Page 15 of Crash: Love in Scrubs
Baby had to eat.
“Yeah, this is Dr. Holloway. I need dinner delivered to 1247 Oakwood Drive...Room 315…Italian sub from McAlister’s, loaded potato, and make sure it’s still warm... Tonight around seven. Put it on my card.”
I paused. “And add a note: ‘Doctor’s orders. - MH’”
I thanked Elite Deliveries before hanging up. She’d probably roll her eyes, but she’d eat. And she’d think about me while she did it. If I could infiltrate her mind, I could get in her heart. That’s where I needed to be.
A WEEK LATER
“Girl, sit your ass down,” Winnie said, shoving me back onto the couch as I tried to get up for the third time since they’d arrived twenty minutes ago. “You are supposed to be resting. Not trying to wipe down counters and shit.”
“Iamresting,” I protested, but Halo shot me a look that said she wasn’t buying it either. My body was almost back to normal—the bruised ribs had finally stopped screaming every time I moved, and the concussion headaches weren’t as sharp anymore. But my car was totaled. There was so much sadness there. I’d just paid that car off. It was so unfair how that always happened. My Kia Telluride, Telly, was wrapped around a light pole like a paperclip. The photos still made my stomach twist, so I stopped looking.
Not only was I hurt, but my son’s future was in limbo. He talked a big game about being done with baseball, but he was already texting coaches and talking about rehab. Which meant it mattered more than he let on.
“Resting is not pacing around this house like a damn lion in a zoo,” Halo said, setting a container of what smelled like her famous mac and cheese on the dining table. “You’ve been doing that all week.”
“I just hate being stuck here. I don’t do idle. I don’t sit around twiddling my thumbs. And I definitely don’t like feeling helpless,” I said, exhaling and settling back into the cushions. “Especially knowing what happened to everybody else. I walked away. A lot of them didn’t.”
That driver ran a red light going at least fifty, texting with one hand on the wheel. By the time it was over, six cars were involved. An elderly couple in a Honda got slammed from behind—the woman shattered her wrist, the man walked away dazed with a concussion. A motorcyclist went down trying to swerve and avoid it all—road rash, busted collarbone. Two teenagers in a Camaro spun into the median—one broke his nose, the other got stitched up and sent home.
I was the one who saw it coming too late. I braced. Samaj didn’t. His side took the hit. The kind of hit I’d seen a hundred times on duty. I never thought it’d be me strapped to the gurney. I never thought it’d be my kid in the trauma bay.
“All because some fool couldn’t put his phone down,” Winnie said, shaking her head as she unpacked her homemade cornbread and pot roast. “I heard his insurance company is having a field day with all the claims. The news said they haven’t ruled out that he’d been drinking. Bastard better be lucky. I would’ve jacked his up out of that damn car and put belt to ass.”
We laughed because Winnie wasn’t playing. Our friend was a kickboxer in her spare time.
“They should throw his ass under the jail,” Halo added. “Could’ve killed somebody. Could’ve killed y’all. And sis, you wouldn’t have to come down here and tell me to seek vengeance, know I was already plotting.”
“I love y’all for real. I appreciate the food, but a bitch ain’t paralyzed, I can cook. I need to start moving around anyway.”
My friends, bringing me food made me think of Malik ensuring I had dinner the other night and ensuring that the nurses and staff knew that I was allowed to come in after visiting hours. I appreciated small stuff like that.
“I’m aware that you can cook and you aren’t paralyzed, but you are also very much our best friend, so we don’t want you to cook or worry about any of that.”
“Y’all…” I cried, my voice trailing off. The reality of how close we’d come to losing everything still hit me at random moments. If that SUV had hit us head-on instead of clipping the passenger side, or if we’d been going just a little faster...
“Don’t do that,” Halo said, reading my expression. “Don’t start with thewhat-ifs. Y’all are here, y’all are healing, and that’s what matters.”
“How’s Samaj doing anyway?” Winnie asked, reminding me of how grateful I was. The only thing I cared about was Samaj being okay. “You talk to him today?”
“Every day. Multiple times.” I tried to sound casual, but the truth was I’d been going stir-crazy. A week of being stuck at home while my son was in the hospital had me climbing the walls. Sitting still had forced me to realize how full my life had become—and it wasn’t a good realization. I’d filled my time with distractions and excuses to keep me from doing the things I wanted. Samaj had practice, and I had work. Dinner with Daddy on Thursdays. Cleaning and errands on the weekends. I was doing all the things, staying busy, staying moving, but none of it brought me real satisfaction.
I was just...existing. Going through the motions.
“He’s doing good, though. PT is going well, and his attitude is way better. I feel like I’m getting the old Samaj back.”
“And his fine-ass doctor?” Halo asked with a knowing smirk. “How’s he doing?”
Before I could tell her nosy ass to mind her business, my phone buzzed with a text. I glanced at it and immediately felt heat creep up my neck.
It was a picture of Samaj in his wheelchair, flexing his one good arm like he was showing off biceps, with a text.
Dr. Holloway: Come get your boy. Discharge papers cleared.
I couldn’t help but smile, and apparently my face gave me away because both Winnie and Halo were suddenly leaning over to see my phone.
“Oop!” Winnie said, grinning. “Look at MiMi blushing!”
