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I laugh even though tears are pulsing behind my eyes. “You’re such a brave boy. I’ll be there in a few hours, okay? I just need to book a plane ride back.”
“Sam’s right, Mom. There’s nothing you can do, and making you miss your work thing would just make me feel worse.” His little voice sounds more like a big boy than the little one I’ve been raising.
“But I could kiss you and hug you and see for myself that you’re okay,” I protest.
“You can do all that when you get back in two days, too.”
I giggle as tears actually start to fall. I brush them away. “When did you get so smart?”
“I was born with it on my mom’s side.”
“I love you, Jonah. You call me if you need anything at all, you hear me? I will hop the next flight I can get on any time of the day or night,” I promise.
“It’s fine, Mom. I’ll get a cool cast and all my friends can sign it and I’ll be as good as new in a few weeks.”
“That sounds like something Sam said.”
“It is,” he says, and I picture his cute little shrug. “The doctor just walked in. I better go. Love you!”
“I love you, baby!” I say into the phone again as it disconnects.
And as soon as I hear that sound of a call ending, I burst into tears.
He sounded fine, really. He told me not to come home.
Still, my first instinct is to pull up flights home.
I don’t need to be here covering this speech. I should be home with my son, and it’s one of the things that hurts the most about being a career-driven single mom.
I want to be there for my son. I feel guilty when I’m not.
But I just got this promotion, and I already have someone else trying to take it from me.
I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Is your son okay?”
I can’t force myself to turn around to face Lincoln. Not when the tears are rushing down my cheeks. Not when it feels like my world is caving in on me after nearly being assaulted in the bar and then being saved and then finding out my boy is hurting and I’m not there with him. “They think he broke his arm and I’m not there because I’m here.”
I feel his body move in behind mine as he wraps his arms around me. “He’s in good hands.”
“You don’t know that,” I hiss, spinning in his arms to face him.
He looks surprised when our eyes meet, and I’m not sure if he’s surprised at my sudden turn, my words, or the fact that I’m practically sobbing while still trying to hold it together by a thread.
But the thread is frayed and I’m close to giving in.
He tightens his hold on me but reaches a thumb up to my cheek to wipe away a tear. His eyes search mine for a few beats, and the tears continue to fall.
His eyes flick to my lips before returning to my eyes, and when they land on mine again, they’re cloudy.
Unsure.
Confused.
I feel it, too.
Cloudy, unsure, and confused.
