Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

Sam nods without glancing up at her.

As soon as I could get dry clothes on him, we drove straight to the Stony Brook ER as a precaution. “Mommy, my throat hurts.” The only lingering problems seem to be a sore throat and an upset stomach from swallowing saltwater and sediment.

I pet his stiff hair and kiss the top of his head. Salt and sand stick to my lips. I don’t even have the energy to wipe it off. I should be relieved. I should be celebrating. And yet I feel like hiding under the bed and crying myself to death. If I don’t fall off the wagon today, I never will.

This is one of those moments. Where I dared to get ahead of myself and Life reminded me that she’s the one in charge. She’s the one laying tracks. I’m only along for the ride.

I’m so tired I feel it pulling my face down. I’m thirty-three going on one hundred and three.

“I know, honey. I’m going to get you some lemon sorbet to help with that.”

“I wanna go home.”

“A little while longer.”

“Hey,” a deep masculine voice calls out. Both Sam and I glance up to find Grant filling up the doorway. A heavy frown pulls at his face, and his chest falls and rises under his vintage Titans t-shirt…as if he’s been running. I don’t blink, not quite believing my eyes, scared that if I do he’ll disappear. Like everything else I’ve ever allowed myself to want.

Sam gets up from the bed, and head bowed, walks over to Grant. He wraps his arms around the big blond’s waist and Grant lifts him into his arms. Hiding his face in the curve of Grant’s neck, Sam starts to cry.

I am done for. Done. I can’t take any more. I watch Sam close his eyes and hug Grant tighter and I know with absolute certainty that I have hopelessly fallen in love with this gorgeous, klutzy knight and for the life of me I don’t know what to do about it.

The pressure behind my sinuses tells me the sting of tears is imminent. I pinch the bridge of my nose and fight like hell to push them back down.

I don’t know whether to be happy Sam has a man he feels close enough to to comfort him, or whether it makes me twice as bad a parent.

“It’s okay…you’re okay,” Grant murmurs, rubbing Sam’s back until the crying dials down to a soft sniffle.

“How did you find us?” I make quick work of the tear that’s falling down the side of my eye.

“iPhone.” When I return a blank stare, he continues, “Find My Friends––you approved me.”

“Oh…is that what that thing does? I thought it was like––Facebook friends.”

He presses his lips together, tempering a smile. “No.”

I don’t question why he’s here, riding in like a knight to rescue a boy and his parentally challenged mother at a time when he’s most needed. I don’t ask how he feels about me or Sam. I don’t ask where this is going. I don’t ask any questions that lead to answers I’m not ready to face. All I’m willing to admit is that I don’t ever want it to end.

“Mrs. Shaw?”

A pretty nurse appears behind Grant and he steps aside to let her enter the room. Her big brown eyes take the time to do a thorough examination of the gorgeous man holding my child.

He needs a nice girl, I tell myself. Like this one. One without enough baggage and issues to fill a small plane. He needs someone who’s going to complement his life, not one who will undoubtedly complicate it.

“Miss––not married.”

“I have your son’s discharge papers.” The nurse hands me a stack of them while her gaze flickers to Grant and away. She waits a beat before leaving.

“You hungry, buddy?” Grant murmurs.

Without looking up once, Sam nods. “Ice cream.”

Grant motions for me to go first. He doesn’t have to ask twice.

Grant runs into Scoop du Jour and gets Sam a large chocolate cone. It’s grotesquely enormous. But I don’t argue that it’s too big and way too much sugar so close to bedtime due to the insane amount of guilt I’m feeling––and compounding at an alarming rate as each minute passes.

If my bank account grew as quickly and reliably as my guilt, I’d hit the Forbes list in no time.

Once we’re back at the house, I tuck Sam into bed while Grant lets Roxy out to do her business. The nice gestures continue and with them so does the nausea I’m feeling. This domestic scene we’re pretending at. It gives me ideas I have no right to entertain. It’s almost cruel.

Up until now being alone never felt like a hardship. I’d never met anyone that made me want to make room, to turn my life and that of my son’s upside down to accommodate another person’s needs.