Page 12 of Dr. Brandt

“Yes, I’m his mom,” I said, my eyes never leaving my son. “Is he waking up?”

“His vitals are stable. We’ve got to take him to the hospital, though. He took a very hard hit, losing his helmet and getting hit in the head by another helmet in the process.”

“I’m riding in that ambulance,” I demanded as if they wouldn’t let me.

“Yes, ma’am. We need to leave immediately. You can make any necessary phone calls on the way. Your son needs a scan, which is being arranged with the ER trauma team waiting for us.”

“Thank you,” I said through chattering teeth.

I climbed into the back of the ambulance while oxygen was strapped over Jackson’s mouth, his eyes still closed. The medic reassured me that Jackson was stable, but this injury could be critical.

I numbly gave Jackson’s medical history to the attending medic while the ambulance sped away from the stadium. I held his limp hand, feeling as helpless as always when he had seizures. This felt different, though, and I was scared.

It was Jackson’s first seizure in a very long time, but he wasn’t waking up. So many variables ran through my head, from brain trauma to concussions—they were things that affected Jackson differently than the average person because of his condition. It felt like my world was frozen, and all I knew to do was talk to my son to let him know I was with him.

God, please let him wake up and be just fine.

I must’ve chanted that over and over in my mind until the ambulance pulled up to the hospital, and I watched the ER and trauma staff receive my son. I had no idea what would happen, but my motherly instinct told me it wasn’t good.

Chapter Six

Jessa

It’d been a week since Jacks’s injury, and his diagnosis was better than I’d imagined. He’d suffered a concussion—which he’d managed to pull out of without further harm—but waiting alone in that cold, tense room for the doctors to come in still weighed heavily on my mind. Warren didn’t even show up until after I’d been called back to see my son.

He’ll be fine, Jess. It happens all the time, and we’re already used to his seizures. Fuck Warren for being so dismissive on the phone about the situation that night. I was still pissed about it.

I hated to feel this way about the man, but I couldn’t help it. Forgive me for being an overprotective mom, but I didn’t care what anyone thought. We beat these seizures before, and now they were returning thanks to that fucking concussion.

“You doing okay tonight?” Warren asked after coming home early from work.

I tensed when his hand reached for me where I sat on my favorite lounging sofa. I was curled up with a knitted throw blanket, and my body was molded against the large throw pillow.

“Babe?” Warren called out again, and I finally looked at him with the same disgust I’d developed through anger and frustration since that night.

“What?” I tried to keep from snapping, hopefully preventing another argument wherein I received a delivery of flowers to make it all okay again. I sighed and pulled my hair out of the ponytail that was the source of my current headache. “I’m sorry. My head is killing me. I just need to go to bed.”

I stood, but Warren was faster than I expected. He sat on the couch and pulled me onto his lap. I cringed when he began to rub my shoulders, wishing I could shake this mood.

“Damn, you’re all knotted up,” he said, rubbing my shoulders in a soothing motion. “Would you like me to call my therapist? Is this why you’ve been so cranky this week?”

Oh, right. You forgot I’m still pissed at you, and flowers didn’t fix the problem this time, my thoughts rumbled through my mind.

I shrugged him off and rose. “I don’t need your damn therapist.”

Warren’s eyes widened, and his features darkened some. “Then what the hell is your problem? It can’t be Jackson because the doctors cleared him, and he hasn’t had a seizure since the night of his concussion. So, what is it now?”

I heard the rising frustration in his voice, and the last thing I wanted was another fight.

I couldn’t help but run my hands through my hair and grip the sides of my head. “What if they do come back?” I looked toward the steps that led upstairs, where I knew Jackson was doing his homework.

“Are we going to play the what-if game tonight and ruin the fact that I came home early with Chinese takeout?” He smiled playfully at me. “I saved you from cooking, and this is the thanks I get?”

I eyed him and his horrible attempt to make me lighten up. “While I appreciate that gesture, I need you to appreciate where I stand with my son at the moment.”

“Your son?” He seemed offended by that. “I may not have the adoption papers filed, but it doesn’t mean he’s just your son, Jess.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off that way.”

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