Ari put her hand on Noah’s knee as the nurse came over with alcohol wipes, the pungent smell making Matt’s eyes water.
He lowered his voice for the doctor’s ears only. “Doesn’t he need a CT scan to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion?”
The smile the doctor gave him reminded him of Susan. “Mr. Tremont, he’s fine. I’d be willing to bet he scraped his head against the pool’s edge rather than actually hitting it. There’s no bump. Just take him home, give him some SpaghettiOs, and let him rest.” Noah had started chattering about SpaghettiOs and mummies and gorillas the moment the doctor gave him the first lollipop and began her exam. “You have nothing to worry about.”
If he could think rationally about what had happened, if he could stop replaying that recording in his brain of Noah falling, he might be able to see that the doctor and Ari were right about the scrape. But he never wanted his son to feel the kind of pain he’d experienced himself.
Matt would never forget falling off his bike when he was trying to get away from the neighborhood bullies who’d made his life a living hell. To this day, he remembered their laughter and that long walk home, his arm cradled against his stomach. He’d known his dad was going to be madder than ever. Don’t be such a freaking weenie and How the hell did I raise such a wimp? were two of his favorite refrains. That day, his father told him to buck up, his mother nodding furiously behind him. Somehow, that was even worse, the fact that his mother hadn’t believed it was her job to protect him, and that she’d agreed as his father said, “We can’t afford no freaking emergency room for a stupid sprained wrist just because the idiot couldn’t stay on his bike.”
It was the school principal, not his father, not even his mother, who had ended up sending Matt to the doctor, where an X-ray revealed the break in his arm. His dad had been hugely pissed about that bill. He’d even demanded the school pay for it since they were the ones who’d sent Matt to the hospital. He’d stopped only when they mentioned Social Services.
It was the Mavericks who finally saved Matt—along with Susan and Bob, who looked out for him and turned him into a worthwhile human being. Never his parents. And now he would do anything to protect Noah, spend every penny. He would never let his son be bullied, never let him get hurt.
But what if Matt couldn’t always rescue Noah, just like he hadn’t rescued himself when he was a kid and the other Mavericks had needed to protect him? What if he wasn’t capable of stepping up when push really came to shove? What if he wasn’t there when his son needed him most?
As if she could sense his inner turmoil, the doctor said again, “He’s fine. Your wife is taking care of him too.”
He focused on Ari still rubbing Noah’s leg while the nurse pressed the square SpongeBob bandage to Noah’s forehead as his son chattered cheerfully. And the words he’d been about to say—she’s not my wife—never made it past his lips.
The doctor squeezed his arm. “Take your family home and spend some quality time together. And stop worrying about Noah.”
Didn’t she get it? He would never stop worrying about his son.
Never.
Chapter Seven
They’d both long since changed out of the scrubs the nursing staff had given them as Ari and Matt got Noah ready for bed. The little boy’s color was back, and the SpongeBob bandage on his forehead was a badge of honor.
“I was real brave, wasn’t I?” He stood on the small stool in his bathroom so he could reach the sink as he brushed his teeth.
“You sure were,” Ari said. She turned to Matt with a smile, but his features were strained, his mouth a flat line.
Nothing she’d said had eased his guilt. Tonight definitely wasn’t the time to talk about getting rid of the water wings. At this point, she was half afraid he’d say Noah couldn’t swim at all anymore. Matt would wrap his son in cotton wool if he thought it would keep him safe.
Her heart split in two for him. She ached for his pain, his self-recrimination, but she also wanted to show him how resilient little kids were. Yes, you had to watch out for them, but you had to let them run free too, or they suffocated. Kids bounced back—she knew this for a fact, having bounced plenty during her own childhood. Heck, Matt had too. He’d come from a terrible childhood—and look how he’d thrived.
She wished she could help him get over what had happened. It was beyond painful to watch Matt silently visualize every horror, imagine all the what-ifs—and beat himself up for what had almost happened.
But it hadn’t happened. That was key. How could she make him understand? Not only that all was well, but that it was okay not to hold Noah quite so tightly.