2. Sametra #2
“Curtis Mayfield or Ludacris?”
“Ludacris by way of Curtis Mayfield,” he winked. If I weren’t laid up and bruised, I might’ve blushed hard enough to need oxygen.
“What part of the south?” I asked, causing him to open his mouth and close it with a smirk. His smirk told me no one had paid enough attention to ask him that.
“Alabama. Ever been?”
“Ouu, I’m good. Georgia was my second guess. And no, but I heard Alabama summers are brutal. Like fry an egg on concrete hot.”
He almost choked laughing. “You heard right. But we got sweet tea to make up for it.”
“Well, that fixes everything until you get diabetes. I heard about the sweet tea obsession.”
“I take very good care of myself I’m good. You ready or what?” he asked, lowering the bed rail with that amused grin still on his face. “He’s been asking for you every hour. Thought it might do y’all both some good.”
Before I could argue and say I could walk, say I didn’t need help, he was already helping me swing my legs over the side, careful with every movement, not wanting to hurt me or move me too fast. I hated how good it felt to be handled that way.
“Thank you. I thought I was going to be stuck in that room.”
“My pleasure.”
He steadied me as I stood, eased me into the chair, and adjusted the blanket over my legs without saying a word.
As he pushed me down the hallway, the silence between us wasn’t awkward.
But I felt bad; my guilt began to rear its head.
Here I was flirting with this man and wasting valuable time checking on my son.
That was so unlike me. Samaj always came first.
We finally reached the room, and my heart stuttered, wondering and afraid of seeing him in less than tip-top shape. This would be different from when he broke his arm in 6th grade or needed stitches for his knee. Then my mind went back to our argument and the revelations.
Malik pushed open the door, easing me inside. My hands flew to my heart when I laid eyes on Samaj. He was sitting up slightly in bed, propped on pillows, a brace on his leg, his arm in a sling, and an expression on his face that shattered me completely.
“Ma?” His voice cracked.
I reached for his hand before Malik could even finish locking the wheels.
“Baby.” The word came out broken. I reached for his hand, gripping it like he might disappear if I let go. “I’m so sorry. I should have?—”
“No.” His voice was stronger than I’d expected. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I wanted to argue, wanted to tell him about all the ways I’d failed him in that moment, but Malik's hand on my shoulder stopped me and reminded me of our earlier conversation. He needed me to be strong right now, not guilty.
“How are you feeling?” I asked instead.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But Dr. Holloway says I’m gonna be fine. Eventually. I guess baseball is over anyway.”
I looked over at Malik, who had quietly moved to stand behind my wheelchair.
“Nah, we talked about this, didn’t we?”
“Yes, sir,” Samaj answered. I watched my son straighten his shoulders and hold his head up high. I couldn’t tell if it was the accident or Malik’s energy, but something had shifted in my son already. He was listening, trusting. That meant everything.
“Okay, and I told you what else?”
“You’re a man of your word. I’ll play again.”
“Exactly. So we ain’t got no worries.” Then he turned to me. “Physical therapy starts in a few days. We’ll take it slow and get you back on your feet.”
“How long before he can walk?”
“That depends on him. Some people recover faster than others.” Malik’s gaze moved between me and Samaj. “A lot depends on family support and mental attitude.”
Samaj squeezed my hand. “Ma, I’m scared.”
The admission shook me to my core. My son, who’d been trying to act grown for months, talking about college and his father and making his own decisions, suddenly sounded like the little boy who used to be afraid of storms.
“I know, baby. But we’re going to get through this together, okay? Whatever it takes.”
Malik stepped forward to help me once he realized I was trying to stand. He helped me lie down beside Samaj. I rested my head on his shoulder, and he gave us a minute alone. I was still sore, still shaken. But in that moment, lying beside my baby, I felt like I could breathe again.
I mouthed ‘thank you’ to him as he stepped out, and the way he nodded back made me melt. The enigma that was Malik had me on the hook. Shit.
For a few minutes, it was just me and my son. The quiet between us felt different from what it had been in the car hours ago. Our silence was wrapped in gratitude and concession.
“Ma,” he said quietly, “about what we were talking about before...about quitting ball and college.”
Hearing the word “before” triggered me. Before the accident.
Before everything changed. My chest tightened, and I felt an unfamiliar flutter of panic trying to claw its way up my throat.
I tensed up, gripping the hospital bed rail without realizing it, but tried to keep my voice calm. “What about it?”
“I don’t know. Being here, seeing you hurt. I’ve been tripping and being unfair to you-”
“Yeah, you’re definitely sick and hurt if you’re apologizing and wanting cuddles.”
“Ma, cut it out. I’m saying I don’t need to figure all that out right now. I just need to focus on getting better and back on my feet.”
Relief washed over me, but I tried not to show it. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Dr. Holloway said something about taking things one step at a time. Literally.” He managed a weak smile.
Before I could respond, there was a soft knock on the door. My daddy peeked his head in, his face brightening with relief at seeing us together.
“How’s my babies doing?” my daddy asked, settling into the chair beside the bed.
“Like a train hit us,” we said in unison before dryly laughing.
“God is good, you’re still on this earth. Got good doctors, good support. Maybe even a chance at a love connection.”
“Don’t start, please.” I pointed my finger at my dad and warned him. Today was not the day to start that badgering about me now finding a man since Samaj was no longer a baby.
Samaj glanced toward the door, then back at me, lowering his voice. “So you don’t like him?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Dr. Holloway. I mean, he seems cool.” Samaj’s voice dropped, conspiratorial. “And I heard the nurses talking in the hallway. They all talk about him all day, like weirdos.”
“Samaj!”
“What?” he said, grinning for the first time since the accident. “I’m just saying. You’ve been single for a long time, Ma. Maybe it’s time. Maybe you won’t do all that yelling and fussing.”
“Boy, if you don’t…” I started, but Malik cleared his throat. Heat flooded my cheeks at the sight of Malik in the doorway, clearly having heard every word. His lips twitched like he was fighting back a smile.
“That’s enough visiting for tonight,” he said, stepping fully into the room. “You both need your rest, and visiting hours are over.”
I leaned over and carefully placed a kiss on his forehead. My dad came around and gave me a hug before we said goodbye.
“Love you, Ma. Get better.”
Dr. Holloway helped me back into my wheelchair and wheeled me back to my room.
“Your son’s got a lot of sense for seventeen,” he said, helping me back in bed. He was so gentle. And God, he smelled so damn good.
“Sometimes too much.” I watched his hands, long fingers, steady movements, no wedding ring. “How long have you been doing this? And do you love it?”
“Physical therapy? Eight years. Trauma patients specifically? Five.”
“Hhm, do you treat all your patients like this? Breaking the rules, lingering, and flirting.”
Now he did look at me, something amused flickering in his expression. “Who was flirting? I recall your son playing matchmaker.”
“I don’t need a matchmaker. And you been flirting since I woke up.”
“Didn’t say you did and have I?” he asked through low eyes.
“Good because I don’t.” Instead of wasting words on the answer to his fake innocence I tilted my head and folded my arms.
“I’m sure you don’t. But then again, I don’t know if you’re single because you’re crazy or because somebody fumbled.” He paused, studying my face. “You crazy, MiMi?”
His tone made me shift in my seat without meaning to.
I wanted to hear him say my name in that low, careful voice.
I couldn’t remember the last time a man had made me feel like this.
Joquin from the firehouse had tried to take me out last year, but it didn’t work out.
He was handsome, strong and capable, but the whole evening felt like being interviewed for a position I didn’t want.
All he could talk about was how his woman needed to do this and that.
And I wouldn’t be working if this went further.
I almost told him to shut the fuck up a million times.
And before that? There was David, the teacher I’d met at Samaj’s parent conference three years ago. We’d gone to dinner twice before I realized I was spending the whole time talking about my son, and he was spending his time talking about his ex-wife.
But this feeling. The thoughts running through my head. The forgetting my own name, the wanting to lean into someone’s energy, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this. Maybe not since Ashe, and that had been a disaster of epic proportions.
Truthfully, I’d been afraid to take anyone seriously because I felt I’d always choose wrong.
I was traumatized. And raising one kid alone was hard enough, I couldn’t take the chance on bringing the wrong energy into our lives.
I’d focused on my son and providing a comfortable life for us. That had been enough.
Until now.
Malik was still watching me, waiting for an answer, and I realized I’d been quiet too long, lost in memories of mediocre dates and men who never quite measured up to the wall I’d built around myself and my son.
“Not crazy,” I finally said, my voice softer than I intended. “Just...selective.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Thank you. For taking me to visit. I know it’s past hours.”
“I understand what it means to worry about your mama. My queen, Yolanda, raised me right. So, to me, family comes first, rules come second.”
The mention of his mother sealed the deal on him being too good to be true.
He was fine, had a career, kind, smelled good, well kept, and respected his mama.
His whole face lit up when he said her name, like a little boy talking about his hero.
My danger meter was going off in full force.
I didn’t want a mama’s boy but a man that lit up like he did knew how to treat a woman and provide without her needing to say a word.
Energy.
“You and this southern charm are kinda cute. But I think you may be running game on me.”
“Get some rest, Sametra,” he chuckled, pausing at the door. “Doctor’s orders.”
After he left, I stared at the ceiling for a long time, my mind spinning between worry for Samaj and thoughts I had no business thinking about his doctor. I grabbed my phone, needing a distraction, and remembered I still hadn’t checked whether I’d been accepted to South Silverrun University.
I scrolled through my 62 emails until I found the one that could change everything.
Dear Ms. Andrews, we would like to formally welcome you to South Silverrun University for the summer semester...
I had to bite my lip to keep from squealing out loud. Finally, something was going right. This accident was the wake-up call I needed, about Samaj, about my life, about the fact that I’d been playing it safe for too damn long.
As I settled back into my pillow, my phone buzzed with texts from Halo and my team.
Messages of get well soon and prayers flooded in.
I wanted to be sad, but I couldn’t, especially looking at the flowers and balloons covering my room.
I thought about what Malik had said - sometimes bad things just happen.
But sometimes they lead you exactly where you need to be.
He said he was in trouble, but I knew I was the one in trouble. You didn’t look at a woman the way he did to play friend zone games.