Page 87 of Everlasting Vows

He cracks one eye open, and Abbi rolls her eyes at me good-naturedly. When Murphy shifts his hand to push himself up, I rush around to the other side of his bed to assist him. Abbi presses the button on the bed to raise him into a more upright position, while I support his body until he can settle against his pillows that Abbi’s readjusted.

While I’m happy for Murphy to just eat his pudding, Abbi puts her foot down to ensure he has some of his soup and main meal first. “You need to eat properly, Murph.”

He grumbles at first, but then relents once he realizes Abbi isn’t going to give in. She dips the spoon into the soup and brings it to Murphy’s mouth before he’s fully cognizant of what she’s doing.

“I can feed myself. I lost my leg, not my hands!” he snaps.

Her eyes widen, tears forming instantly, and I watch as she blinks them away quickly. I doubt Murphy noticed, but I did. “Of course, sorry.” She places the spoon in the bowl so it’s easy for him to grab and rises from her seat. “I just need to go to the bathroom. Back in a minute.” She leans down and kisses Murphy’s cheek, then smiles tightly at me as she leaves the room.

I could let this go. He’s having a shit time. He’s dealing with a lot. He lost his leg and hearing in his left ear, and the left side of his body is covered in burns. He’s bruised and battered. However, I have never tolerated our kids being disrespectful, and if I start now, if I treat Murphy differently from before, I’m sending him a message that we see him differently. And right now, it’s important that our son realizes we see him as the same person he was before the blast.

“Hey.” I wait until I have his attention. “Don’t talk to your mom like that. She doesn’t deserve your disrespect. I understand you’re dealing with a lot right now. Believe me, I do. And we’ll help you every step of the way. But we’re still your parents and you’re still our son and the rules … the rules still apply. You feel me?” I raise my brows, waiting for him to respond.

He nods once and drops his eyes to his soup. “Sorry.”

“We’ve been worried about you and scared that we’d lose you. She just wants to fuss over you, and you need to let her. You need to apologize to your mom when she comes back.” I keep my eyes on him until he acknowledges me with a simple nod. “Now, eat your dinner, or she won’t let you have your pudding.”

A dark chuckle huffs past his lips. “I’m not a kid.”

“We know that, but we want what’s best for you.” I lean forward in my chair, waiting until I have his eyes on me. “That means eating as much as you can to help your body heal.” I point to his food. “Mom’s already been researching what you’ll need when you come home.”

“She doesn’t need to do that,” he mumbles, his eyes growing shiny. “I can manage.” He’s trying to be tough, but I see the little boy he once was who needed his mom when he was hurt or sick. Those feelings don’t disappear just because he’s grown. He doesn’t have a partner to lean on, and right now he needs to know he can lean on us.

“We know you can manage and that you’re capable and independent. But right now, you need a helping hand, so let us be that for you.” I gently grip the back of his neck and touch my forehead to his. “Okay?” I blink to hold back my own tears.

It’s tough seeing your men injured, but it’s next level when it’s your son. I’ve seen firsthand the road he’s about to travel, and it’s fucking bumpy with potholes so deep a man could get lost. I refuse to let that happen to our son.

I watch him swallow, composing himself. “Okay.”

“Good.” I press a kiss on his forehead, then release him. “Now eat your dinner.”

He resumes eating, and Abbi returns, more in control of her emotions than when she left. The second Murphy spots her; he places his fork down. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, Mom.”

She glances at me, then smiles at Murphy, waving his apology away. “It’s okay, Murph. I understand.”

“It’s not okay, Abs,” I tell her softly. “He needed to apologize. We’ve never tolerated disrespect, and we’re not going to start now.” I lock my eyes with hers, hoping she understands what I’m saying. When she nods at me, the tightness across my shoulders releases.

“Thanks, Murphy.”

Dr. Wagner, whom we met on our first day here, walks in. I found his bedside manner lacking, but maybe he saves it for his patients. He nods to Abbi and me, then addresses Murphy. “Mr. Steele. I’ve come to explain your injuries and what you can expect in your recovery moving forward, particularly over the next few days. We amputated your left leg three inches below the knee. We preserved as much of the length as we could to give you the best possible outcome.” He tucks his hands into his coat pockets. “We performed a myringoplasty to repair a tear in your eardrum. You can expect to regain 85 to 90 percent of hearing in that ear, but it will never return to what it was before the blast.” He steps closer, pointing to the bandages on Murphy’s face and hand. “You also suffered flash burns to your face, body, and hand. These are second-degree burns that will heal within a month or so. Minimal scarring. You’ll be fine.”

I raise my eyebrows and glance at Abbi, her mouth drawn tight. Murphy appears beyond shell-shocked, and I can’t fathom how someone whose job it is to care for people is delivering all of this as if he’s giving a dissertation that he’s given one hundred times before and is utterly bored.

He delivered all of this to me and Abbi in the same cold manner, and I’d hoped he’d be a little more … I don’t know … compassionate, maybe.

I can’t let him continue. “Can I speak with you for a minute?”

“Sure, happy to answer any questions.” He checks the time on his watch, then folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head to the side.

I nod toward the door. “In private.”

He skims his gaze across Murphy and Abbi, then makes his way to the door and out into the hallway. I follow him out, and with my fingers wrapped around the handle, I look back at my family. “Won’t be long.” The door closes with a sharp snick, and I turn to the doctor.

He makes a show of looking at his watch again, then narrows his sharp eyes on me. “I’m very busy. What do you need?”

I study him. An ordinary-looking man. You wouldn’t know he was an incredible surgeon if you passed him on the street. If anything, you might think he was an accountant. I take a step closer, and he stands taller, tilting his head back to maintain eye contact with me. “I need …” I stretch my neck from side to side. “I need a little compassion in there,” I snap, pointing to Murphy’s room just in case he doesn’t understand. “That young man has just had his life turned upside down. He’s lost his leg, his hearing, and has burns on his face, body, and hand. And you stand at the end of his bed and rattle off his injuries like a laundry list and have the audacity to tell him he’ll be fine.” I jam my fingers into my hips, so I don’t twist them in his shirt and shake him. “He may survive and heal, but his life has fundamentally changed. So yeah, I need a little compassion.”

His expression softens. “My apologies. I’ve been told my bedside manner is lacking, and sometimes I forget I need to do better.”