The Littlest Boss

He loaded the numbers into his phone with a growing sense of excitement. He hadn’t been able to pinpoint the flat feeling he’d had the last few months. Not until this idea had begun to form. All his life, he’d been striving for a goal. Get through high school. Get through college. Get into the army. Even when he’d broken his ankle and his plans changed, it was also a goal. Get the ankle healed, rehab done, qualify for Army National Guard, and get a job. Once all that was accomplished, he’d thought he was done. But instead, he felt like everything had gone too slow, too quiet.

He needed a new goal. And he thought he might have found it. The quiver of excitement of a new project brought a grin to his lips. “So, what’s this I hear about Lena? She found a man who isn’t afraid of her? Is that actually possible?”

Sadie laughed. “Matt. Yeah. She’s goofy in love.”

“Speaking of goofy in love—when’s the wedding? Soon, right?”

“April.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s gotten out of hand.”

“That’s just you. Only thing you’d be comfortable with would be going to a UPS store and having the notary marry you on your lunch break or something.”

“See!” Sadie exclaimed, spreading her arms. “That’s exactly what I wanted. And they all act like I’m the crazy one.”

DeShawn laughed. He’d missed this. Missed the Crew. Missed Sadie. For the first time since he’d slipped off that ladder and sent his careful plans flying in the wind, he felt everything was going to be okay.

* * *

AFTER WRESTLING OVER the check and winning, DeShawn gave Sadie another hug and headed to his car. As he slid behind the wheel, his phone vibrated in his shirt pocket. He fished it out while cranking the engine to get the heat going. Charleston winters were usually mild, but a cold snap was in progress and the temperatures were dipping down into the twenties at night. He swiped left to reject an unknown call and then dropped the phone back in his pocket.

As he pulled out of the parking lot onto Savannah Highway, the phone meep-meeped, signaling a new voice message. Ignoring it, he drove to the little apartment he called home for now. He didn’t need much. A bedroom. A kitchen. Charleston real estate was crazy expensive right now, so his plan was to live as cheaply as possible, pay off his student loans and start building his meager savings. He hoped to buy a condominium after the loans were paid off. If his car held up that long. Start to put down some roots. Build a life here.

Once home, he changed out of his work clothes into a pair of Deadpool sweat pants and an Iron Man T-shirt. Hey, he liked Marvel Comics. Time to kick back and relax. See what’s new on Hulu. But first he had to make sure that unknown call wasn’t work related. He was sure he had everyone properly identified in his phone, but didn’t want to take a chance.

He hit the voice mail number and put the phone on speaker. He had one new message. There was a brief pause. He was just about to delete it, thinking it was a robocall, when a hesitant female voice began to speak.

“DeShawn? This is your mother. Denise? I know we’ve had our troubles but I’ve been clean and sober for three months now. I’d like to talk to you. If you want. Okay? Just...uh...call me back? If you want.”

He stared at the phone as it went through its beeps and prompts. Save this message? Delete? He hit Delete with a shock-numbed finger and let the phone slip from his hand. His mother. Damn. The stunned feeling began to wear off and he slowly became aware of a simmering anger building in his chest. Not now. Not when he was finally settled. Not when he’d finally crawled out of that whole situation. He’d washed his hands of his family after his grandmother, Momma G, had passed away. She had raised him, had done as right as she could by him.

But the memories he still had of the times when he had been with his parents, the memories of his parents showing up at all hours of the night after she’d taken him under her wing, made him feel as if he were right back there, in those powerless childhood days and nights of knowing. Of knowing about the drinking, the drugs, the emotional blackmail they’d leverage against Momma G. And it was always money, needing money, when they’d show up and try to make her—Momma G, the only one who’d shown him love and compassion, the one who believed in him—feel like she was the problem, she was the one in the wrong.

He’d never forget the way his gut would twist when he heard that first hissing sound of a beer can being cracked open, knowing that it was just the start of a night or a weekend-long rollercoaster ride through hell. He remembered feeling his body tense as he heard one or both of them shouting at Momma G. Alone in his room, he’d be too far from the argument to pick out the details, the specific words being thrown out in the air, but the intent, the tone—that was unmistakable.

He remembered how strong Momma G had been. The weight she’d carried, all those years, on her shoulders. What must it have been like for her, looking at her child, trying to speak reason, and seeing only the empty eyes of a blackout drunk who wouldn’t even remember what she’d said or done when she woke up in the morning? Eyes are supposed to be the windows to the soul, right? So what does it say when you look into someone’s eyes and see nothing, not a hint of compassion, nothing that can be appealed to, only that addict’s need for more?

And that someone is your child?

Momma G must have been a lion inside, to be that strong. Because in those harrowing days, she’d had to make a choice: her daughter or her grandson. What do they call it on the battlefield, when the medics wander from screaming body to screaming body, figuring out who might survive? Triage. That was the word.

Momma G, his beloved grandmother, had to triage her own family. And when she looked at her grandson, she saw something in him that made her say: Him. I choose him. He has a chance and I’m going to make sure he keeps that chance.

He caught himself spinning on the edge of all those memories. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Held it, way down deep in his gut. He slowly released his breath.

Okay. Let go of it. It’s not now. It’s not happening now. Let go.

Standing, he paced around the small living room area. Sober for three months? Come back when you got three years on you. Then maybe I’ll believe you. Trust? Huh. Don’t push it. A few months is a hiccup, not a change. He couldn’t deal with this right now. It did all the wrong things to him, getting these memories stirred up.

Pulling on his running shoes and finding his hoodie, he grabbed the keys, intending to go for a run. Stepping out into the cold, dark evening, he paused. Maybe he should go to the gym, use the treadmill. Save the running in a hoodie for daylight. He shook his head in exasperation. This world just doesn’t stop, does it?

At the gym, he set a grueling pace. Running. Running from the ghosts. Trying to sweat the poison out of his body. His anger twisted and turned. Finally, he hit the stop button and lifted his feet off the belt and onto the sides. Head down, heart pounding, his ragged breathing loud in his ears, he realized he was angry at himself. He’d thought he’d put it all behind him. That phone call should have had no more emotional impact than a mosquito buzzing around his head. Instead, it had enraged him. Kindled all the pain and fury he thought he’d exorcised from his life. Just like a damned addict. Knows exactly the right time to pop up and mess everything up. Not this time.

CHAPTER THREE (#uc66cf2bf-6b28-507c-bf65-c60739ed611c)

“IT’S THE BABY! It’s the baby!”

Lily was jumping up and down, waving her hands in the air. Tiana grabbed her to keep her from rushing into the parking lot as the SUV pulled into a parking spot. “Ian’s not a baby, honey. He’s two years old.”

“But he’s not a big boy,” Lily said. “I’m six and I’m a big girl and he’s littler than me.” Her eyes were wide and sparkling. Tiana felt her own mouth spread into a smile. She gave her daughter a quick hug and booped her nose.

“True,” she said. “But he’s really a toddler.”

“Baby.”

Tiana grinned and waved as Mickie climbed out of the car. “Mickie!”

“Tee!”

They met at the sidewalk and embraced. “It is so good to see you,” Tiana said as she stepped back to look Mickie up and down. “Pale skin. Bags under the eyes. Permanent worried look on the face. Yep. You are a full-fledged nursing student!”

Mickie made a sound. Half laughter, half frustrated growl. “You are one hundred percent correct. Let me get little man out.”

They laughed and chattered all the way back to the apartment. Lily took Ian off to her room so she could read to him. She was very proud of her reading skills. Tiana settled down on the couch next to Mickie. She hadn’t yet made many female friends here, so it was good to have a friendly face, even if only for a few hours.

“How’s it going?” They both asked at the same time. Then laughed.

“How’s school going?”

“Good. It’s stressful, like you said. But I’m running fast as I can to stay ahead of it. And I was able to land a patient care tech job on the mother-baby unit. Not where I want to be, but I’ve got a job reference now and I’m in the hospital system. How are you?”

“Feels like the first few months of nursing school all over again. But with patients and blood. I’m just now starting to feel like I’ve got a handle on it.”

“But do you love it? Is the emergency department still where you want to be?”

“Yeah. The chaos of it all can make me wonder if I’ve lost my mind, but it’s exciting. I’m never bored. It’s always a challenge.”

“Good. I’m trying to really make myself take a good look at each of the specialties as we rotate through. I don’t want to be so focused on being a labor nurse that I miss an interest somewhere else.”

Tiana nodded, remembering how it had been, being there, doing that, and not all that long ago. She looked up at Mickie and smiled. “That’s my girl,” she said.

They both started speaking at once—eager to share their stories, compare notes, when the front door opened and Vivian walked in carrying what seemed like her own weight in grocery bags.

“Mom!” Tiana scolded, getting up. “You should have called. I would have helped you carry those up.”

Viv laughed. “No, girl. I’m the gold medal winner of carrying all the groceries inside in one trip.” She set the bags down and motioned at Mickie. “Come here, sweet girl, how are you doing?”

“Perfect, thanks to your daughter. She got me completely ready for nursing school.”

“Where’s that little boy of yours?”