Page 108 of Wishing Hearts

“Oh, Pumpkin,” I say, heading her way.

“The doctor thinks it’s just a sprain,” Sam says from behind me, speaking fast but not approaching. “He’s orderin’ an X-ray to make sure, but it doesn’t appear to be broken.”

I nod, lifting the ice pack gently to peek at my daughter’s ankle. It’s bruised and heavily swollen, but I’m relieved it’s no worse.

“How are you feeling?” I ask Winnie, replacing the ice pack.

Her lip wobbles slightly, and her eyes are glassy, but she looks like she’s doing her best to be brave. “I’m okay, Daddy. I’m sorry I wasn’t being careful enough. I just slipped, and—”

“Hey, hey,” I soothe, brushing her hair back. “Not your fault. Accidents happen. I’m just glad you’re safe. Does it hurt?”

She nods. “Yeah, but not as much as before.”

“They gave her a low-dose pain med,” my dad puts in.

“Good,” I say, closing my eyes briefly and breathing out. “Good. Will you be okay with Grandpa for a minute?”

Winnie nods, and knowing my daughter is okay, all things considered, I give my dad’s shoulder a squeeze and turn to Sam. He’s visibly shaking, his hands rhythmically twisting and his face pale. I stride his way, giving him a little tug toward the hall where we’ll have some privacy. As soon as the door to Winnie’s room closes behind us, Sam faces me.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, looking like he’s readying for a lengthy apology.

I shake my head, bracketing his face in my hands. “Are you okay?”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes, and he blinks at me, confused. “What?”

“Sammy,” I say gently, my breath stuttering. The poor man looks like he’s about to faint. I can’t even imagine how terrifying it must have been for him, being the one there when Winnie fell. It was scary enough for me, even after hearing Winnie wasn’t seriously hurt. It’s still scary. I brush his cheeks softly. “Are you okay?”

His face falls, and I have just enough time to tug him in before he breaks.

“Shh. It’s okay, love,” I breathe, rubbing his back as Sam grips me tightly. His face is tucked against my neck, body wracked with his hushed sobs. A nurse passes us in the hallway, shooting Sam a worried look, but she doesn’t stop. I’m sure the employees here see all manner of upset people on a daily basis. I kiss the side of Sam’s head, doing my best to soothe him. “She’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I should’ve been watchin’ her more closely,” he says, trembling. “It’s my fault, Harrison. She’s hurt because of me.”

“Hey,” I say, my own voice hoarse. “No. She’s safe because of you. What happened when she fell?”

Sam eases back, his breathing evening out some. His eyes are wet, the brown pools looking big and endless and sad. “What?”

“Tell me what happened,” I urge gently, wiping the moisture off his cheeks. “What happened when she fell?”

He swallows, blowing out a slow breath as he nods, as if readying his words. “I, uh… I got Winnie inside and took off her shoes, in case there was swellin’.” He winces, and with Winnie in pain, I imagine that wasn’t a pleasant process. “We got in my truck, and I had her hold an ice pack to her ankle where she said it hurt. And then I tried callin’ you on the way to the hospital, but you weren’t pickin’ up.”

“I left my phone in my truck,” I say apologetically, nodding for him to go on.

“So, uh, I drove to your parents, ’cause I figured they’d be authorized to admit Winnie for medical attention. Your dad came with, and then you know the rest. The doctor took a look while you were drivin’ over.”

I nod, running my hands over Sam’s shoulders and neck. “Sammy, you did everything right.”

His breath catches again, and I go on.

“Winnie got hurt. An accident,” I stress. “And you took care of her. You got her here, you got my dad here when I wasn’t available, and…fuck.” I tuck my face over his shoulder, and this time, it’s me shaking. “Thank you. Thank you for taking such good care of my little girl.”

“Harrison,” he breathes, his grip around me like a band. “You’re not…you’re not mad?”

“No,” I say firmly. “Of course not. I’m grateful, Sam. You’re going to make such a good parent.”

Sam inhales sharply, pulling back. His eyes ping back and forth between my own, so hopeful, so full of questions. But he doesn’t get a chance to ask any of them before we’re interrupted.

“Are you Mr. Bailey?”

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