Page 8 of Crash: Love in Scrubs
We finally reached the room, and my heart stuttered, wondering and afraid of seeing him in less than tip-top shape. This would be different from when he broke his arm in 6th grade or needed stitches for his knee. Then my mind went back to our argument and the revelations.
Malik pushed open the door, easing me inside. My hands flew to my heart when I laid eyes on Samaj. He was sitting up slightly in bed, propped on pillows, a brace on his leg, his arm in a sling, and an expression on his face that shattered me completely.
“Ma?” His voice cracked.
I reached for his hand before Malik could even finish locking the wheels.
“Baby.” The word came out broken. I reached for his hand, gripping it like he might disappear if I let go. “I’m so sorry. I should have?—”
“No.” His voice was stronger than I’d expected. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I wanted to argue, wanted to tell him about all the ways I’d failed him in that moment, but Malik's hand on my shoulder stopped me and reminded me of our earlier conversation. He needed me to be strong right now, not guilty.
“How are you feeling?” I asked instead.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But Dr. Holloway says I’m gonna be fine. Eventually. I guess baseball is over anyway.”
I looked over at Malik, who had quietly moved to stand behind my wheelchair.
“Nah, we talked about this, didn’t we?”
“Yes, sir,” Samaj answered. I watched my son straighten his shoulders and hold his head up high. I couldn’t tell if it was the accident or Malik’s energy, but something had shifted in my son already. He was listening, trusting. That meant everything.
“Okay, and I told you what else?”
“You’re a man of your word. I’ll play again.”
“Exactly. So we ain’t got no worries.” Then he turned to me. “Physical therapy starts in a few days. We’ll take it slow and get you back on your feet.”
“How long before he can walk?”
“That depends on him. Some people recover faster than others.” Malik’s gaze moved between me and Samaj. “A lot depends on family support and mental attitude.”
Samaj squeezed my hand. “Ma, I’m scared.”
The admission shook me to my core. My son, who’d been trying to act grown for months, talking about college and his father and making his own decisions, suddenly sounded like the little boy who used to be afraid of storms.
“I know, baby. But we’re going to get through this together, okay? Whatever it takes.”
Malik stepped forward to help me once he realized I was trying to stand. He helped me lie down beside Samaj. I rested my head on his shoulder, and he gave us a minute alone. I was still sore, still shaken. But in that moment, lying beside my baby, I felt like I could breathe again.
I mouthed ‘thank you’ to him as he stepped out, and the way he nodded back made me melt. The enigma that was Malik had me on the hook.Shit.
For a few minutes, it was just me and my son. The quiet between us felt different from what it had been in the car hours ago. Our silence was wrapped in gratitude and concession.
“Ma,” he said quietly, “about what we were talking about before...about quitting ball and college.”
Hearing the word “before” triggered me. Before the accident. Before everything changed. My chest tightened, and I felt an unfamiliar flutter of panic trying to claw its way up my throat. I tensed up, gripping the hospital bed rail without realizing it, but tried to keep my voice calm. “What about it?”
“I don’t know. Being here, seeing you hurt. I’ve been tripping and being unfair to you-”
“Yeah, you’re definitely sick and hurt if you’re apologizing and wanting cuddles.”
“Ma, cut it out. I’m saying I don’t need to figure all that out right now. I just need to focus on getting better and back on my feet.”
Relief washed over me, but I tried not to show it. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Dr. Holloway said something about taking things one step at a time. Literally.” He managed a weak smile.
