Page 25 of Beating Heart
“King,” I said, giving him a knowing look.
“Nash.”
“Dude, you’re talking out of your ass. Now I’m dying alone? I think you do this to distract me from work. Let’s get busy.”
“I just know what it’s like to wake up with a beautiful woman in my bed every day, and I think you might like it, too.”
I groaned and started walking backward toward the door. “I’ve got a little boy to raise and a company to run. I don’t need anyone in my bed because I can’t keep my eyes open when I finally lay my head down at night. But thanks for the therapy session, dicknugget.”
“I’m here to help. I’ll send you my bill.”
I laughed and held my hand over my head and pointed in the direction I was moving. “I’ll be working on the addition.”
“I’ll be here!” he yelled out. “I’m ordering sandwiches for lunch today. You want the usual?”
“Sounds good.”
I spent the next few hours framing walls and cutting drywall. This was a large project, but it would be nice to have a steakhouse in Magnolia Falls, so I was glad to see more businesses going up in town.
I picked Cutler up from camp and took him home. He seemed a little off and didn’t even ask to play outside with Winnie like I’d expected. He just lay on the couch while I made dinner.
“Did you get too much sun today?” I asked.
“No. I’m just tired, Pops.”
“All right. Well, I’m making your favorite spaghetti,” I said, as I plated the food and set it on the table inside. We ate outside most nights, but with him feeling like this, I figured he needed a quiet night.
He came to the table, and I noticed his face looked a little pale, and I placed the back of my hand on his forehead.
“You feel a little warm, buddy.”
He shrugged and started shoveling food into his mouth before setting his fork down. “I think my tummy hurts.”
“Yeah? Maybe you’re eating too fast.”
Before he could respond, his eyes widened, and he proceeded to projectile vomit across the table. I jumped to my feet as he burst into tears, and I hustled him into the bathroom. I got him down on his knees in front of the toilet and dropped down beside him, rubbing his back as he heaved over and over.
He’d had the stomach bug once or twice in the past, but nothing like this.
He was crying and puking, and I just did the best I could to comfort him.
I got a wet washcloth and placed it on the back of his neck, and he finally stopped heaving after a half hour of nonstop vomiting, before I sat back against the wall, pulling him with me as I did.
“You’re all right, buddy,” I said as he leaned against me, and I ran my hand over his head as his eyes fell closed.
“I’m never eating ‘sketti again, Pops.” His voice was barely a whisper.
“I know. It’ll take some time. Do you think a bath would be good? We can get you cleaned up and in bed.”
He nodded, and I propped him up against the wall and pushed to my feet to run the water. I got him up and started undressing him, when round two hit hard, and he was back at it. Emptying everything in his belly into the toilet again. There was nothing left by the time he finished, aside from stomach bile. I knew from experience how miserable it was. He looked up at me with his tear-streaked face, and my chest squeezed.
There is nothing worse than seeing my boy suffer.
I’d give this kid the moon if I could.
I’d heard people talk about the way they loved their kids, and I used to laugh about it. But living it—hell, I understood it. This kid owned me. He was good to his core. Smart and kind and funny as hell.
All I wanted at this point was to give him the best life I could.
