Every Way (Brush of Love 4)

Then, my thoughts wandered to my mother.

I had no idea how I could get her to accept the truth about my brother’s death. I also had no idea why she was so resistant to it. It was like she almost preferred him being an overdose victim. It was like she was okay with writing off her son, the addict, but she couldn’t write off her son, the murder victim. Whether that cast a deeper shadow on the type of life she led or if she was really struggling deep down inside, no one knew. She wouldn’t let anyone close enough to see without lashing out in the most extreme of ways.

And even though I knew she was hurting deep down in the marrow of her soul, I couldn’t allow her to patronize and chastise my budding family the way she had been.

I had no idea how I was going to get her to accept the truth, but I knew it ultimately wasn’t up to me. We had proven to her that John wasn’t some loser who’d overdosed but that he was a victim. And in some weird way, that should have alleviated some of her pain and guilt. If there was a part of her that blamed her parenting style for how John turned out, then she no longer had to blame herself for his death.

I thought that would’ve brought her some comfort, but all it did was make her angry.

I wondered how long it would take her to overcome something like this. How long would it take her to take the one truth she believed and discard it for another? I had walked that bitter, despondent trail with my mother for years after John’s death over the four years of both my parents pushing him off to the side and not attending the memorial service I would throw in his honor. Was I going to have to push through four more years of torture and verbal abuse and ignorance to give my mother the time she needed to come to terms with this? My father had, and in some ways, it had released him from the guilt he was being swallowed by and from the nightmares I knew plagued him. It gave him a renewed chance to remember John the way he wanted instead of the way my mother had always forced on him.

But my mother was a piece of fucking work.

I was happy to give her whatever time she needed to cope. After all, she was going to be a grandmother. I wanted to give my unborn child a chance at a stable family. I had heard tales of how grandchildren could change even the coldest of elderly hearts, but what I wasn’t going to do was subject Hailey to her criticism, her empty threats, and her anger. Hailey didn’t deserve that kind of treatment nor did she need to be put underneath all the stress. So, if staying away from my mother was what it took to keep everyone safe, then that was what I would do.

But the sound of a paint can dropping ripped me from my thoughts.

Men began to shout as I turned my head toward the sound. I saw a ladder teetering in the other room, and I rushed across in that direction. I saw the man go down as the ladder fell on top of him, and I lunged for the metal frame pinning the man to the ground. Foreman Jack came running around the corner and headed straight for the worker on the floor, the gash in his head bleeding as it trickled down his skin. I set the ladder upright as Jack pulled out his phone to dial the emergency responders.

“Son. Son, can you hear me?” Jack asked.

The man nodded his head but winced in the process.

“Don’t move,” I said. “If you’re in pain, you could make it worse by moving.”

“Yes, I’d like to report an accident,” Jack said. “We need an emergency response crew at 1752 Court Circle Road. Yes, San Diego. Out toward the west end of the city. It’s a new build, yes.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” I asked.

“Three,” the man said.

“Good. Does my voice sound like it’s echoing?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Can you move your fingers and toes?” I asked.

I watched his hands and feet as his boots and his fingertips moved.

“Okay. Anything feel cold? Anything going numb?” I asked.

“No, sir. But my neck’s cold.”

“Nothing numb in your neck?” I asked.

“No, sir. I’m sorry. I lost my balance, and I tried to overcorrect.”

“Just settle down. You’re going to be fine. I think it’s just a minor head injury, but you’ll need stitches.”

“Bryan, I’m so sorry. I was in the other room checking up on something,” Jack said.

“No need to be sorry. Injuries occur on worksites. It’s fine. I’m not upset. I just want to make sure we get this man in the hands of a doctor to make sure he’s fine. He’ll need stitches, though.”

“That mean I’m off the job?” the man asked.

“All depends on what the doctor says, but if he gives you any medication to take for this injury, then, yes, you’re going to have to be off the job. But don’t worry. You’ll be paid for the full day today, and your medical costs will be covered since you got injured on a jobsite, okay?”

“Got it,” the man said.