Page 149 of My Damaged Protector

My mouth is suddenly incapable of forming words and my sight seems to be giving out.

“Miss Brown, are you okay?” the doctor asks. His voice sounds so far away. What is wrong with me?

I try to speak, but no words come out. Whatever vision I had before suddenly goes blank. My legs also become jelly underneath me.

I think I'm dying.

It's better to die than remain in a world where he isn't, right?

43

IAN

My deadbeatof a truck is giving up on me.

Who would have thought?

I've had the thing for as long as I can remember. It's been my closest friend. But now it keeps looking for a reason to pack up, and I keep fixing it.

Every time I take it to the mechanic, it comes back with another problem, so I've decided to be the one doing the fixing henceforth.

Last night I was on my way back from the station when it started to act out. I barely got it home in one piece.

“Daddy!” The voice of a small boy calls. Turning to see the boy running toward me, I drop the tool in my hand and open my arms for the embrace I know is coming.

He doesn't disappoint. He runs so hard into me I pretend to stagger just to humor him.

“Daddy, I'm strong!” he says excitedly.

Ruffling, his red hair that he got from his mother, I laugh as I bend to his height.

“Are you now? I wonder why that is?” I fuss, faking a confused look.

He giggles. He looks so much like his mother. The only thing he has from me is his eyes. Every other thing is Sarah's.

“It’s because Mommy gives me good food.” he declares, trying to show me his non-existent biceps.

It's a game he and Sarah play. Eat and you'll be strong. This was because he didn't like to eat. Now, she's just turned him into an unashamed foodie.

The boy can eat six times daily and he's still not satisfied.

“I guess you are right,” I murmur in agreement. There's no disagreeing with him if I want to get back to what I need to do.

Pushing upright, I take my hand off him and point him back into the house.

“How about you go put some of your mighty strength to work by helping Mommy inside the house?”

He shakes his head in denial. “Carry me.”

“Ryan,” I say his name in warning.

“Daddy, please.”

“Just a minute, and not a second more. I have to work, alright?”

“Alright,” he answers and starts to jump excitedly. I pick him up and toss him into the air a couple of times just as he likes.

He giggles loudly, screaming not to stop even though I know he's going to be dizzy soon. The boy just knows no limit. And that's what I love about him most. His resilience.

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