Page 57 of Rescued by the Single Dad

How could it not be?

He told the kids to skedaddle, but they were all glued in place. Watching as Brooke fought his efforts and begged for help.

Finally, after he hauled her up, his chest to hers, holding her tight against him, and pinning her arms at her sides as he spoke softly to her, did she wake up.

Then he laid her back down as she returned to the awake world, confusion swimming in her green eyes.

“Brooke, you had a scary dream,” Talia said, her voice laden with concern as she pushed past Clint and came to kneel next to the couch where Brooke lay.

Brooke blinked a few times, and pink bloomed in her cheeks. She scanned Clint, then the children, then brought her gaze back to Talia. Reaching up, she cupped Talia’s cheek and a new tear slid from the corner of her eyes down into her ear. “Did I?”

Talia nodded. “Yeah. Was it about drowning?”

Brooke nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” Talia said, then she elbowed her father out of the way, giving him a cursory glare because he didn’t do it fast enough, and she hugged Brooke. “Daddy’s hugs always help me when I have a bad dream, too.”

Brooke wrapped her arms around Talia and held on tight. “Thank you. This is really helping.”

They pulled away after a moment and Brooke sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I’m so sorry.”

Clint glanced back at the other kids. He knew Talia would be okay, but Silas, Dom’s six-year-old, was particularly sensitive. He still looked a little spooked. “Come here, Si,” he said, opening up his arm for his nephew to step forward.

Silas let his backpack fall to the floor, and he stepped into Clint’s embrace.

“It was a little scary seeing Brooke having a nightmare like that, wasn’t it?”

Silas’s head bobbed as his big blue eyes—wide as dinner plates—stared at Brooke.

“But we all have bad dreams sometimes. Even you, right, bud?”

Silas nodded again.

“The thing to remember is that dreams aren’t real. And we also know that Brooke just went through something really scary. So her brain is trying to sort it out. It’s trying to figure out where to put that memory. And our brains do that—they organize and clean up the clutter—when we sleep. But sometimes when they are doing their sweeping and tidying, some memories get caught up in a dust cloud and they can be hard to catch. That’s what bad dreams are. A dust cloud of memories that our brain is trying to organize and tidy up, but it needs to wait for the dust to settle before it can do that.” He turned to his nephew. “Does that make sense?”

Silas nodded. “Or like when we rake leaves and then Uncle Jagger comes along with the leaf blower and messes up Daddy’s pile of raked leaves. Then we have to collect them all again while Daddy calls Uncle Jagger a doofus.”

Clint chuckled. “That’s exactly right. Good job, buddy. And yeah, Uncle Jagger can be a doofus sometimes.”

The other kids giggled.

Silas focused on Brooke. “Are you better now?”

Brooke nodded. “I am. Thank you, Silas. It was just a dream.”

“You didn’t really drown. Not in the ocean, and not in your dream. I’m glad you didn’t drown in either.”

“Me, too,” Brooke said, reaching out for Silas’s hand. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’m sorry your brain is having a hard time organizing your memories. You need like a ... better broom or ...” He scratched his head. “What’s that thing my dad uses? A mini vacuum that you hold. It’s like this big.” He held his hands out eighteen inches apart.

“A dust buster?” Clint offered.

Silas perked up. “Yeah, a dustbuster. You need a dustbuster for your brain. So you don’t get any dust clouds that make you think you’re drowning when you’re not.”

Brooke smiled now, and the anguish from her dream seemed to recede the longer she interacted with the kids. Their energy and sweetness really were infectious.

Fuck, they were all so lucky to have such good kids, healthy kids.

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