Page 39 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
“Some kid’s dad.” He grunts when I press near the lower ribs. “His son pushed Brick off the rock wall. I… went to talk to him.”
“Right,” I say. “By ‘talk’ you mean ‘you attempted a Jean-Claude Van Damme impression in his yard’?”
His silence is admission with a badge on.
I shouldn’t smile. I do, and it makes the next part where I check for rebound tenderness more bearable, for me at least. His skin is hot under my fingers. He’s burning energy holding still. I crack two instant ice packs and set them where the swelling is meanest; his exhale gusts like relief.
“So,” he says after a beat, “were you a nurse in a past life?”
“No. College medical team.” I slide the wrap one rib higher, snug not strangling. “Learned a few things. Also, YouTube.”
“Great,” he deadpans, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Now I’m definitely dying.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Wait. Did you just make a joke?”
“Shut up.” He turns his head so I can’t see the almost-smile.
“I didn’t know that was in your skill set.”
“I could say the same for you,” he says, eyeing the neatness of my wrap. “Competence looks good on you.”
“Don’t get sentimental,” I say, and (very professionally) press near his navel to test for deeper pain.
“You’re evil,” he breathes, but the sound that follows is a laugh—quiet, surprised, real.
We sit in a pocket of quiet that I don’t hate. His breathing evens as the ice and compression do their jobs.
“Since Brick’s mom…” he starts, then pauses. “Since she died—I’ve always had this fear that there will be things I won’t see. That I’ll miss the important thing because I’m busy surviving everything else. Then I look up and my son—he’s… being pushed off walls and befriended by the kid who did it, and I didn’t catch it.”
I swallow. “There isn’t a manual for any of it.”
“I’m a cop,” he says, frustration roughening the words. “Patterns are my job.”
“You already got beat up today,” I say, softer, surprising myself. “Maybe don’t do it again in your head. You can’t retro-notice a thing. You can notice it now.”
He goes quiet. I finish the binding and secure the tape, tucking in the end clean. My hands stay there a second longer than necessary.
WhyamI here? Last week, I wanted to wring his neck. Today I’m wrapping ribs like we share a mortgage.
“Why?” he asks again, equally soft.
“I told you.” I sit back on my heels, suddenly aware of the heat coming off him. “Decent human. You should try it.”
A smile thins across his mouth. “I’ll pencil it in.”
I stand, stretch the kink from my back, and put the kit open on his coffee table. “You’re taking the morning off to see a doctor.”
“I—”
“You can fight me, or you can agree with me,” I say, gathering used wrappers. “Either way, you’re going.”
He exhales like compromise hurts more than bruises. “I’ll go.”
“Good boy.” I cap the antiseptic and glance down the hall. “Brick?”
“Asleep.” His voice warms. “He slept through your grand entrance. Teenage levels of oblivion, but he’s still only eleven.”
“Okay.” I box the trash. “I left the scones. Extra calcium because Riley insists that’s a thing.”
