Page 25 of The Summer Plans

A small sniffle escapes him as he squints his eyes to look at me. “What?”

“He cried. Because it hurt. And that’s a normal reaction to pain. It doesn’t make you a baby.”

“My ankle hurts.” He grabs his knee and holds it up against his chest so it’s eye-level with me.

“Can I?” I tentatively reach for his foot. He nods then I remove his shoe and sock to examine his ankle. “There’s no discoloration or swelling from what I can see. It looks like you twisted it. Do you want to walk or hitch a ride on my back?”

“I want to walk. But slow. And if it hurts, then can I get a piggyback?”

“That sounds like a plan.” I help him put his sock and shoe back on, and we make it a few feet before I’m hoisting him onto my back so we can finish the journey.

“Do you think my mom will tell my dad that I cried?” he asks out of nowhere.

“No, I don’t imagine she would. Why?”

“I don’t want him to know. I want him to think I’m brave.”

“You are brave, but even brave people cry. Why wouldn’t he think you’re brave?”

He wraps his arms tighter around my neck, pressing against my windpipe, and I adjust him higher on my back. “If he thinks I’m brave and not a baby, maybe he’ll want to see me more.”

What the fuck?

“How often do you see him? You spend the summer with him, right?”

“He only comes over for like one day. We usually just stay with Nana and Pop-Pop. But maybe if he knows I’m not a baby, he’ll want to spend more time with me.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I stay silent, worried that if I say anything it’ll cause more problems. It may have taken me a while to figure out what I wanted to do as a career, but fatherhood was something that came naturally to me. It’s always been fulfilling, life-changing. I’ve never gotten the same high in a job until I became a firefighter, and I can’t imagine any dad treating his kid this way. It only makes me want to help Summer and her kids more, to show them that I can be a steady presence in their lives.

By the time we get back to the house, everyone’s awake and gathered around the kitchen island when we walk in. I set Lucas on a stool, prop his ankle up on another stool, and fill a bag with ice.

“Here, buddy. Keep this foot elevated. We need to ice it on and off for the next couple hours. There’s a first aid kit in the upstairs bathroom. I’ll see if there’s an Ace bandage in there.”

Summer rushes over. “What happened?”

“I tripped on a piece of wood,” Lucas says. “But I didn’t cry.”

“He was really brave. It looks like he twisted his ankle.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to grab a wrap for him.”

Summer gives me a murderous look, and my heart sinks. “You said you’d watch him.”

Not wanting to have this conversation in front of the kids, I motion her over. “Can you help me upstairs?”

She reluctantly follows me into the upstairs bathroom, and I close the door behind us. I know there’s no easy way to tell her this, so I jump right into it. “He tripped over a piece of driftwood. He’ll be fine, but he said something concerning.”

“What did he say?” Summer shifts nervously.

“He didn’t want his dad to know that he cried. He was worried that his dad wouldn’t want to spend time with him if he was…” I use air quotes. “Acting like a baby.”

Her face falls, and she leans on the sink. She doesn’t speak for several minutes, and I watch as her breathing regulates. My eyes fixate on the way her shoulders bunch.

“Your sunburn looks better,” I offer.

She speaks at the same time. “You must think I’m a horrible mother.”

“I would never think that.” She tilts her head, holding my gaze. “Never.”

“Lucas overheard Todd complaining and took something out of context.”