Page 51 of Beast: Part Two

“My head’s still a bit too muddled from the poison, maybe.”

He seems to take that in. “Okay. Let’s keep track of when it’s more active.”

I agree before heading into the bathroom. Before I shut the door, Priest calls out one last time.

“Come to the dining room once you get done in there.” He walks out the room.

I shut the door to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Feeling more alive than ever, I make my way outside. I know I told Priest I was going to come see him when I was done, but I needed to make a more important stop first.

“Hulk,” Gabe shouts as soon as he sees me. He runs up to me and wraps his arms around my lower half.

Stepping back, I squat down to get to his height. He then wraps his arms around my neck. I relish in the feel of his tight embrace. Summer explained that hugs from Gabe were rare and should be cherished.

He steps back from my embrace with a large smile on his face. I also notice a slight bruise on his cheek. It’s old and almost healed, but I’ve had enough bruises to spot them at any stage.

“What happened to your face?”

He looks down before responding. “Emory and I were playing. It was an accident.”

I look over his head at Emory. I go through my emotional Rolodex to read the expression on her face. Guilt. I can immediately tell that whatever happened, she did not mean to hurt him.

Her hands move rapidly as she signs. “I’m sorry. I apologized to him.”

I hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay. You both should be careful when playing.”

They both nod in understanding.

“I’ve missed you, Hulk,” my son says fully distracting me from his bruise. “Mama said you were sick.”

“I missed you too. And I was sick. But I’m much better now.”

He reaches out slowly and touches my ear. The wound is still pretty red from the stitches, but it doesn’t hurt. The arrow cut the top of my ear, slicing it into two pieces, but I’m assuming Doc stitched it back together.

“Does it hurt?” Gabe asks.

“No. Not anymore.”

He pauses for a moment, then looks over his shoulder before turning back to me. He lowers his voice as he asks, “Are you scared when you get hurt?”

Although his question is odd, I answer it anyway. “Getting hurt is part of my job. It isn’t about being scared. It’s knowing that it’s part of the risk. Firefighters, soldiers, and police officers all know that when they go to work, they risk getting hurt. But you must be brave enough to do what needs to be done.”

Gabe is quiet for a moment as if he’s thinking over my reply. I wonder does his question have anything to do with the accidental bruise under his eye.

“Why do you ask?”

He looks over his shoulder at Emory before turning back to me. “No reason,” he says.

A trained deacon left a bruise under my son’s eye and now he’s asking about fearing getting hurt.

Shaking my head, I sigh. “Just remember when you are playing this game, one of you are trained and one of you are learning.”

Emory nods and gives me a thumbs up.

I lean into Gabe and whisper. “Learn how to block.”

He grins and puts his arms up in a blocking form in front of his face. I stand and ruffle his hair. I spent a few more minutes outside with him, Emory, and the dogs, before going back inside.

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