8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Rose
Milo is stuck in a baby swing.
Am I being punished for enjoying my time with this tasty snack of a man? I wouldn’t demean him by calling him a tasty snack out loud, but my brain went there, and I can’t get it out of my head now.
I spring from my swing, my very sensible child’s swing, and step toward him.
Honestly, is the universe showing me what a bad idea it is to spend time with Milo by wedging him in a baby swing? Like, Hey Rose. Guess what? He’s worlds different than you, has money and you don’t, doesn’t have a kid and you do, and see? Here’s proof!
Be that as it may, I can’t stop laughing.
I slap my hand over my mouth, but the damage has been done.
“You think this is funny?” He’s high-centered over the right side of the swing.
His mouth twitches and he teeters a bit on his one leg, hopping to try to gain some control and not topple over.
“No!” I amend. “Sort of. But not in a mean way, you just were so confident it was going to work, and then, the panic on your face . . .” Much to my dismay, I snort again and double over. “I’m so sorry. I’m trying not to laugh. Are you hurt?”
“My Juror Number Seven self feels some solidarity with you there.” He hops again, whipping his head around, looking for some way to relieve his situation. “I’m not hurt, per se. But this is not exactly comfortable. Uh, can you see something that could maybe act as a stool?”
I glance around. “Um, no. But I’ll look. I—what do you need a stool for?”
“Leverage.” He grits his teeth as he places his hands on either side of the swing. “Or, if you find something to stand on, maybe you could get on it and lift from under my shoulders. Just—” He sighs loudly and chews on his bottom lip. “No, that’s not going to work.”
“You know, you are everything that’s wrong with America today,” I say, grinning widely as I look for something I could scoot over to help him get out of the swing.
“Gee thanks. Kick me while I’m down.”
“I just mean that there are already not enough fun, good parks for kids and babies around here and now someone’s going to have to come cut you out of it, thus ruining the swing. It’s jokers like you who ruin the swings for the actual babies!”
I’m looking around but, honestly, why would there be anything like a stool around here? And one look at his face tells me this isn’t going to just solve itself.
“Why are you so concerned about the swings?” he asks. “What about my leg?”
I clamp my mouth shut and continue to walk around aimlessly, pretending to look for something he can stand on while I actually freak out about his constant questioning of baby swings. I have a baby, whom I love way too much to talk about with this guy right now.
“Are you in pain?” I step to him. “Maybe we should call someone.”
His mouth goes in a straight line before he answers. “I’m not going to pretend to be all macho right now. Yes, it hurts a little. Yes, I feel like I’ve been wedged into a steel trap . . . like I’m a wild animal and some fur trapper is out to get me.” He gestures to his hips. “Oh my gosh. Is this what those poor wild animals feel like? Anyway, I can’t unwedge my hip so . . .”
“I am so sorry.” I feel another burst of laughter coming on, but I manage to reel it in. Seriously, I have a problem. I also started laughing hysterically when I found out I was pregnant with Callum, so there’s that. I really need to figure out what that says about me—another time.
Right now? I’ve got to help Milo. “Okay. I’m going to call 911.”
“No!” His face blanches in pain. “Is there like a big rock or something you could stand on? Or maybe there’s a house nearby with a ladder you could borrow. I just feel like if we had some leverage here.” He hops on one leg, his arms windmilling.
“Milo, I may not be a nurse yet, but this does seem to warrant medical help.” I reach over and run a finger along the top of the swing and then try to insert my finger between his hip and the soft swing. He inhales sharply.
“I’m not trying to get frisky or anything,” I say. “Just assessing things. There’s still enough room for my pinky, so I doubt you’re in too much danger here. But you are wedged in there hard.”
“That about sums it up.”
I ease closer to him and brush my fingertips along his cheekbone, searching his face. “I will get you out of here, Milo. Don’t worry.” I almost add his last name, Tate. I saw it when he let me take a picture of his driver’s license. But I’m trying not to remember it. Because I’m not going to see him again after this.
“Thanks,” he says, smiling faintly. “You know this feels like it’s made out of a wrestling mat.” He knocks against it with his fist. “I can imagine it would be quite comfortable for babies.”
I could answer that in the affirmative, but I don’t.
“We’re gonna need the jaws of life,” I say, before holding up the phone to my ear.
“Absolutely not,” he says.
But I don’t respond because the dispatcher answers.
I’m holding Milo’s hand, feeling helpless when I hear the siren in the distance. “They’re almost here. Just hold on.” I type out a quick text to my sister, Eden, reassuring her that I’m okay and enjoying my time. I explain that I won’t be home for a while longer, but I don’t elaborate on why.
She texts back a bunch of clapping emojis.
“I’m fine,” Milo insists. “Any possible future children may not be.” He grinds his teeth together.
I feel my mouth twitching and my throat tickling. “Stop. You can’t be trying to make me laugh at a time like this.”
His cheeks have reddened, and he does another hop to gain his footing on the one leg that can reach the ground, his right leg hanging down uselessly. “You think my virility is a laughing matter?”
“Certainly not. It was more the tone that cracked me up.” I want to brush a lock of hair out of his face. But I have to keep my distance from this man.
When the ambulance pulls up, the red and blue lights casting shadows across his face, I step back. The EMTs survey the situation, and I feel slightly justified when both the driver and the EMT can’t hold back their smiles. They’re professional about it and not making fun of him. Still, I’m quite positive these guys will be sharing the story of the grown man stuck in a baby swing for a long time.
Before long, a firetruck arrives.
“The fire department?” Milo’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “What’s next? The governor? The police chief? Am I going to be arrested for ruining public property?”
“You’ll be fined, I’m sure,” one of the EMTs says, assessing the situation.
“As I deserve to be,” grumbles Milo.
One of the firefighters bites back a smile while another looks frustrated for being dragged out here for a problem like this.
“We’ve done this before,” the smiling firefighter assures him. Two firefighters
gets on either side of him while another stands behind him. The two at his sides grab hold of him, lifting him up collectively while another one uses what looks like bolt cutters to clip through the chains with a clank . Then they ease him to a lying position on the grass.
Milo stares up at the sky. “On the bright side, there’s the Big Dipper!” he says cheerfully. I laugh again, willing myself to stay calm this time and not explode like a hyena.
As he lies on his back, I sink down on my knees next to him, smoothing his forehead. “It’s almost over.”
“This lying position isn’t bad. I could be like this for hours.”
I glance down at him, the half of the baby swing that doesn’t have a leg through it looking like a sidecar to his body.
The firefighters produce bottles of oily stuff. They pour it over his green pants and down his hip, into the hole where his leg is wedged, shaking out the bottles as the oil glugs out. As it seems to seep through the fabric of Milo’s pants, it’s his turn to giggle.
“That’s cold!” he says. “It tickles!”
Once the firefighters get him nice and lubed up, they take a fine, chain looking thing and snake it into the leg hole, gently sawing back and forth as it cuts through the red rubbery fabric of the swing.
“I don’t need to stress what a delicate area this is, right?” Milo croaks.
“No, sir. We’re being as careful as possible.”
In a few moments, they’ve cut through the whole section. They ease the swing off his body, and he lets out an audible moan, rolling to his side, stretching his leg out and shaking it.
“Ow. My leg.”
An EMT opens both back doors of the ambulance. “Do you think you can walk over or should I get the stretcher?”
Milo curls up in the fetal position. “I’m fine.” His voice is muffled, his face in the grass. “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“You need to be assessed, sir,” the EMT says.
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
I run a finger lightly through his hair. “Hey,” I say quietly. “Why don’t you want to go?”
“Because then I can’t deny culpability. It’s hands down the most embarrassing thing that I’ve ever done and being sent to the hospital in the ambulance? That’s just so much worse.”
“Milo, we all do stupid things sometimes. They need to check your veins.”
“She’s right,” the driver says. “You need an ultrasound to make sure there wasn’t any damage to any nerves or soft tissues.”
Milo sighs but then shakes his head again.
“Think of future Milo Junior and Miloette, your future daughter. Do it for the kids, Milo!”
He smiles and then bites his lip. After a swift nod, the EMT and driver each take one of his arms and lift him to standing and slowly help him walk.
“Do you want me to call a family member?” I offer. “One of your brothers? Or your parents?”
“Absolutely not,” he mutters.
By the time he’s gotten to the ambulance, he smiles. “Look! I can pretty much
walk normally. I’m all good. No need to take me in.”
They don’t respond and just help him inside.
“Can she ride with me?” he asks.
“Nope. She’s going to have to drive over separately if she wants to come.”
Before he can even ask me, I pipe up, “Oh, I’m coming.”
Just before they close the ambulance doors, Milo digs in his pocket and then tosses me the keys to his car.
“I’ll see you over there,” he offers.
I’m not going to lie, the short drive over is far scarier than anything else that’s happened today. I’m nervous I’m going to wreck his Jeep Wrangler. Once I arrive safely, I rush inside through the side door, feeling like I’m his next of kin.
This has all sorts of nineties rom-com movie vibes. But as I approach the emergency room desk, I manage to stay calm, and they let me in to see him in triage area three. His face lights up when I enter the room. Every detail feels indelible: the sharp sting of the hand sanitizer against my skin. The solidness of the chair I sit in next to Milo’s bed, the only one in the room. The smell of gauze.
The medical team takes their sweet time running scans to determine he’s not at risk for clots, or for vein or nerve damage. It’s fine by me. I actually like hospitals. Besides, Milo manages to make even this fun.
In between the two tests, he reaches for my hands. I settle mine in his and he pulls me to standing, bringing me closer to him. “You know. Almost dying changes a man.”
I bite back a smile. “Okay, now I’m certain we’re in some nineties’ romcom, Milo.”
His gaze takes in my face. “I’m just saying, it puts things into perspective.”
“Oh, how you’ve changed your tune. A few hours ago, you didn’t think you even needed to be taken to the hospital.”
“Jury’s still out on that.”
I cover my eyes and sigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of them slicing that swing open out of my head.”
“Just think about what an education that was. You’re already ahead in your nursing school coursework with all you learned.”
When I laugh, he continues, tugging me even closer. “Seriously, nurse, am I going to live?”
I take a luxurious moment looking him over from head to toe. He’s still got his Henley on, but his oil-covered pants, socks, and shoes are in a plastic bag on a chair in the corner. The hospital bedding stretches over his legs and bunches around his waist. Even though he’s just been through this ordeal, he’s still completely, undeniably attractive.
“With any luck, I’d guess your chances of a long and healthy life are pretty decent.”
“And what about Milo Junior and Miloette? And Miles and Mia and Emilio?”
I giggle and bend to smooth his hair off his forehead. “Who are they?”
“My other kids. I want more than two.”
“You do?”
“Of course. I mean, if my wife’s okay with it. I like big families. I like kids.”
Why is that so sexy right now? Why am I imagining Milo holding Callum? More importantly, why am I imagining a shirtless Milo holding Callum?
And . . . now the familiar burning in my breasts starts again.
“Well, I’d say, in my expert opinion and in seeing the way you were treated here in the ER tonight—”
“This morning,” Milo corrects.
I yawn and check the time on the screen near his bed. “You’re right. Three a.m. certainly constitutes morning. But I’d say your future children are going to be A-okay.”
“That’s a relief.”
“How’s your pain level now?”
He grins, his eyes sinking half closed in fatigue. “Almost a one. I really am fine.”
“Good.”
He squeezes my hand. “Hey, I’m sorry about all this. We had big plans for the rest of the evening. They did not include me doing something this stupid.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I make a circular motion towards his chest and laugh. “About any of it. Despite the near-death thing, I had a great night with you.”
“I had a great night with you, too, Rose.”
I don’t want this to end, but some of the adrenaline is wearing off and I’m feeling tired. “Can I tell you a little secret?”
“Tell me all your secrets.”
I hesitate, taking him in. “It’s my birthday. Well, I mean, it was my birthday yesterday.”
His eyes go wide. “Really? Oh no. I feel even worse now. I’m sorry I ruined your birthday.”
I click my tongue. “But you didn’t. I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun.”
“I should have bought you a cake and presents and—”
“You bought me ice cream,” I remind him. I rub a hand across my face. “I feel like my nose is still a little sticky from it. It was so good.”
“It was good. But not enough.” He leans back against the pillows again, placing a hand behind his head. “If I make it outta here alive, I’ll make it up to you.”
“Except, our time together is almost over, remember?” I know it’s for the best, but why does a welling of regret threaten to undo me?
I trace his cheekbone with my finger, and he swallows hard. I reach down to kiss him on the cheek and when I pull away, the look in his eyes upends me. Seals me to him.
His expression is wild. Almost like the barest whiff of panic. As if he’s desperate for me to stay. I shunt out a breath, quickly and quietly. My gaze darts down to his lips.
He bridges the gap, tugging me close and crushing my mouth in a kiss.