Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
“Better you than me. I hate the fucking media.”
“Yeah, well, Captain Ray is going to tear you a new asshole when you’re upright again,” Darnell grouses. “He’s spent the past couple of days giving me a verbal colon flush because you’re not there, so I’m the handiest punching bag.”
“Yeah, well, you blew him off and went into that building after me,” I point out.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Then you deserve that, too. Can’t have the good without the bad, man.”
His booming laughter echoes around the room. “Go fuck yourself.”
The door to my room opens, and I can’t keep the surprise from my face when I see my son, Micah, step in. He stands at the foot of my bed, his hands in his pockets, looking at me awkwardly. Darnell pats me on the shoulder and gives me a genuine look of concern.
“I’m really glad you’re okay, man. I’ll give you two a little space and check back on you later,” he says. “I’ll sneak a burger or something in.”
“Burger? Bring me a fucking steak, man.”
He grins and pats Micah on the shoulder, then leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. My son and I look at each other in strained silence for a moment, neither of us seeming to know what to say to the other. My relationship with my son hasn’t been the best. We’ve never been close. Over the last couple of years, we’ve been making an effort to get to know each other better and bridge those gaps that exist between us, but we’re not quite there yet. It’s going to take some time.
“How are you feeling?” Micah asks.
“Like shit,” I reply. “But I’m alive, so there’s that.”
“What happened?”
“Building came down as I was pulling a woman out of the fire.”
He grimaces. “Is she okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, Darnell was able to get her out ahead of me.”
He shakes his head and tries to wipe a look of worry off his face. Micah takes after me in that he’s stoic and tries to keep his emotions in check. I wish he wouldn’t do that. I’ve never been the most emotionally expressive person, which has led to more problems than it’s solved. I’m not a great role model like that, and it’s the one way I wish he wouldn’t take after me. Maybe if I were more in touch with my emotions, my relationship with him might be better.
As I struggle to find something to talk to Micah about, the awkward, silent pressure in the room gets heavier. It feels like a pillow being pressed down over my face, making it impossible to breathe as it smothers me. I clear my throat and offer him a weak smile.
“So, how have you been? Haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks,” I start.
He shrugs. “Fine. I’m good. Just been busy,” he says. “Speaking of which, I can’t stay. I just wanted to swing by and check on you.”
“Yeah. I get that. I appreciate you stopping by,” I say. “Anyway, when I get out of here, how about we go grab a beer or dinner or something?”
“Yeah, sure. Give me a text.”
“Good. I will.”
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks. And thanks again for coming by.”
He gives me a tight smile and a nod, then practically sprints out of the room. When the door closes behind him, I let out a breath of relief. It’s not that I don’t like Micah. And it’s not that I don’t like being around him. He’s a good kid. He’s got a good sense of humor and can be pretty sharp sometimes.
It’s just that when it comes to making small talk, I’m pretty useless at the best of times. Add in the tension and awkwardness of us trying to patch up the holes in our relationship and the fact that we don’t really seem to have much in common, and it makes knowing what to say to him that much worse.
Maybe one day we’ll be able to move past that. Maybe we’ll be able to have a better relationship where conversation and laughter come easier and more naturally to us. But we’re not there. We’re nowhere close to being there right now. Hopefully, though, time will help us move past our history and get to that point. Time, as they say, will tell.
Settling back against my pillows, I close my eyes, doing my best to stop thinking about it as I try to get some rest. Feeling a little muzzy, I’m starting to drift off when the sharp click of the door being opened snaps me back to the present. I open my eyes and though my vision is a little hazy, I see a nurse stepping in.
“How are you feeling today, Mr. Weston?”
“Like a building fell on me.”
She laughs and her voice is high and sweet. She sounds young. I rub my eyes and take a beat to give my vision a chance to clear, then look again. When I see her standing at the foot of my bed looking down at the chart in her hands, my breath catches in my throat. I look again, sure I can’t be seeing who I think I’m seeing.