That's what this is about. His mother's careless disregard for him probably made him doubt that anyone could ever love him. Poor baby. I don't want to be angry at a woman who did what she hadto do to flee domestic violence. Yet I'm still angry that she took that out on her son, too.
Once Jake is cleared by the hospital and concussion-free, I drive him home while Adam goes to the police station to finish his statement. He really wants to know what caused all this.
I'm more concerned with the recovery.
Jake was already showing signs of being a difficult patient. His ankle had been wrapped up, and he was told to stay off of it for the most part, but when we got home, before I could even help him with his crutches, he opened the door and got out of the car.
"Jake," I say warningly, and he winks, leaning against the car to wait for me.
"I can walk just fine," he says.
"Your ankle is the size of your head. You already made it worse by refusing to be wheeled to the car while we were in the hospital."
"I didn't need it."
"Yes, you do. You're just scared it will threaten your masculinity."
He scoffs, and I roll my eyes.
I finally get his crutches to him, and we get inside the house.
Instead of going to bed like he's supposed to, he decides to go to the kitchen to make something to eat.
"Jake!" I scold.
"What?"
"Bed. Now."
"But I'm hungry."
"I'll make you something, just go."
"Bossy," he grumbles, but his eyes twinkle playfully. He drops a kiss on my cheek as he goes in.
Yeah, he's definitely going to be a handful.
As I start on some chicken soup, the doorbell rings. I assume it's not Adam because he wouldn't ring the doorbell if it were.
When I glance through the peephole, it's Sam standing there, radiating anxious energy.
"Sam." I pull open the door further and say, "Hey. Come in."
He does, and she says, "Adam called and told me what happened. It's all my fault. I should have been there. "
"It's not your fault."
"It is. I just keep screwing up with him. I should have been there, but I was carving and I–"
"Hey," I put my hand on his arm, and he stops, though his eyes still leak with guilt. Something tells me it's about more than just what happened today. There's a tension I've noticed between the two men for a while, even though I never brought it up. Maybe I should do that today.
"Just talk to him," I tell him. "About everything. Even the hard stuff. Trust me when I say he will never hold it against you. He's just not that type of guy."
He holds my gaze for a long time, a poignant sadness in his eyes even as he smiles. "Yeah. I know."
34
SAM