4. Damon

"Nicolas."

His name was nothing out of the ordinary. Heck, I knew at least five through work. But as he spoke it, his name wrapped around me, pulling me closer. Without even thinking, I lurched forward and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tight, tears flowing from my eyes.

Was it appropriate? Absolutely not. But this kind man found me because he knew I needed someone—that I was alone and the help I called for wasn't coming. He enveloped me in his embrace, holding me close, giving me assurance that everything would be okay. And that he was there.

He owed me nothing, and yet he was giving me exactly what I needed, not just by telling me about my misdial, but with his kind words and affection.

This stranger's kindness overwhelmed me. I clung to him, sobbing, until I finally pulled myself together. I pushed back and grabbed a tissue from the coffee table. When I blew my nose, there was nothing dainty about it. It sounded more like a honk than anything. But he didn't look at me as if I was gross or disgusting. Nor did he look at me with pity, not like some of the staff here did, as unintentional as it might've been for them.

There was so much empathy in his eyes, and also this aura about him that shouted that he wanted to protect me. I was probably seeing things that weren't there, but at that moment, that was exactly what I needed—he was exactly what I needed—someone to just be here and comfort me for a little while so I could be the father George needed when I could finally see him. Nicholas gave me that reprieve and probably didn't even realize it.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"No, don't be sorry. It's got to be really hard for you." He had no idea.

I just nodded, leaning into him, needing his warmth.

"Would it help if you talked about it? Would that make things better?"

I wasn't sure if anything would make it better, but talking about it felt like I had some say in the matter, like I had some control. I didn't, of course, but I was willing to live in the illusion for a few seconds.

That and I wasn't ready for him to leave yet, as selfish as that was. He was a stranger and probably had places to go and people to see.

"George, my son, was invited to a friend's house for a playdate. I didn't realize they were doing construction behind the house or maybe I'd have said no or at the very least given George some clear expectations. I also expected more supervision." That wasn't really fair to the other parent, but at that moment, I wasn't really caring much about being fair. I was processing the day.

"The kids, including George, were curious. They decided to hop the fence to see what was happening. He's such a good climber." And I wished he weren't. "He scaled that fence like nothing, but when he flipped over to the other side, he landed on a piece of rebar, and it went through him."

Nicholas flinched and schooled his face immediately afterward. He'd probably heard it on the message, but now, hearing it from a live person, it was different. It just was.

"The doctor said if it was even half an inch either way, he wouldn't be with us." My voice cracked. "The kids he was visiting got their parents, who came out and, thank gods, knew what to do. If they had tried to take him off that metal—this would be a very different conversation."

Tears welled in my eyes, and he grabbed both my hands, holding them tightly.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, no, don't be sorry. They shouldn't be sorry either, not if I'm being fair." And I wanted to be. "Things happen. Kids are kids. I'm trying not to beat myself up over it, but I also have to remember that they need to not beat themselves up over it either." It was hard.

"They were loading George into the ambulance when I got there, and I followed them here. They're trying to communicate to me as best they can, but I'm not their first priority. Their priority is to make sure he's okay." Which it should be, but not understanding what was happening half the time was beyond rough.

"That sounds like a nightmare. I'm glad he's here and getting the treatment he needs. He'll be okay."

"I hope so." I leaned into his side, my head on his shoulder. This stranger, this angel, I could see him flying here, making sure the single father who accidentally called him was okay.

Only he didn't look like any angel I'd ever envisioned. If anything, he was a dinosaur or dragon flying through the air to rescue me. It was silly, but that little bit of imagination helped ground me. My dragon man.

"Does his other father know?"

"It's only me."

I could've sworn he mumbled, "Not any more." It was probably my imagination.

A minute later or five or twenty—time had so little meaning here—a nurse called my name—not the one who had been so kind to me, but another one—and I pushed myself up.

"Yeah, I'm him." I waved my arms so she could see me, not that there was anyone else but Nicholas in the room.

I got up, turned back to him. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm sorry for all this—the wrong number and the crying and—all of it."

I jogged over to the nurse. "They're still in surgery, but the lead surgeon is going to meet you in the consult room for an update. I'll show you the way."

Was it good news? Was it bad news? Was it no news? And if he was the lead surgeon, what was he even doing out here? Shouldn't he be in there with my son? I had so many questions, ones that would go unanswered until I spoke with the doctor.

I nodded and followed her.

When I sat down in the little room, which was really more of a closet than anything else, my heart thumped and thumped, so loudly that I could hear it. I closed my eyes and thought of the man in the waiting room, pretending he was hugging me again. There was peace in his arms. It didn't make sense, but it was also true. I took comfort from him, even with him in the next room.

A knock on the door was immediately followed by the doctor coming in. He looked tired, so, so tired.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Samson. I was the lead on this case." Case. It wasn't a case, it was my son.

I bit my tongue and nodded. I hadn't met him during the initial chaos, but I had heard the name. He was already getting ready for the surgery when I was being told they were going to wheel George away and I had a second to say goodbye. Not that he heard me, being so sedated.

"Dr. Samson," I began, but what was I supposed to say? I wanted to say, "Tell me what's wrong. Tell me everything's okay." But the words didn't form in my mouth.

"I want to start by saying the surgery went amazingly well. They"re closing up now, but all of the major work has been done, and I think we're looking at a full recovery." He described the surgery in detail, and with each sentence, I realized how much worse it was than I realized, and I'd thought it was terrifyingly bad. "It's going to be a long, hard road, but he's going to make it. He's strong. I can't even tell you how lucky he was. Just a tiny bit to the left, and we'd be having a much different conversation." Just a tiny bit and half an inch were very different and not in a good way.

"It grazed a couple of organs that, if they had been pierced..." He went on to describe them, and I wished he hadn't. I just wanted to think of my baby being whole again, think of him being fine, not spiral back into all the things that might've happened.

"I need to go back in there, but I just wanted you to be up to date. I didn't want you worrying any longer than you had to."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"I promise you, as soon as he is in recovery and you can come see him, we'll come get you. Then you can be by his side, and you shouldn't have to leave it again until you are ready. I know that had to be the hardest part for you."

I held back tears and gave a single nod. I appreciated this conversation and his care. After I thanked him, he walked out. I stood up and went back toward the waiting area with renewed hope in my heart. My sweet boy was going to be okay.