the bags.
All the way out to the truck, out of the parking lot, and down the road, I was beating myself up. This was my fault. Tariq wouldn’t be in the ER, hurting and scared, if I hadn’t stupidly left him with Brennan. I didn’t like him skateboarding at all, and what had they been doing that put him in the path of another skater, and then in the hospital? How fast had he been going?
I ground my teeth until my jaw ached. I was an idiot. What was I thinking? Brennan and I barely knew each other.
Well, okay. We knew each other. We’d been making excuses to see each other every chance we had over the past few weeks, and I’d probably told him more about me than I’d told anyone in years.
But damn it, I trusted him with my kid for one afternoon, and now they were in the emergency room?
I thumped my hand on Brennan’s steering wheel. What was I thinking?
Okay, so I was desperate. Kelly had left me in a bind, and Leyla’s hands had been tied, and Brennan had offered a solution, and . . . and now my kid was at the hospital in another town. Probably wondering where I was. Probably freaking out, having visions of me just vanishing into the same thin air as his mom.
I whispered a prayer, asking Allah to keep Tariq calm, and parked the truck in front of the condos. After I’d double-checked the unit number, I collected the pizza bags and the bill and hurried to their door. It took all the restraint I had to not sprint up the stairs. With the way this day was going, I’d trip, drop the pizzas, and have to go back and get replacements, which would keep me away from the ER even longer because Pete would absolutely make me do the second run.
Or even better—I’d bust my ass, and wind up going to the ER as a patient.
So I took the stairs carefully, delivered the pizzas, and collected the money. On the way down, with no pizzas at risk, I ran. And I nearly did bust my ass on that bottom step, but I recovered, my ankle smarting ju
st slightly. Not nearly enough to slow me down.
I drove like a bat out of hell back to Old Country, and as I pulled into the parking lot, I’d never been so happy to see Mike’s blue Honda. For once in his life, he wasn’t excessively late.
I ran into the store and dropped the pizza bags on the rack. Then I went to the cash register, where Isobel answered phones and took orders.
“Hey.” I set my cash bag on the counter. “I need you to cash me out. Fast. Please. My kid’s in the hospital and I—”
“I heard.” Isobel glanced back, probably making sure Pete was out of earshot. To me, in a conspiratorial voice, she said, “Go. I’ll tell Pete we settled up, and I’ll give you your tips when you get here tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can drop them by your apartment later if—”
“It’s fine. I trust you.”
“Okay.” She shooed me toward the door. “Go. Your baby needs you.”
I didn’t make her tell me twice. I darted into the back, clocked out, and left.
And as soon as I was in Brennan’s truck, I put the pedal to the floor and drove over to Port Angeles. At that speed, it wouldn’t take long to get there, but it felt like it took forever.
My throat was tight, my heart giving the engine’s RPM a run for its money. All the way to the hospital, the terrified father and the admittedly-less-devout-than-I-should-have-been Muslim were at odds inside my brain, alternately praying for Tariq to be all right, and acknowledging that I understood Allah’s will trumped mine.
Please let him be all right. Inshallah.
Please don’t hurt my son. Inshallah.
Inshallah. Inshallah. Inshallah.
Finally, I made it to the hospital, and once I’d parked, I hurried inside. At the triage desk, I didn’t even care that my voice was shaking and I sounded like I was on the brink of hysteria. “My son just came in. Tariq Hamady. T-A-”
“He’s in room six.” The nurse gestured for me to follow. “I’ll take you back to him.”
My body and brain didn’t even know how to react to that. Relief that I’d see him in a minute? That he was in a room and not an operating room? Or a nauseating level of terror that may or may not have been rational because I had no idea how he was doing. How much had Brennan glossed over to keep me from panicking?
