I squeeze my eyes shut.
Count to ten.
This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening. Thisisn’thappening!
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Hunter’s voice booms in the now silent lot. His voice is an angry hellfire of rageand the poor bastard sitting behind the wheel is going to get singed. I don’t feel sorry. “It’s not fucking NASCAR, you fucking asshole!”
I open my eyes.
Matty’s secure in Hunt’s arms, while Hunt has a fist pounding into the hood of the blue Mustang that nearly killed them both. I have a dim memory of locking my knees or else I’m not sure what to do with my legs now that I’ve become unstuck. My lower lip trembles, and the world swims in an ocean of tears that cascade down my cheeks.
I can breathe again.
I can move, but I don’t want to. Not yet. Instead, I take in the sight of my boys, alive and well and so very nearly taken away from me. Life has a way of showing you things, showing you how easily the good can be taken away.
A teenaged kid with Daddy’s car opens his car door, white-faced and trembling does he face down a father’s wrath. It could have been much, much worse. And thank God it wasn’t.
Walking over on numb feet and legs to Hunter, I grab the fist that has split skin along the knuckles from punching the hood of the guy’s car. Temporary pain, easily fixable. The idea of him being mauled, under the car has my belly doing somersaults and not the good kind.
The kid behind the wheel stands half in, half out of his car, staring at us all, maybe thinking he almost destroyed a family.Stammering out an apology, Hunter is having none of it. He keeps yelling, but I’m bothered by Matty’s silence and what that might mean. Did he pass out?
“Let’s just go, please. You know where the kid lives, you can always beat him up later, alright? Let’s get Matty to daycare. C’mon, Hunter. C’mon,” I coax the Beast with a gentle voice. I move slowly mostly because my legs are still refusing to work at full capacity and the awful what ifs keep bombarding my brain and taking up all my attention.
“God damn it, Matty, who the fuck told you to run off like that? Fuck. Just, fuck. Here take him, put him in his car seat.” Hunter says, handing his son off to me.
In the cradle of my arms, I can feel the little guy tremble, his whole body buzzing with the movement.
“You okay, little buddy?” I ask, rubbing his back, petting his hair, doing what I can to soothe him as much as myself.I should go back there and beat the shit out of that kid, like a mama bear would. But I’m not Matty’s Mom, and it’s not my place.
Matty’s arms wind tighter around my neck, his cheek pressed to mine.
“I’m sorry, Sera. I’m sorry. I just wanted to have some fun,” Matty whispers into my ear, the words a ghost of what his usually happy voice sounds like. I’m so happy to hear it, I want to cry.
“I know, baby. I know you didn’t mean for that car to come around. It’s not your fault.” I rub his back, up and down, up and down, while Hunter walks back and forth the length of the parking lot, hands clenched into fists, boots punishing the pavement he walks on.
“Why is Daddy so mad at me if it wasn’t my fault? I didn’t mean to fall. I coulda gotten up real fast in another second-”
I settle his butt on the trunk of Hunter’s car, making him look at me. I cradle his face with my hands and wipe away the trace of tears. I bend close and kiss his forehead, smelling baby shampoo and little boy rolled into one.
“He was scared. I was scared. People get angry when they get scared. Nobody likes getting scared, Matty. That’s all.” What a useless thing to say. “I’m so happy you’re alright and nothing happened to you. I mean, who would I read Harry Potter to?”
He looks down at his Iron Man shoes with the flashing heel. “Maybe you’ll find a little boy who’s better than I am. You’ll love him more than you love me.”
Pain lances through me but I’m not bleeding or physically hurt. I lean forward and hug him tight, trying to convey as much love as possible in the simple movement.
“Matty, I love you. I love you. There are no other little boys that I could ever love this much unless you had a little brother, then I think it would be okay. You’re my favourite little boy in the whole wide world.”
“Sera, why does Daddy hate me?” The words come out in a whisper.
I gasp; I can’t help it. “Why do you think that?” I back up to look at him in the face, heart knocking against my ribs.
Matty looks down at his shoes again, refusing to look me in the eye.
“He never tells me he loves me. I hope he knows I love him.” His baby blues look up at me as he twists his fingers together.