heart was thudding painfully, trying to push back the memories of other little fists that had clutched his neck tightly. He remembered hugs and squeals of laughter, and soft little-girl, raspberry jelly kisses.
The boy sucked in his lower lip, an utterly childish gesture that brushed at Nathan’s memories. A small cough started up, shaking the fragile little body and holding him in its frenzied grasp.
Faith rushed in at that moment, smoothing her hand in slow circles over the child’s back and then hugging him close when the angry coughing finally ceased. “You okay, Cory? Better, love?”
Small hands slipped around her waist, the child’s face hidden against her body.
Faith looked up at Nathan, tilting her head. “Nathan? Are you—I—I wondered where you’d gone to. I—”
He shook his head. “No apologies, remember? You couldn’t hear him when he called. I figured I was capable of helping out a little, anyway.”
Her cheeks pinked slightly at his words. He knew that she was feeling guilty again. But she simply nodded. “Thank you.”
When her gaze locked with his, and he looked into those huge blue-green eyes Nathan felt the room shrink even more. His chest felt tight as though some of the air had been sapped from the meager supply available in this tiny space. What air remained seemed highly charged.
He felt the change when the boy turned to look from him back to his mother. Pulling on Faith’s sleeve, Cory stared forlornly down at his messed up sheets. “I losted my bear,” he said sadly.
Faith smoothed her hand across her son’s hair. She slipped to her knees beside the bed and helped him straighten his covers, hunting out the bear that had slipped off the far side. Kissing him on the forehead, she snuggled him close for one brief second, then looked back at Nathan. “I’m sorry I’m so disorganized today. Let me just get Cory set up here and then we’ll get back to your session.”
She pushed one tense hand through her hair, sending a wayward curl flopping down onto her forehead. Nathan noticed the spot of spilled juice on her pale peach blouse, the fact that her whole body was stiff as if it would dissolve and melt away if she let up on herself for one second. He saw the way the boy’s eyes grew worried when his mother mentioned leaving him alone.
With an internal shudder of resignation, as he mentally closed his eyes to what he was proposing, Nathan reached out and picked up the glass of juice she had put on the nightstand. He held the drink out to Cory, looking down at the little boy who was studying him so rebelliously.
“I’m not afraid of the flu even if it is contagious,” Nathan said, giving the child the small plastic tumbler. “Why don’t we take you into the other room so that you can be near your mom?”
The sudden hopeful look in the kid’s eyes nearly sent Nathan spinning away. It was such a small thing he had offered. Such a small, stupid thing.
“Mom says I have to stay in my bed,” Cory said, chewing on his lip. “Little boys who are sick must get lots and lots of sleep,” he reminded the man, obviously quoting his mother.
“Then you’ll just have to get lots of sleep, won’t you? I expect those eyes to drift shut just as soon as we get you set up on the couch. Doctor’s orders. Grab your bear now while I carry you. Can’t have you getting chilled.”
And without waiting for Faith’s reaction, Nathan reached down and bundled the child, blankets and all, into his arms. He barely weighed more than a puff of air, so there was no reason for a man Nathan’s size to feel his knees buckling, no reason for him to feel that the other room was two million miles away, as if he’d never make it. Taking a deep breath, Nathan turned and strode toward the door. He could feel Faith close behind him, but he didn’t stop, not until he reached the slate blue couch. Gently, forcing himself to go slowly, he lowered the boy to the sofa, then stepped aside to let Faith
The boy sucked in his lower lip, an utterly childish gesture that brushed at Nathan’s memories. A small cough started up, shaking the fragile little body and holding him in its frenzied grasp.
Faith rushed in at that moment, smoothing her hand in slow circles over the child’s back and then hugging him close when the angry coughing finally ceased. “You okay, Cory? Better, love?”
Small hands slipped around her waist, the child’s face hidden against her body.
Faith looked up at Nathan, tilting her head. “Nathan? Are you—I—I wondered where you’d gone to. I—”
He shook his head. “No apologies, remember? You couldn’t hear him when he called. I figured I was capable of helping out a little, anyway.”
Her cheeks pinked slightly at his words. He knew that she was feeling guilty again. But she simply nodded. “Thank you.”
When her gaze locked with his, and he looked into those huge blue-green eyes Nathan felt the room shrink even more. His chest felt tight as though some of the air had been sapped from the meager supply available in this tiny space. What air remained seemed highly charged.
He felt the change when the boy turned to look from him back to his mother. Pulling on Faith’s sleeve, Cory stared forlornly down at his messed up sheets. “I losted my bear,” he said sadly.
Faith smoothed her hand across her son’s hair. She slipped to her knees beside the bed and helped him straighten his covers, hunting out the bear that had slipped off the far side. Kissing him on the forehead, she snuggled him close for one brief second, then looked back at Nathan. “I’m sorry I’m so disorganized today. Let me just get Cory set up here and then we’ll get back to your session.”
She pushed one tense hand through her hair, sending a wayward curl flopping down onto her forehead. Nathan noticed the spot of spilled juice on her pale peach blouse, the fact that her whole body was stiff as if it would dissolve and melt away if she let up on herself for one second. He saw the way the boy’s eyes grew worried when his mother mentioned leaving him alone.
With an internal shudder of resignation, as he mentally closed his eyes to what he was proposing, Nathan reached out and picked up the glass of juice she had put on the nightstand. He held the drink out to Cory, looking down at the little boy who was studying him so rebelliously.
“I’m not afraid of the flu even if it is contagious,” Nathan said, giving the child the small plastic tumbler. “Why don’t we take you into the other room so that you can be near your mom?”
The sudden hopeful look in the kid’s eyes nearly sent Nathan spinning away. It was such a small thing he had offered. Such a small, stupid thing.
“Mom says I have to stay in my bed,” Cory said, chewing on his lip. “Little boys who are sick must get lots and lots of sleep,” he reminded the man, obviously quoting his mother.
“Then you’ll just have to get lots of sleep, won’t you? I expect those eyes to drift shut just as soon as we get you set up on the couch. Doctor’s orders. Grab your bear now while I carry you. Can’t have you getting chilled.”
And without waiting for Faith’s reaction, Nathan reached down and bundled the child, blankets and all, into his arms. He barely weighed more than a puff of air, so there was no reason for a man Nathan’s size to feel his knees buckling, no reason for him to feel that the other room was two million miles away, as if he’d never make it. Taking a deep breath, Nathan turned and strode toward the door. He could feel Faith close behind him, but he didn’t stop, not until he reached the slate blue couch. Gently, forcing himself to go slowly, he lowered the boy to the sofa, then stepped aside to let Faith
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