August
My life has settled into a routine. For now, I’m content. First and foremost, Sam is doing very well. He’s ten days post-transplant, and there’s been no signs of infection or graft vs. host disease, which is where my donor cells could potentially attack the healthy ones in Sam’s body. Of course, they’re giving him a host of antibiotics and anti-virals and God knows what else to combat against infections.
If he continues on this path, he’s looking at only a few more weeks in the hospital. Of course, he has to have certain count levels of hematocrits, platelets, and neutrophils. I’ve learned so much medical knowledge over the last few weeks that I’m brimming with it. And when he finally comes home, he still has a road of recovery to go down… for his blood counts to return to normal and his immune system to be healthy. He’ll have frequent follow-ups with the transplant team and blood draws. Plus, he’ll be fatigued as he recovers and there’s a lot of damn medication he’ll have to take.
It’s a lot, but it’s better than the alternative, so we’re all feeling pretty damn great about it.
I’m heading to Sam’s room now to relieve Leighton for the evening. While she’s agreed to take a few nights off, she’s still here every day to spend time with Sam. Mike and I fill in for her, sometimes even overlapping our visits. There are times when all three of us are in the room with him together.
Leighton and I have settled into an unspoken truce again after our “talk” in the cafeteria the day of the transplant. While I’m not going to apologize for or defend my anger, she’s clearly reached a breaking point about me throwing it in her face. I thought a lot about what she said. I tried to imagine myself in her shoes… as a single mom and fearful for Sam’s life. I’m not sure I can quite imagine it, because I don’t know what it’s like to care for a child from birth, but what I realized is that I might need to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Regardless, I made a commitment of sorts not to throw what I deem to be a failure on her part back in her face.
Over the last few days, everyone’s been riding such a jubilant high I’ve even forgotten to be mad at Leighton. We’ve been keeping it fun and upbeat for Sam. Playing games and sharing laughter when he feels up to it.
I’d forgotten what a great laugh Leighton has, and I’m hearing it a lot lately as each day passes without incident.
Most of my time with Sam consists of us asking lots of questions about each other. We’re still on a learning curve, and it’s all kinds of wonderful.
I put on the requisite isolation gear—still a requirement—and enter Sam’s room. He and Leighton are playing a game of Scrabble, but Sam’s head pops up. Eyes lighting up, he exclaims, “Dad.”
I hold up the bag in my hand, shaking it slightly. “Per your request.”
“McDonald’s,” he yells, clapping his hands. “Awesome.”
“Shh,” Leighton reprimands, giving Sam and then me a stern glare. “This is a hospital, for Pete’s sake.”
“Sorry,” I whisper, then wink at Sam. I move to the other side of the bed, plop down in the chair, and open the bag.
I pass Sam a box of chicken McNuggets along with some barbeque sauce, even though he’ll probably bypass it since his mouth is still a little tender from the sores. Regardless, I’m so happy the kid has a fucking appetite. McDonald’s is not something I’d ordinarily indulge in because the food is crap, but it’s such a blessing that Sam wants to eat, so I wasn’t about to say “no”.
I reach into the bag, grab the Quarter Pounder for Leighton, and hand it across the bed to where she sits on the other side. She takes it, blinking in surprise. “How did you know what I like?”
Shrugging, I say, “It’s what you liked in high school. Figured it was the same now.”
Honestly, I hadn’t thought twice about it. Just unconsciously ordered it. It’s such an odd thing to remember about someone from years ago.
I pull out a Big Mac, which was my go-to when I was young, dumb, and didn’t give a shit about my health. My mouth waters at the smell, and I realize it’s been years since I’ve eaten one. Not back to the days when I dated Leighton, but still… a long damn time.
All three of us chow down on our heart-clogging food with relish, because Sam is doing well and that means it’s a celebration of sorts. I’ll bring the kid McDonald’s every day as long as he continues to improve like he has been.
After the food is gone, Leighton cleans up. She bends over to kiss Sam’s forehead through her paper mask. “Okay… you two have fun tonight. Don’t stay up too late because rest is important.”
Oh, she has no clue. The nights I stay, Sam and I talk well into the night. We talk about sports, movies, and video games. I regale him with some of my more adventurous cases and missions both as a cop and a member of Jameson while I make him recount the most mundane of things from his first nine years.
“We’ll go to bed early,” I promise, glancing at the reclining chair that’s torture to sleep in.
“Scout’s honor,” Sam says earnestly, and only I notice his fingers crossed beneath the table.
Leighton rolls her eyes, knowing with a mother’s intuition he’s not telling the truth. I can tell by the way her eyes crinkle that she’s not bothered by it in the slightest.
“Well, I’m out of here. Guess I’ll go see what your grandpa is up to tonight.”
“He’s actually out,” I say. Her eyes flare with surprise. “He wanted to hit up a casino, and well… you know… when in Vegas.”
“Huh,” she says with contemplation. “I didn’t know gambling was his thing.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “I don’t think it is. He doesn’t play much more than quarter slots.”
“He’s been before?” she asks curiously.
I glance at Sam, waggling my eyebrows above my mask, then return to Leighton. “Truth be told… I think there’s a pretty waitress he’s flirting with there.”
Leighton’s jaw drops. “My dad? Flirting?”
Sam snickers. “Go Grandpa.”
Sighing, Leighton just shakes her head. “So much for being afraid to venture out.”
Sam and I shoot each other an amused look.
“Whatever,” she says breezily, leaning down for one more kiss to Sam’s forehead. “I’m going to go home and relax. I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”
“Okay, Mom,” he replies, not in the least bit grossed out by his mother’s affection. Instead, he closes his eyes briefly to cherish it.
Leighton ruffles his hair, shoots me a wave, and turns to leave.
“Oh,” I call just as she steps outside the door, her mask already pulled off. Leighton turns, eyebrows raised, and stays outside in the hall, “I finished your laundry.”
Even from across the room, I can see her cheeks turn pink. Turns out, she’d ran a small cycle of silky delicates and left them in the washing machine. I’d needed to do my laundry today.
“I went ahead and dried them on the lowest cycle,” I continue. “Folded them, too.”
Leighton has some nice lingerie. I wonder what type of men she dates since she buys such pretty, sexy things. The stuff’s not expensive—definitely not real silk—but it’s very lacy and see through.
“Um… thank you,” Leighton mutters before whipping around and fleeing the room. I can’t help but smirk.
“What’s so funny?” Sam asks.
I try to smooth out my face. “Nothing. Why?”
“I feel like I just missed an inside joke or something. I don’t get what’s so funny about you doing Mom’s laundry.”
Reaching over, I ruffle Sam’s hair and chuckle. “Nothing funny, bud. I was just helping your mom out a bit.”
“That’s good,” he replies solemnly. “She does so much for me, so it’s nice she has someone doing something for her.”
I just stare at my kid for a moment, completely flummoxed over his maturity and grace. Over his awareness. How many nine-year-old children are that cognizant of the effort a parent puts in? I sure as shit wasn’t at that age.
“You’re lucky.” I reach out to grasp his shoulder. “You have a great mom.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replies. Sam tilts his head. “What about you? Where are your parents and what are they like?”
“Hmmm… my parents… let’s see. Well, they’re free spirits now that they’re retired. They sold their house a few years ago, bought an RV, and basically travel all over the United States. They’re currently down in the Florida Keys.”
“Cool.” Sam grins, pushing himself up in bed a bit more. “Do they… um… know about me?”
“Not yet, but they will soon,” I assure him. “I wanted to get through the transplant before I dropped the bomb they had a grandson. They’re kind of new-age followers, and I didn’t want them sprinkling sage leaves over you or something.”
Sam snickers, and I shrug. But it’s the absolute truth. My parents are going to be thrilled about Sam. They’re going to adore and spoil the shit out of him.
But they’re not over-resilient. Learning about Sam and Leighton’s past, Sam’s cancer—it will completely freak them out and they’ll just get overly dramatic about it. Frankly, I don’t want to deal with it right now. Besides, I don’t think Sam will suffer from holding off on meeting his new grandparents. His health is the most important thing, and he has enough emotional overload as it is. I’m thinking once we get him home from the hospital and settled, I’ll buy them a couple of plane tickets, so they can visit. I’ll drop the bomb on them face to face.
“So, on one side, my grandparents are hippies. On the other, I have an ex-mafia grandpa,” Sam says.
I can’t help but bust out laughing. My kid knows how to throw down on some comedic timing.
“It builds character,” I assure him. “Having weird family members, I mean.”
He fiddles with the edges of his blanket. “So Grandpa’s flirting with a pretty woman at a casino, huh?”
I frown at his tone. “That bother you?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just… I wonder if that means he’ll stay here or go back to Denver? He’s lost his government protection, so there’s nothing there for him if Mom and I stay with you.”
My stomach tightens a bit, as we’re getting into territory I haven’t had a chance to discuss with Leighton. We’ve been so focused on Sam’s treatment and recovery, as well as operating within a fragile truce among ourselves, that we haven’t talked about the future. While I’d told Leighton that Sam was going to stay in Vegas, I don’t necessarily have her agreement on that yet. While I told her I’d fight her for custody, I truly don’t know what’s in his best interest at this point.
All I know is I always want to be near him.
My priorities in life have radically shifted over the last few weeks, and I have to figure things out.
I poke gently at the edges of the subject. “Where do you want to live, Sam? When your treatment is over, I mean.”
He shrugs again, gaze dropping to his fingers where he picks at his new Star Wars comforter. “I like Denver and my friends there, but I like Vegas, too.”
Very vague. Not helpful in the least.
“Let’s try this another way,” I suggest gently. “What does your ideal future look like?”
Silently, Sam considers this for a moment, eyes pinned on Chewbacca. When he looks up at me, I see the unfettered hope and idealism that can only belong to a child who knows nothing of the world.
“My ideal future would be to live together with you and my mom. As a family.”
I’m not prepared for his answer. Never in a million years had I thought the kid would ask for that. I was more seeking a geographical desire while he was plotting romantic happily ever afters.
“Um… Sam,” I stammer, trying to set some boundaries. “Your mom and I—”
“I know,” he interrupts. “You’re mad at her for what she did, and you don’t love her. I get it. But you did ask what I wanted.”
“I’m not mad,” I rush to assure him.
He cocks one eyebrow, which is totally my move. He’s hammered down the Greenfield skepticism to a tee.
To clarify, I explain, “I understand the reasons your mom did what she did. She feels horrible about it, and she has apologized. I’m choosing to let that go to focus on us moving forward.”
“Together?” he exclaims, pushing up straighter in the bed with a hopeful expression.
“Um… well, together as in wanting to co-parent you,” I lamely throw out.
Sam frowns, his lips flattening. “I don’t understand why you can’t just fall in love with her again. She told me that you were the one true love of her life—that she has never loved anyone else.”
I’m stunned by his assertion.
And curious.
“She did?” I ask, moving my chair a little closer to the bed. “When?”
“When she first told me about you a few years ago,” Sam says, crossing his legs under the covers and shifting more toward me. “She said you only have one true love in a lifetime, and you were hers. I don’t understand how you don’t feel the same way if that’s true.”
Well, shit.
Talk about a rock and a hard place.
Leighton thinks I was her soul mate?
Sam is throwing out deep revelations, and the one thing I know my kid appreciates is honesty. Leaning forward, I place my forearms on the bedrails and rest my chin on them. “Listen, bud… that was a long time ago. Circumstances changed. Your mom and I are different people now. Just because we loved each other ten years ago, it doesn’t mean we can recreate that magic.”
“But you haven’t even tried,” he asserts, and well… that’s true.
I’m not the kind of guy who goes for love and romance anymore, but I can’t tell my kid that. I don’t want him to think that’s the norm.
Instead, I fib just a little. “Your mom and I are starting over. We’re going to try friendship and being your parents first, then we’ll see what happens.”
Sam scoots closer toward me, eyes full of such pure innocence that chills shoot down my spine. “If you’d just give her a chance, I know you can learn to love her again.”
Before I can respond, I’m saved by the ringing of my phone. I look over to where I’d set it on the bedside table, seeing Declan’s name flash on the screen.
It’s not urgent, because nothing with Declan ever is, but it’s the perfect escape. Nabbing the phone, I tell Sam, “I need to take this. Be right back.”
I head into the hallway, answering as I go. “What’s up, man?”
“Not much,” Declan replies, and I can tell by the tinny buzz on the line he’s in his car. “Just checking in. Haven’t seen you at The Wicked Horse lately.”
“Been busy with Sam,” I reply, glancing into the room. Sam’s playing a game on his iPad.
“How is he?”
I take a few moments to fill Declan in. He had texted me before the transplant, but we haven’t talked since then.
“Sounds like he’s doing great,” Declan says. “Which sounds like a good reason to come out to the club. I met this redhead last night who can bend and twist in all kinds of ways that will blow your mind.”
Chuckling, I shake my head and lower my voice. “Sorry, dude… I’m on hospital duty tonight with the kid. Raincheck?”
“Sure,” he replies easily. “But your balls have got to be turning blue.”
Hardly, I think. I jack off plenty to mental porn of the night in Leighton’s hotel room, fucking her from behind while she orgasmed the minute I plunged my finger in her ass.
That has completely sustained me, but I can’t lie… I miss the club and the freakiness that goes on there.
“Soon,” I promise. “I’ll hit you up when I can find some time to make it out there.”
Which should be soon. Sam’s doing well, so there’s no reason I can’t visit The Wicked Horse again.