by Witt, L. A.
At room six, the nurse tapped twice on the door. Then she pushed it open. “Tariq, honey?” She gestured for me to go in ahead. “You have a visitor.”
Before I’d stepped in, I heard him say, “Dad?”
His voice sent pure relief right through me, almost knocking my feet out from under me, but I stayed upright and went into the room. “Hey, kiddo.”
He was reclining in the hospital bed, and sat up as he saw me. I hugged him gently, then stood and looked him over.
His face was a little bruised—it’d probably be more colorful in the morning—and there was some road rash on his chin and jaw. His arm was against his side, immobilized by a splint and several ice packs.
I swallowed. “How’s your tooth?”
He flashed a smile. His gums were puffy and red, but every tooth was accounted for. That was a plus.
“They were able to put it back in,” Brennan said. “The dentist will have a whole bunch of instructions for you for some follow-up stuff, but she seemed pretty confident that it went back in okay.”
Nodding, I said, “Good. Good to hear. And the arm?”
“He just had X-rays taken,” the nurse said. “He had a round earlier, but the doctor wanted a better look at his elbow.”
Fresh anxiety shot through me. “What? Why?”
“She said she couldn’t see one part of the joint well enough, and wanted to make sure there wasn’t a chip or a fracture hiding in there.”
“Oh.” The panic slowly receded. “So . . . was there?”
“We should know shortly.” The nurse put her hand on the door handle. “We’ll keep you updated, but for now, he’s fine to just rest and relax.”
I nodded.
She left the room, and I turned back to my son. “How do you feel?”
He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “Sore. Me and Brennan have just been playing a game.”
I glanced at Brennan, and replayed what I’d seen when I walked into the room. I’d been so focused on giving Tariq a hug and making sure he was all right, it hadn’t really registered, but now that I thought about it, I realized they’d been as relaxed as two people in a hospital room could be. Brennan had been holding his phone in front of Tariq, and I could see a paused game on the screen.
“Oh.” I blinked a few times. “Well. Um. While we’re waiting for the doctor, if you guys want to keep playing . . .”
They exchanged glances, and both looked at me.
“You sure?” Brennan asked.
“Yeah.” I pulled up the empty chair. “Might as well pass the time, right?” And give Tariq something to focus on besides me being frazzled and shaky.
As Brennan started a new game, I kept my unsteady hands below the bed rail where neither of them could see. Not that they seemed to notice much, though. Once the game came to life, they were both focused, chasing little cartoon aliens around the screen and laughing hysterically whenever one exploded.
Watching them blew my mind. With all the visions I’d had of Tariq being in horrible pain and hysterics, this was what had waited for me—the two of them calmly playing on Brennan’s phone. Sure, Tariq winced now and then, and every so often, they’d pause the game so we could adjust an ice pack for him, but he wasn’t crying. He wasn’t asking me over and over what had taken me so long.
He was just . . . chilling with Brennan and playing a video game.
I shifted my gaze toward Brennan. How? How in the world did you do this?
Well, whatever he’d done, it’d worked.
Tariq was going to be fine. He was calm. And I could breathe.
Thank you, Allah, for watching over him.
And if he was going to get hurt today, thank you for putting Brennan at his side.
Chapter 13
Brennan
When all was said and done, the X-rays were clear. Tariq’s arm wasn’t fractured. He’d bruised it pretty good, and there was a little swelling in the soft tissue, but with some ice, rest, and ibuprofen he’d be fine.
The tooth was in place with a soft temporary splint, his gums stitched in a couple of places, and his mouth still numb. I didn’t envy him when that Novocain eventually wore off.
Thank God Zafir was there—the instructions they gave him would’ve made my head spin. Antibiotics. Painkillers. Some sort of rinse he had to do a couple of times a day. Symptoms to watch for. Some complicated follow-ups with Tariq’s dentist. I lost track of it, especially when someone mentioned that if he got an infection, he might need a root canal.
They handed Zafir a whole ream of instructions and information and insurance paperwork, and he just nodded, skimmed over them, asked questions, and played the role of the responsible adult that I sure as fuck wouldn’t have known how to be.
And finally, after it felt like we’d been there for a week and a half, the ER released Tariq.
On the way out to the parking lot, Zafir and I switched our car keys back, but neither said anything. Tariq got into the backseat of his dad’s car and buckled himself in.
Zafir closed the door and turned to me. My stomach was already a ball of lead, and facing him down now didn’t help at all. With the doors shut, and as much privacy as a mostly deserted parking lot allowed us, I cringed inwardly. Here it comes . . .
He spun his key ring on his finger. “So, um. I should really get him home so he can get some sleep. Do you want to come back to my place for a while?”
I nearly jumped—that wasn’t the question I’d anticipated. “Um . . .”
“I feel like I owe you,” he said. “You took care of him for me.”
I’m also the reason we ended up here.
I swallowed. Being around Tariq was fucking with my conscience, but I decided I would feel better if I knew he was home, in bed, and relaxed. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll follow you, I guess. I’m parked . . .” I looked around. “Where is my truck?”
He pointed a couple of rows over. “Sorry. I just took the first spot I could find, so I—”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. I would’ve done the same.” I shifted my weight and gestured toward my truck. “So, like I said. I’ll follow you.”
He got into his car and waited while I walked to mine. As he headed out of the lot, I followed, my heart thumping and my stomach twisting the entire time.
Now that the worst was over and Tariq was okay, I . . . wasn’t. All the way back to Bluewater Bay and to Zafir’s apartment, I kept replaying the crash over and over in my head, imagining every way it could have been worse. Sven was a featherweight compared to some of the other guys—what if one of the bigger skaters had crashed into Tariq? Or he’d hurt his neck? Or broken something?
Acid burned in my throat. Zafir had trusted me with his kid for half a goddamn day, and I’d handed him back bloody and dented. Why Zafir hadn’t lit into me right there in the parking lot, I had no idea. Maybe he was just exhausted. Two jobs and an ER visit—that was a long day. Maybe he was saving it until we were behind closed doors and he could really read me the riot act.
My hands were sweaty as I steered into the apartment parking lot behind Zafir. I parked in a guest spot, and got out as Zafir was helping Tariq onto his feet.
None of us spoke on the way up the stairs. Tariq was a little sluggish now—they’d given him some painkillers, which must’ve really kicked in when he was in the car, and he was starting to get groggy. Hopefully they were helping with the pain too—poor kid.
Zafir keyed us into the apartment. As he shut the door behind us, he said, “I’m going to put him to bed. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Sure. Okay.”
They headed down the hall. As they did, he kept a hand between Tariq’s shoulders, probably steadying him as he shuffled along the carpet.
While Zafir put Tariq to bed, I stayed in the kitchen. I couldn’t sit. Couldn’t stay still. I leaned against one counter, then paced for a minute, then leaned against another one and drummed my fingers rapidly.
After what felt like half the night—but was probably more
like five minutes—Zafir stepped into the kitchen.
I squirmed, my stomach twisting into even tighter knots. “How is he?”
Zafir shrugged. “He’s all right. He’ll probably be extra sore tomorrow, but he’ll be fine.”
I flinched. “Oh man. I’m glad he’s okay, but . . . God. I am so sorry.”
“Relax. He’s fine.”
“But he could’ve—”
“Brennan. Come here.” He led me to the couch and sat, and patted the cushion beside him.
I wasn’t so sure sitting would help with this restlessness, but I sat beside him and wrung my hands in my lap.
He touched my arm. “Listen to me. I know my kid. He’s a wreck when there’s blood, or if he has to go see a doctor.”
I cringed. “I am so—”
“I’m not done,” he said softly, and squeezed my arm. “When I got there tonight, he was completely calm and cool. I thought I was going to walk in and find him crying and freaking out because he was scared, and hurting, and wondering where I was. But he wasn’t.” Zafir smiled as he withdrew his hand. “I don’t know what you did, but I can’t even tell you how grateful I am for it.”
“But the whole reason he was there was—”
“It was an accident. It happens.”
“But I broke your kid!”
Zafir laughed. “And you’ve been skating long enough to know that kids bounce.” He paused. “You want to know what he asked me while I was tucking him in?”
I nodded.
Zafir smiled. “He asked if this meant he couldn’t skate anymore.”
“And . . . does it?”
“My first instinct is to say he’ll never set foot on a board again.” Quirking his lips, he half shrugged. “But if he spent a few hours in the ER after having his tooth knocked out and his face scraped up, and he still wants to skate . . .”
I stared at him, not sure if I should laugh or what. Shifting uncomfortably, I lowered my gaze. “Well, he did seem to enjoy it.”
“So I gathered.”
Silence fell, and I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Finally, I cleared my throat. “Listen, um. I know how emergency rooms can be, and dentists, so if you need any help, like with the bills, I—”
“No,” he said sharply. “I’ve got insurance. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
“But if anything isn’t covered.” I met his gaze. “I’m happy to help. I feel terrible.”
“You did help. More than you can probably imagine.” He took my hand. “Thank you for keeping him calm while I was on my way. The emergency room could’ve been an even bigger disaster than him falling, especially when it took me forever to get there, but it wasn’t. Because you were there.”
“All I did . . .” I hesitated.
Zafir lifted his eyebrows.
I looked down at our joined hands, wondering why it wasn’t weird that he was still holding on. “All I did was what I thought I’d want someone to do if I was a kid in the ER.”
“Which is exactly what you should’ve done.” He squeezed gently, then let go, and the cool spot where his hand had been—that was weird. Like it made more sense for him to put his hand back and leave it there.
But I couldn’t bring myself to reach for him. “I guess . . . I guess I should get going. I know you need to get some sleep.” I glanced in the direction of Tariq’s bedroom. “I’m, um, glad he’s okay.”
Zafir smiled. “Me too. I’m glad he had you tonight.”
We locked eyes for a long moment. A long enough moment it should’ve been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. Not really. Kind of awkward—like, what was I supposed to do now and why was my heart beating like this?—but not uncomfortable.
Then Zafir cleared his throat and dropped his gaze. “Anyway, thanks again. For taking care of him. It . . . it really means a lot.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Chapter 14
Zafir
The next morning, I called in to work, then called the school and let them know Tariq would be out today. I’d made him an appointment at ten thirty so his dentist could check the tooth and the stitches, and we’d figure out the rest of the day from there. His attendance record was immaculate, and he was doing fine on his schoolwork—staying home to recover a little wouldn’t hurt him.
As long as we didn’t have to be anywhere for a while, I let him sleep in. Around eight, as I was drinking my first cup of coffee, I heard some movement at the end of the hall. I gave him another minute or so, then put some hot chocolate in the microwave for him.
Just as the microwave beeped, Tariq limped into the kitchen. I quickly schooled my expression so he didn’t see the alarm that shot through me. The scrapes on his face had scabbed over, and his lips were puffy. He shuffled like he was sore from head to toe, which he probably was.
“Hey.” I set the hot chocolate in front of his place at the table. “How you feeling?”
He winced as he sat down. “Hurts.”
“What hurts?”
“Everywhere.”
“Everywhere? Just bruised and sore? Or is it really bad?”
“Sore.” The splint in his mouth gave him a subtle lisp, but it wasn’t bad.
“Well, they sent some pain pills home with you. You need to eat something, though. Anything sound good?”
He scowled. “My mouth hurts.”
“Oatmeal?”
He shook his head slowly.
That made sense. His gums and jaw were probably tender, and even chewing something that soft might hurt. But what else did I have in the house that he could eat? Despite having a father with no qualms about eating leftover cold pasta for breakfast, Tariq turned up his nose at eating anything before noon that wasn’t a breakfast food.
Almost anything.
I grinned. “Hey, you remember all those times you wanted pudding for breakfast?”
His eyebrows rose.
“I think we can probably do that just this once.”
Gingerly, he smiled, more on one side than the other. “Really?”
“You gotta eat something. But it’s only while your mouth is healing. Okay?”
Tariq nodded. “Okay.”
I took a few cups of chocolate pudding from the pantry, peeled off the lids, and put the cups on the table for him. Then I sat across from him with my coffee.
“So,” I said. “I’m really, really sorry it took me so long to get there last night.”
He shrugged and took a spoonful of pudding. “I was okay. Brennan showed me how to play that game on his phone.”
“I saw that.” I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug to keep from wringing them and letting him see how much of a wreck I was. “But I, um . . . I got stuck at work, or I’d have been there sooner.”
“I know.” He licked the spoon and put it back in the cup for some more. “Brennan told me.”
“Did he?”
He nodded. “He said you couldn’t talk while you were driving.”
Oh. Well, I guess that did explain it. Neither of them could’ve known I’d been working in the kitchen the first few times Brennan called. That my phone had vibrated each time, but I hadn’t dared so much as look at it while Pete was hovering over me and Isobel while we’d frantically remade a huge order that another driver had dropped. It was only after we’d finished it and sent it out the door that another coworker casually told me I had an urgent call waiting on hold.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I’d snapped as I’d hurried to the phone.
“Because Pete was right there! I didn’t want to get my ass chewed!”
I’d muttered a few curses, taken the phone, and heard some words straight out of a nightmare: “We’re at the ER in Port Angeles. Tariq is fine. He really is. But—”
At the breakfast table, I suppressed a shudder. Just as well Brennan and Tariq had assumed I couldn’t answer because I’d been driving. My son didn’t need to know that my boss and coworkers had no sense of urgency in situations like that.
I sipp
ed my coffee. “Seemed like you were doing okay when I got there. I thought you’d be scared.”
He smiled a little, though he winced. “I was. But Brennan said you were coming, and the stuff the dentist gave me made it stop hurting.” He took another spoonful of pudding.
I owe you big-time, Brennan.
Once Tariq had eaten the first cup of pudding, I gave him a pain pill, which he washed down with his hot chocolate. He’d taken this particular prescription after he’d had his tonsils out, so at least I knew he didn’t react badly to it. As long as he had something in his stomach, he wouldn’t get sick. A little sleepy, maybe, but that was probably just as well—the more he rested today, the better he’d feel tomorrow.
As he started on his second pudding cup, I said, “So, it sounds like you were having fun before . . .” I hesitated. “Before you got hurt.”
“Yeah.” He grinned, showing the stitches and part of the splint in his mouth. “And Brennan’s gonna show me how to do an ollie and—”
“An ollie?” I asked. “What’s that?”
“It’s where you jump off the ground with your board.”
“I see.” I took a sip of coffee. “And, uh, what exactly happened, anyway? When you fell?” Brennan had explained it, but I was curious how Tariq remembered it.
“He was showing me how to go up a ramp, and somebody crashed into me.” Completely matter-of-fact. No sign that he was traumatized. As he scraped another spoonful of pudding from the bottom of the cup, he added, “The guy said he was sorry. And he found my tooth.”
“Oh. Well that’s . . . that’s good.”
“Yep. And Brennan said next time he’ll teach me how to do an ollie, and once I learn to do that, I can learn to do a kickflip.”
My stomach was still struggling with the idea of him being on a skateboard again at all. I wasn’t sure I could handle finding out what a kickflip was, so I just smiled and nodded. “Sounds like fun.”
His smile faded. “Can I really still skateboard? After yesterday?”
