Page 50 of You First
She spoke to them, the language without meaning, but the growls turned to whimpers. Gray felt her shift, struggle, and pull her body up to sitting. She needed to get away from him and go to her child. He would have helped her if he could.
But she positioned herself under him so his head beat against her thigh. Her thigh instead of the floor. He felt Meredith turn him to lie on his side. His unblinking eyes saw the curve of her knee, the tapering of her boot. She whispered something in his ear, the sound full of remorse, and her hand brushed the hair away from his forehead. Her fingers were cool against his skin.
A moment later, the noise in his ears drained away, and his body stilled. Time sped back to normal. Gray closed his eyes and would have wished for death if the sound of Meredith’s distress hadn’t stopped him.
“I’m so sorry, Gray,” she said, her voice shaking. “It’s all my fault.”
“Nuh…” The feeble word was unintelligible, even to him. It wasn’t her fault. He was two days without his medicine. He’d played with fire and been burned, but he hadn’t counted on harming Meredith and her son.
I’m such an idiot.
“Are you hurt?” She ran a hand over his head, down his neck, and across his shoulders. He moved his arm — which had to weigh fifty pounds — up to his mouth and wiped at his lips and chin. He didn’t have to see it to know he’d drooled on her leggings, but he could already tell his pants at least were dry.
Thank Christ.
“Should I call 911?”
“No.” The word came out more clearly this time. He tried to speak again. “I’m okay… Not your fault.”
He tilted his head up to look at her. The kitchen lights were supernovas, and he blinked against them, but between each blink he saw her worry. Eyes brimmed with tears, her face blanched and spotted, she looked down at him with a concern so great it hurt his eyes. He watched her frown, and she looked away.
“Oscar! Baby, come here,” she gasped.
With his head still in her lap and his body now leaden with post-seizure fatigue, Gray couldn’t move or sit, but he looked back to see the terrified toddler crying and huddled in the corner of the kitchen.
Shit.
The little boy didn’t move. The kid would probably be scarred for life, and it was all his fault.
“It’s okay, Oscar,” Meredith said, wiping her eyes and trying to control her voice. “It’s safe.”
“Mama cwying,” the boy wailed. “Mama felled down.”
“I’m alright, baby,” she said with a hiccup. “It was an accident. Come here.”
Oscar took a step toward them and eyed Gray with distrust. “Why he in you lap, Mama?”
“Because he’s sick, baby. That’s why we fell. It was an accident.” She was trying to sound sure, but her voice still shook. Yet it was enough. The child closed the distance between them, and Meredith caught him in her right arm, hugging him to her.
With her left hand, she still stroked Gray’s shoulder, and he wondered if this was unconscious, if the act of comforting her child meant that both her hands must be employed in the job of soothing. Or did she meant to soothe him too? Whether she meant it or not, it made him feel less like an ass. But just a little.
Juno let out a great whine and sunk to her belly at Gray’s knees. She crawled toward him and sniffed his hand. Gray lifted his fingers to stroke her muzzle and reassure her. The dogs had seen this before, and they always stayed close, but he’d never had a seizure in front of anyone besides Bax. Now that the moment was over, he knew the animals’ loyalty to him could have put Meredith and Oscar at risk.
“When I fell…” Gray began, rolling slowly onto his back so he could look up at her. It took all of his strength to make that one move. “…what did you say to the dogs to make them calm down?”
Her lips were pressed to Oscar’s head, her face suffused with relief. She clung to her child like his life depended on it. Gray knew if either of them had been hurt in the episode — by him or the dogs — he never would have forgiven himself.
“I just told them to stay and that it was alright,” she said, looking down at him. She ran her hand over his brow again, combing his hair back, the sensation making him forget his question for a moment. “They seemed to understand. I think they were just worried I’d hurt you. Once they saw I wouldn’t, they just cried and paced.”
“Dogs cwying,” Oscar echoed.
“Yes. The dogs cried when their daddy fell, just like you cried when Mama fell,” Meredith told him.
Oscar looked down at Gray with an amused twinkle in his eye. “You dey daddy?”
Despite his horror at the damage he could have caused and his humiliation at the scene he had caused, Gray couldn’t stifle his chuckle at the child’s question. His laughter made his head bounce again in Meredith’s lap — this time more gently — and he felt the warm, supple flesh as if for the first time. Her fingers still stroked through his hair, and his head rested in her lap.
In her lap.
