Fit for Love (A Stand By Me Novel Book 3) by Brinda Berry Page B

promise.”
    “Sorry about Jared,” Makenna says.
    “Nothing to be sorry about.” I smile at her and then at Ryder.
    Ryder nods in satisfaction and crawls over to his mother’s lap where he entertains himself with twirling strands of her long hair. He sings softly to himself and I can’t make out the words.
    I watch this child, so trusting of me now. So in love with his mother.
    I know the feeling.
    I freeze at the thought. Holy shit. Did I really just think that? Too soon, too soon, too soon.
    Something happened today between us, something more than a simple date. Nonna always said it would happen in a flash—the recognition of two souls.
    “Ryder Ross?” a nurse calls from the station.
    Makenna looks up. “That’s us.”
    She holds Ryder close to her chest, those legs wrapped around her waist, as she walks to the intake desk.
    Ross? His last name isn’t Jameston. I’d assumed—even though she said they were never married—that Ryder would at least have his dad’s name. I glance over at the guy who still looks as angry as he did earlier.
    “Aiden?” Makenna calls my name.
    I get to my feet and walk quickly to the desk. “Yeah.”
    The nurse smiles. “Oh yes, I remember you two. He’s your fiancé, right?”
    Cocking my head, I give a half grin. It’s Nonna’s nurse from ICU. “That’s me.” I don’t bother to say she’s mistaken.
    We don’t have time for long explanations.
    The nurse exits the station and walks toward the doors into the back room where we’re to follow.
    I glance over my shoulder to see Jared standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips and fury in his eyes.
    He’s a man scorned and ready for a fight.

Chapter Eight

Pissing Contest
    A iden

    T he doctor examines Ryder’s head inside a curtained space of a larger room. I worry about the kid’s arm since he cried out earlier, but it doesn’t seem to hurt him now that we’re at the hospital.
    “Looks like he’ll need some stitches, five or six. It shouldn’t leave a scar.” Dr. Jenkins removes his plastic gloves and tosses them inside the waste container. “It’ll be quick and easy. You’ll be done in less than an hour.”
    Makenna grabs my hand. Her calm expression doesn’t give away a thing. Only, I know from our linked hands that she needs reassurance, so I squeeze gently.
    I didn’t understand until today what it’s like to be a parent. To worry that you could’ve protected a child from getting hurt. To dread even the smallest amount of pain that you wish you could shoulder in his place. And I only feel a one-hundredth of what Makenna must feel.
    How has she done this all alone? I release her hand and tug her in close to my side, my arm wrapping around her waist.
    Ryder sits wide-eyed, glancing between us and the doctor. The good thing about a three-year-old is a lack of vocabulary. He hasn’t a clue about stitches.
    Dr. Jenkins instructs a nurse to numb the area and he leaves to check on another patient, drawing the curtain closed behind him.
    “I’ll be right back in,” the nurse says to us.
    Makenna glances in the direction of the waiting area. “I’m not used to Jared being around.” She hesitates, then releases my hand. “I need to go out there and tell him everything is OK and the doc is doing stitches, but I don’t want to leave Ryder.”
    I’d almost forgotten about Jared. “You stay here with Ryder. I’ll go tell Jared. And I’ll let Gunner and Kiley know everything is fine.”
    My delivering Ryder’s diagnosis to Jared—no matter how I finesse it—will go over like telling one of my female clients at the gym that she’s gained ten pounds. I’m sure Makenna doesn’t realize he heard the nurse call me her fiancé.
    The nurse returns with a swish of the curtain and applies gel to Ryder’s cut. He freezes, his gaze moving from me to Makenna and then to the nurse.
    The sensation of the numbing gel must feel odd to him and he looks uncertain.
    “You have a brave little boy.” The