Page 30 of Off-Limits Daddy
I was still catching up to myself when the stretcher shifted, lifting.
“Good,” Wallace said, glancing down at me. “You’re doing fine.”
Hospitals were always loud. Shoes squeaking on tile, nurses calling to each other, machines hissing in the corners. Evenmy own thoughts sounded noisy, like someone had turned the volume up just to mess with me.
It didn’t take long for the nurses to unstrap me, check my vitals, and start the usual rounds of paperwork. Hydration, oxygen, blood pressure. Questions. The whole dance.
Mom showed up somewhere between my third blood pressure reading and another flick of that little oxygen monitor they clip to your finger, wearing that old cream cardigan she only pulled out when someone was sick or scared. It hung loose on her, sleeves bunched at the elbows, like she’d thrown it on in a hurry.
The second she walked in, I could tell she was trying not to cry.
“Ari...” She sat next to the bed, folding her hands like she was composing herself. “Are you sure you’re alright? They said?—”
“Mom, I’m fine. I slipped.” I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile, even though I was still vaguely damp and probably smelled like I’d lost a fight with the lake. Which, technically, I had. “I wasn’t drunk, Mom. I wasn’t doing anything stupid. I was walking by the dock, stepped on a slick board in wet sneakers, and ate it. That’s all.”
She didn’t respond right away. Just looked at me like she was trying to memorize every breath I took.
“It doesn’t matter how it happened, sweetheart.”
Her voice was soft. Steady, but barely.
“When the hospital called…” She paused, swallowing hard. “For a second, I thought?—”
She didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.
Her thumb brushed over my knuckles, like she was reassuring herself I was alive. “What happened after you fell in? How long were you in the water?”
That was the thing about moms. They wanted every detail—where, when, how—but all that came second to the relief of seeing you in one piece.
“My ego’s a little bruised,” I admitted. “And maybe my pride. But I’ve got all my limbs, I’m breathing on my own, and no one’s calling for a priest, so... I’ll take the win.”
Mom smoothed a hand over my curls, fingers careful not to tug too much. “You’re not thirteen anymore, running wild with Cael and daring each other to jump from stupid places.”
A smile tugged at the edge of my mouth. “No. I save the recklessness for special occasions these days.”
She gave me one of those Mom Looks that said I better not, but her hand stayed gentle on my head. “Don’t make me start coming to these parties with you.”
“Threat noted.”
When she finally left to talk to the nurse about taking me home, my phone buzzed against the thin blanket.
Cael: One day I don’t go with you, and you go full disaster boy. Rude.
A quiet laugh broke out of me before I could stop it. Figures Cael would time his texts perfectly.
Me: One slip and suddenly I’m the problem child again.
Cael: You’re always the problem child. That’s why I love you.
Me: Sentimental much?
Cael: Don’t make me cry at the tattoo shop. Clients don’t tip well when their artists are emotional wrecks.
Another buzz.
Cael: Also. I heard Reid showed up. Want to talk about that or nah?
Me: Coincidence. Small town. You know how it is.
