Year Two

tw: injury, blood

"James, seriously. You need to stop."

Brooke had enough.

She woke up having had enough.

Because James either kept getting out of his bed and into her room, cannon-balling onto her to rouse her from her beauty sleep or worse. He stayed in his room but bounced on his bed. And kept bouncing. And kept bouncing. And kept bouncing. No matter how many times she grabbed him, laid him down, and tucked his blankets around him to keep him in place. The springs squeaked, the box board rattled, and the wooden posts scratched against the floor.

They'd just had the carpet pulled and replaced. Brooke didn't want to spend another day scrubbing vomit or pee out of the stubborn fibers. And this is what she got in return.

It was all Sterling's fault. He said James was ready for a "big boy" bed. Brooke knew better. She always knew better. But Sterling was the "fun" parent and he couldn't not let James get what he wanted. Especially when he batted his eyes and flashed a wide smile while cooing "I love you, daddy."

She was the one who breastfed him at all hours of the night until he finally took to a bottle. She was the one who kept getting sick time and time again whenever he caught something from daycare. She was the one who had to sing the same incessant, obnoxious songs to get him to fall asleep.

Where were her "I love you"s?

Not from James, but from her husband.

James dropped them all the time, usually when he grabbed at her skirt with his jelly-covered hands to pull himself into the chair she'd finally had time to relax in or when he slammed his sweaty, dirty body into him after playing in the mud at the park. Sterling, though? One would've thought they weren't married by the way he came in through the door and immediately scooped James up and loved on him. She'd only get a kiss on the cheek as an afterthought. Couldn't she get some attention? Didn't her hard work dealing with James all day deserve some recognition?

Now she had to deal with him all night too?

James' eyes sparkled as he continued bouncing, not even flinching when she turned on his sheep lamp and the light cut through the darkness. He clutched a stuffed monkey to his chest, covering up the star emblazoned on the front of his purple t-shirt. Clouds decorated the bottoms of the matching sleep-set. He'd be cute if it weren't 3 in the morning.

"Stop jumping!" Brooke demanded.

James just giggled. "Watch me go higher, Mommy!"

"No. You need to sleep!"

He shook his head. His long hair, curled at the ends, twisted from side to side. "I don't want to sleep!"

"Well I want to sleep but i can't do that when you're jumping on your bed."

"Sleep later! Come play with me, Mommy!" That got him to stop jumping. He held out one small hand, fingers splayed, eyes round and sweet as ever. "I want to play with you."

That's how he did it. How he got everyone to coo and cuddle him. With those eyes and that smile. Everyone ate out the palm of his hand.

But Brooke frowned and crossed her arms. She was immune to that game. She was the one who invented it. How else was she going to stand out amongst those airheads that threw themselves all over Sterling? And the thing was, she worked it so well he thought that she came onto him when it was really the other way around. She laid down the pieces, got him to play her game. And he fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. He was the one who got them to where they were. So why did he feel like it was appropriate to booze it up in some bar, playing the same four uncomplicated chords, leaving her to deal with having her one little bit of "me time" taken away because James wanted to play?

It was so selfish of him.

"No. It's too late. You need to sleep." She pointed at the mattress where unkempt sheets had been pushed to the end of the bed. "Now."

James stared at her, head tilted to the side, arm curling back to his chest, squeezing the monkey tight. "Sleep after?"

Now he was negotiating? What made him think he could do that? Tightening her robe around her, she crossed her arms and stared back at him. "I don't know who you think you're talking to, but I don't make deals. Lay down, put your head on the pillow, and go. To. Sleep."

"No!" The word burst out of him, loud and sure with so much defiance his eyes hardened to amber.

She gaped at him. Never had he uttered anything with such impertinence. Was that the game he wanted to play? Thinking he could control her? "Fine." She threw her hands up. Let him play. "Keep jumping. Jump until you fall off and hit your head. See if i care." If he didn't want to listen, he could suffer the consequences. She ignored his elongated whine, his crumbling face and wobbling lips, eye scrubbing. She wasn't going to fall for his act. It's what he got for not obeying. He was Sterling's son, indeed.

Her back was turned when it happened so she didn't know if he jumped again or maybe if his legs got caught up in the blankets to chase after her. But she heard the thud. Felt the thud. And covered her ears at his piercing wails.

He lay crumpled on the floor, eyes screwed shut, face red as he pushed out a loud cry. Seconds later a trickle of blood dripped between his eyes, rolling down the slope of his forehead. He popped onto his feet in seconds, monkey laying abandoned on the ground as he rushed to her.

She grabbed him by the shoulders, stopping his momentum, holding him in place. Fat tears streaked down is cheeks and his hot, heaving breaths buffeted her face.

"No! James—you can't get blood on silk. It'll never come out," she said, holding him out at arm's length. His little feet scraped at the ground, trying to propel him forward, arms outstretched, hands grabbing at air.

And Sterling doesn't have to deal with this mess either.

Pushing out a long sigh, she got back to her feet, held both his hands in her own, and walked him into his bathroom. The harsh, bright light made her blink a couple times and she pointed James to sit on the edge of the bathtub while she waited for them to adjust. Once she could see properly, she quickly found a navy towel beneath the sink—navy hid blood well. She couldn't bring any risk to her good white towels. Grimacing at the puffy face staring back at her in the mirror, her grip tightened on the towel and she pressed it to James' forehead.

"I told you you weren't ready for that bed."