Emmett was still crying, but he’d stopped fighting. His small body relaxed slightly against Dale’s chest.
“What’s wrong with him?” Dale asked quietly. “Besides being scared.”
Dale nodded, understanding immediately. “My grandson’s autistic. Same thing happens to him. Gets overstimulated and can’t come down from it. His brain just keeps firing and firing until his body gives out.”
He adjusted Emmett slightly, creating a cocoon with his arms. Blocking out the bright lights. Muffling the hospital sounds. Creating a small, dark, quiet space where only Dale’s heartbeat and that motorcycle rumble existed.
“Sometimes,” Dale said softly, “these kids just need everything to stop. All the input. All the noise. They need someone to be their wall against the world.”
Ten minutes passed. Emmett’s cries became hiccups. Then whimpers.
Twenty minutes. The whimpers got quieter.
At thirty minutes, Emmett’s breathing changed. Deeper. Slower.
Jessica gasped. “Is he—”
“Sleeping,” Dale said softly. “Real sleep, not just exhaustion. First time in three days, you said?”Continue reading…