Page 68 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
“I'm sorry.” I say, unable to muster any other phrase for some reason. Any other phrase except that.
“I'm so sorry.” I say again, feeling a wave of anger grow in me. Anger at the thugs who beat him up like this, at Harold Swanson, at the world in particular.
At myself.
I glance at his hand, the one not wrapped and have the sudden urge to reach for it. To hold on and tell him silently that he doesn’t have to keep carrying this fight alone. But the fear that my touch might cause him pain stills me. I sit, my hands gripping the edge of the chair, thinking about how much he’s risked for me. He could’ve stayed out of this entirely. He could’ve kept his head down. Instead, he chose to step into the fire because I matter to him.
And Brick. Sweet Brick. I picture his bright, open face, the way his eyes light up whenever he talks about his dad. What will he feel if Asher doesn’t make it? How will he look at me -me, the woman at the center of all this chaos? A pang of guilt digs sharply into my chest. I care about that boy. More than I should, maybe. He’s not mine, but I’ve started to imagine what it would mean if he were in my life every day. If both of them were.
The thought terrifies me. And yet, in the quiet of this hospital room, I can’t deny it: I want that future. I should have told Asher that last night.
“Jasmine!”
I open my eyes.
Asher is staring straight at me. A cheesy expression on his face. I had fallen asleep with my head thrown back, no doubt looking like a sleep-deprived child.
“Sleep any harder than that and you might just awaken the Loch Ness monster or something.” The smile on his face should grate on me, but right now it’s the most wonderful I’ve ever seen.
“Why didn't I take a picture?” He whispers, the smile growing on his face.
“One more word out of your mouth, Officer Vaughn, and I could add even more bruises to your body.
“Well, I wouldn't want to cross your lines now, would I?”
A smile appears on my face, and I continue to inspect his body. “How's the pain?”
“Solid seven.” He says back to me, the smile on his face slowly disappearing. “Please don't tell me my son got pulled out of class for this.”
“No.” I reply. “I didn't know if you wanted him to know.”
“Let's keep it that way.” He says, his tone of voice is pristinely clear. “Last thing I need is my son crawling around here worried like hell about me. We’ll tell him when he gets out of school.”
“Good.” I say unable muster any other words.
But inside, I ache. Brick worships his father. He deserves to know what happened—but if it were my son, would I want him burdened with this image? With this helplessness? My throat closes. For all the times that I thought Asher and I stood on opposite sides of every spectrum, I finally see it. We want the same thing: to protect the people we love, no matter what it costs.
I want to tell him it’s all my fault and that I should have done something. I should've taken further action against Harold and stopped him from doing this.
“You recognize the men who did this to you, don't you?” I ask, resting further into the uncomfortable hospital chair.
“Yeah. I don't think it matters though.” He replies, stifling a broad groan as he shifts gently on the bed. “I might as well just start picking out a needle in the haystack of needles. They're not going to turn on Harold and, in a few days or weeks, they're going to be out before the town decides to press charges.”
I feel terrible that this is all I can do. I want to do more and provide him with some kind of solace. I want to tell him that seeing him like this is causing me unimaginable pain and there can only be one reason for that. And it's my answer to his question—the one he had asked me and I had given no answer to. I know the answer now and it's clearer than ever that—
“Oh Jazzy.” I hear Riley's familiar voice call from the door. A flash of her brightly colored gown catches my eye before shecomes into view herself. She appears before me, the worry on her sullen face rather obvious. I throw her a smile, grateful she would come to check on Asher.
To come check on me.
“Ms. Jenkins.” Asher greets, stifling a groan.
“Are you okay? I tried to come as soon as I heard.”
“Trust me.” Asher continues trying to maintain his usual charm. “It looks worse than it actually is.”
“Did you say anything to Brick?” I ask, watching my friend get even further into the room.
“No. I figured you guys would want it to stay that way.” She replies, an edge of seriousness to her voice.
