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I give him two thumbs up and then watch as he positions his feet once again. This time when he leans back, he moves in a way that causes his entire board to pop up off the ground. I start clapping at the same time his board hits the ground.
I freeze mid-clap when I see Max’s foot slide off the board, his ankle twisting to the side. As he falls to the ground, the sound that comes from his mouth is nothing short of blood-curdling, and it’s a sound that no mother ever wants to hear coming from her child.
“Max!” Flying out of my seat, I run across the park, almost knocking a few kids out of the way. A small crowd has formed and I shove my way in. Max is lying on the concrete while holding his left foot up awkwardly in the air. I can’t tell if it’s broken, but his ankle is definitely starting to swell.
“Shhhhh.” With one arm around his shoulders, I hold him to me. His shoulders begin bobbing and his chest heaving with each sob. “Is it your ankle, Max, or your foot?” I ask frantically, my eyes scanning the rest of his body for any additional injuries.
“M-my ankle. It’s my ankle. It hurts, Mom,” he says. The pain in his voice is like a knife slicing straight through my heart. Without thinking twice, I scoop Max up and carry him to the car. Situating him in his booster seat, I buckle him in and then shift his booster a tiny bit to the right so that I can prop up his ankle.
“Is it broken?” Max says, wiping at his face.
“I don’t know, buddy. We’ll have to get some X-rays at the hospital.”
If it’s at all possible, his crying becomes more intense. “Do I have to get a shot?” He sniffs several times, and I run a soothing hand over the back of his head.
“No, bud, no shots. I know it hurts, but try and relax, okay?” Max nods before leaning his head back against the seat. He squeezes his eyes shut, releasing a fresh batch of tears, and that spurs me into action.
Shutting his door, I climb into the car and call Tyson. I don’t expect him to answer since he’s at work, but I figure a heads-up that his son is heading into the ER is probably a better way for him to find out rather than seeing Max’s name pop up in the patient registry.
The drive to the hospital is fairly quick and I talk to Max the entire time, trying to distract him from the pain that I know he’s in.
“We’re almost there, Max,” I say, glancing in the rearview mirror. His cheeks are flushed and tearstains streak down each side of his face. He nods his head feebly as we pull into the parking lot. It amazes me that I’ve been able to stay as calm as I have considering my baby is hurting, but I’ve had a one-track mind since we left the skate park.
Get Max to the hospital.
>
Get Max to the hospital.
Get Max to the hospital.
I put the car in park and walk around to Max’s side, then quickly throw the door open. He’s already unbuckled so I scoop him up, kick the door shut and carry him into the ER.
“Harley! What are you—?” Rose’s words die off when she sees Max in my arms. I’ve worked with Rose for years now, and she’s become like a second mother to me. She cares for Max almost as deeply as my own mom. “Oh my God, Max!” she says as she rushes out from behind her computer. Her eyes flit between the two of us, and when I take a shuddery breath, she takes off down the hall. Rose disappears for a brief second and then returns with a wheelchair. We get Max situated, and then she wheels him back into the ER. “Does Tyson know you’re here?” she asks, pushing us into Exam Room 4.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “No, I tried to call him, but I figured he was busy.”
“We were slammed this morning, and he and Brittany ran their tails off.” I suck in a sharp breath at the sound of her name and then blow it out slowly. “But we’ve slowed down a bit now. You sit tight and I’ll go see if I can find him.”
“Thank you,” I say, sitting down across from Max. He winces when I gently lift his foot and prop it up in my lap.
“Where’s Dad?” he asks, swiping an arm across his wet cheeks. “I want to see him.”
“I know you do, buddy. He’ll be here soon, okay?” Max nods and his eyes drift shut. Tears leak out around the confines of his lashes and my heart feels like it’s breaking. I hate that he’s in pain, and I’d give anything to take it away.
A soft knock sounds at the door, and I look up as Brit steps into the room. She looks just as put together as she did the other day. I wait for a pang of dislike or anger, or maybe discomfort, but nothing comes so I relax in my seat.
“Tyson’s in the middle of a procedure, but he should be out soon,” she whispers to me, pulling a chair next to Max’s bed. Her blue eyes find mine and she offers me a timid smile. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll be taking care of Max today.”
I nod, but she doesn’t give me much of a chance to say anything else.
“You must be Max,” Brit says, looking at my son. Max’s eyes open and he nods his head. “Well, Max, my name is Dr. Caldwell, and I’m going to take care of your ankle today. How does that sound?” Her voice is soft and inviting—friendly—and Max smiles.
“Are you gonna make it stop hurting? Because it hurts really bad.”
Brit pulls Max’s pant leg up, revealing his ankle. “I’m gonna try really hard to make it stop hurting and to get you all better.”
“Good,” he says, his voice hoarse from crying. “Is my dad here?” he asks. “I just want my dad.”
