Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

I’m crying so hard my cheeks sting and my lips feel swollen beyond recognition. “I’m so sorry.”

Walter gives me the saddest smile in the world. “Not as sorry as I am.”

“Walter––” I say, despite all the warnings to keep what happens in meetings separate from our personal lives. “Would you have dinner with my son and me sometime?”

Walter’s face lights up. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Fourteen

Two days later, after numerous calls to local contractors, none of whom are willing to take on the job, I’m closer to a nervous breakdown than I’ve ever been before. I walk into the kitchen with a pile of laundry to do and find my son lacing up his sneakers. My mommy alarm started blinking immediately.

“Where are you going?”

“To the mall ’cause Grant wants to buy a rollaway basketball hoop so I can practice with him because you said I can’t spend the whole summer indoors playing video games.”

“What?” I’m compelled to ask.

Grant walks into the kitchen dressed in black basketball shorts and a gray t-shirt. “Sam and I have stuff to do. Dude-bro stuff. No ladies allowed––” He shoots Sam a sly grin and Sam laughs. “We’ll be gone for a couple of hours. We’re taking Roxy with us so you have the day to yourself.”

I’m miffed. First, that I’m being jilted for Grant. Second, that I’m not welcome to tag along. And I can’t even make a stink about it. Seeing Sam this happy is all I’ve ever wanted.

He’s been very slowly coming out of his shell the last few years, but this summer the change has been profound. And if I’m being totally honest with myself, I would have to admit that it has a lot to do with all the attention Grant’s been paying him.

“Umm, okay,” I say with a small whine to my voice. “Roxy, too?”

“Yeah. Bye, Mom. Love you,” Sam walks out saying and my hand automatically goes to my throat. He never says that…never. Grant catches my expression as he heads for the door.

“Take care of my baby,” I order pointedly and he nods with a smile.

“I put my number in your cell in case you need to reach me.”

“When did you do that?”

“When you weren’t looking.” A blinding grin splits the bottom of his handsome face. “You should probably lock your phone. Bye, Mandy Sue.” He walks out the front door with me staring after him.

After more useless and totally depressing phone calls, I throw in the towel and decide to go see a movie. I haven’t seen an adult movie at the theater in years. It’s such a foreign concept it feels like I’m back in high school cutting class.

It’s early evening by the time I get back to the house. Where I discover it empty. No son, no dog, no Hendricks. As much as I try to reason with myself that there’s probably a perfectly good explanation, I can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously off.

Practically on cue my phone rings and I scramble to dig it out of my purse. Seeing Grant’s name flash onscreen sends my heart rate racing.

“What’s wrong? Where are you? What happened??” I frantically half-shout the second I hit the accept button.

“Mom! You gotta come to the hospital Grant got hurt he had to get stitches,” comes at me in one run-on sentence.

“Sam, wait. What hospital? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. Come quick. Grant said Stony Brook.” Relief spreads through me, making me shake with it. “I’m on my way. Stay there. Do NOT leave.”

“Okay.”

I punch the hospital address into the GPS and get there faster than I should. It’s a miracle I’m not pulled over for speeding. Once I get to the emergency room, I hurry to the kiosk and a nurse directs me to the last visitation room at the end of the hallway.

Through the glass wall, I spot my son sitting in a chair and Grant up on the gurney, shoulders hunched. They’re both covered in ivory paint.

Ivory paint? Huh? The mall, my ass.

“How was the mall?” I walk in saying.

“Mom!” Sam gets up and practically tackles me to the ground. I hug him back and turn my attention on the very large man silently staring at me.

“Are you okay?” I say to him.

Looking extra sheepish, he nods. “It’s nothing. Just a few stitches.”

“Fifteen stitches,” my son, the commentator, adds.

Taking Grant’s hand, I turn his arm over and pet the soft skin around the bandage. The one hiding the wound on the inside of his forearm. A tremor runs through him as he looks up at me.

“What happened?” Now is not the time to berate him for being stupid and jeopardizing his career so I keep my tone gentle and save the ass kicking for later.

“There was a rusty nail and Grant cut himself and we had to make sure it didn’t poison his blood,” Hendricks’ new lawyer takes it upon himself to explain.