Page 110 of Love Wells Kept

Then there’s a shriek, followed by Rhett bursting into tears.

I’m instantly on my feet, racing over to him and falling to the ground next to where he’s staring at his hand and wailing.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Saliva pools in my throat as I reach for his hand. The feel of his tiny touch floods me with intense sensations of love and protectiveness, similar to what I felt when Odessa went missing a couple weeks ago. “Let me see.”

“I…I got…” He struggles to get the words out between sobs, shakily jutting his hurt hand toward me.

A bee sting.

“It’s okay, buddy. Just a little ouchie.” I try for a reassuring smile, but the pained looked in his eyes has moisture forming in mine.

Might be my eyes playing tricks on me, but I swear the bump on his palm is redder than it should be, then a thought rushes over me, making my chest tighten.

Without second thought, I scoop Rhett into my arms, letting him cover my shirt in his tears and snot, and I frantically head for the guys—still seated in their lawn chairs, unfazed by all of this. Rhett clings to me, and I press my cheek to the top of his head.

“All good, kiddo?” my dad asks. To Rhett or me, I’m not sure.

“I don’t…” My throat clams up. “Bee sting. Is he allergic? Does anyone know? I don’t—”

What kind of dad doesn’t know that sort of thing?

Austin calmly states, “No, he’s not.”

I let out a relieved exhale.

Dad motions his head toward the house. “He’ll be fine, son. Go get him cleaned up and slap some baking soda paste on the sting.”

My eyes cut to Odessa, and Dad adds, “We’ll make sure she doesn’t get in too much trouble.”

With that, I carry Rhett to the house, telepathically apologizing to Kate for the copious amount of mud I’m about to track inside, because a garden hose and stripping both of us naked on the porch isn’t a priority when my son’s in pain.

By the time I set Rhett down in the bathroom, his tears have mostly stopped, save for the few clinging to his soaked eyelashes. Salty tracks cut through the mud on his cheeks, and he has a snot bubble that inflates with every heaving breath.

I help him wash his hands in the sink, taking extra care around the angry-looking welt. Then he starts stripping out of his filthy clothes while I poke around in the medicine cabinet, exhaling some of my anxiety when I find children’s Benadryl on one of the shelves.

“It hurts.” He sniffs, making the boogers disappear altogether.

“I know, bud.” I study the label, then him, trying to determine how much he weighs. “This medicine should help though.”

“Bee stings fuckin’ suck.”

I bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing. There’s something kind of adorable about a tiny boy in his Spider-Man underwear dropping an F-bomb. “Don’t let your sister or mom hear you say that.”

He winces as I study the red welt on his palm, confirming the stinger isn’t embedded in his skin. I wish I could magically fix this for him. If there’s one thing I want, it’s for my kids to never know more pain after what they’ve been through with me in the last few months.

I dampen a washcloth and crouch in front of him to wipe the dried dirt and tears from his face. Then I brush a gentle kiss on the warm skin of his palm and pull him in for a really good hug.

“Spider-Man got his powers from a spider bite, right? I bet now you’re going to be a superhero, too.”

His arms tighten around my neck. “You think so?”

I cough, faking an inability to breathe. “You’re already so strong, you’re crushing my throat.”

He steps back to look at me with fire dancing in his big, brown eyes. And though he relaxes his hold on my neck, the way he’s still squeezing my heart is his real superpower.

Kate

The coffee’s lukewarm because I don’t stand a chance of consuming any drink at its preferred temperature, but the summer sun warms me right down to the bone anyway. I shift in place on the front porch steps, tapping the band of my wedding ring against the ceramic mug, and watch Rhett use Jackson as a human jungle gym on the lawn.