Page 8 of Shocking Sapphires
The woman began chattering. I wanted to say that her incessant rambling was making my head hurt worse, but I couldn’t form the words. Besides, she was sharing some information about my son, and I didn’t want her to let go of my arm.
“This little guy is such a sweet boy and he grows and changes every single day. I can’t wait for you to see him.”
Wait. How long have I been out?
It was frustrating to not be able to string together a coherent sentence that would actually emerge from my lips.
“He’s getting used to me and sleeping a little better at night. Since I don’t know his name, I’ve been calling him Blaine. He seems to like it.”
That did it. I went to prep school in Beverly Hills with a jerk named Blaine, and I would not stand for having my sweet little Scout called that awful name for another moment.
I kept my eyes shut, so that I could fully focus my brain on making my mouth work. It hurt to move my lips, but I powered through.
“Scout.” The name came out in a whispered croak, but the woman must have understood me because she squealed, making my head throbbing escalate to unprecedented levels.
“Oh, Scout. You hear that little man? Your name is Scout. It sounds a little Hollywood, but it’s absolutely perfect for you. I love it!”
Her voice when she spoke directly to my son was high-pitched, chirpy, and impossibly annoying. The urge to demand that she stop talking was strong, but when she resumed the light squeezing of her fingers around my forearm, I tamped it down.
Gasping in a breath, she said, “Maybe I can call you Scout Blaine!”
I hadn’t even seen this woman’s face, and I already hated her. Drumming up every bit of strength I could muster, I gritted my teeth and said, “No.”
The other man in the room broke his silence. “You might be right, Molly. He seems to have enough life left in him to already dislike that pretty-boy name you chose. Evidently, he’s stronger than we thought.”
“I hope so,” the woman said in a solemn tone before adding, “He’s going to need it to fight his way back from this. It’s bound to be his biggest battle yet, and he successfully fought off a full-scale alien invasion inUnidentified.”
“Let’s hope he’s as stubborn and tough as most of the characters he plays,” the man weighed in.
“I’m sure he is.” The woman sounded confident in her assertion, even though I didn’t recognize her voice.
Although I was desperate to know what the hell they were talking about, the sweet oblivion of sleep was beckoning.
7
Grant
She was here again––or still, I couldn’t be sure which. She had her cool fingers resting on my hand, and it felt wonderful. The rest of my body ached like I had been in a horrific crash. Oh wait, I had.
This time when I tried to open my eyes, they worked. I didn’t dare try to move anything else just yet because I could already tell it was going to be torturous.
She hadn’t noticed that my eyes were open, so I had a moment to check her out before she caught me. Cute was the first word that popped into my mind as I gazed up at her. She didn’t have the practiced perfection that so many of the actresses in L.A. paid big bucks to achieve, but she had a wholesome girl-next-door appeal that no amount of plastic surgery or makeup artistry could create.
A cry emerged from somewhere out of my line of sight. The woman released my hand, and I immediately missed her soothing touch.
“Oh, you’re awake.” I thought she was talking to me until she made smacking kiss noises and said, “You’re such a handsome boy.”
Her high-pitched voice was still as annoying as fingernails scratching a chalkboard, but I had to admit that it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if she had been speaking to me. Some irrational urge made me want to be the recipient of her warm compliments and tender kisses.
When she returned to my bedside, she was cradling a baby in her arms. Although I could only see the back of his head, I instinctively knew it was my son.
“Scout,” the word whooshed out of my lips, making the woman’s startled gaze dart to me.
She turned the baby around, so I could see his face. His soft pink cheeks were as pudgy as I remembered, and he was dressed in adorable navy-blue striped coveralls that hadn’t been in the bag of supplies his mother had brought when she dumped him at my doorstep.
I breathed out a sigh of relief that my child was obviously being very well taken care of, but even that extra bit of movement had me wincing in pain.
“We should call the doctor in to talk to him while he’s awake,” the man weighed in with his opinion.
