“The name you were saying, it was Trey. Was he your son?” He nods but doesn’t say any more, and I don’t ask him to. I just rest my head back on his shoulder and rub his back, trying to soothe him. My poor Papa Bear. I hate that he’s hurting.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I say eventually, as his tears subside. “But I’m here if you do.” He wipes away his tears and nods.
“I just want to go back to sleep right now,” he says. I lie down and he holds me, but I can’t help feeling like he’s more broken than I ever thought he was. And I hope that he knows I won’t leave him either, and that I can handle his pain, too.
* * *
I wake before him the next morning, which is odd. He never sleeps past eight o’clock. I slide out from his arms and take a shower before dressing and making my way into the kitchen for some breakfast and coffee. I curl up on the sofa and find myself staring at the pictures on the mantle once again. My gaze lingers on the ones of him, Rachel and Trey. I still can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child. Though my own parents don’t seem to be too heartsick over having lost me. As much as I tell myself I’m better off without them, and I know I am, I’m still grieving over the fact that they were never who I wanted or needed them to be. It took me a long time, in fact, to realize that all the anger I dealt with while I was at home and on the streets was actually grief. Grief that didn’t have anywhere to go, that had been bottled up for years. But at least now I have a name for it, and that helps. It helps with the acceptance, knowing that they don’t love me, that they never will. The love that Paul had for his son is evident and I hate that he doesn't have him in his life anymore. No amount of time can heal a wound that deep.
I hear Paul’s heavy footsteps coming down the hall. He leans over and presses a kiss to my hair. His breath doesn't smell the best but I don’t say anything. I’ve craved touch that is genuine and real for so long, that there’s no way I’ll dismiss it now. And after the rough night he’s had, there’s no way I’m giving him a hard time.
I wait for him to grab his coffee and take a seat next to me before I shift over and curl up beside him. “Can I ask you something?”
He hums and I take that as a yes. “How did Trey die?” I know it’s a big question but I can’t sit on it anymore. And if he really isn’t ready to tell me, he doesn’t have to. It’s silent for a long moment and he rests his cheek on top of my head before he takes a deep breath and lets it out.
“He overdosed on drugs.”
Shit. I lift my head and stare into his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” His gaze is pained. He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes.
“Charlie.” He trembles. Shit, what’s wrong?
My phone rings then, and I see that it’s work. Damn.
“You should get it,” Paul tells me, backing away.
I shake my head. “I can call them back. It’s not an emergency. I’m not supposed to work til later.”
“Answer it, Charlie,” he tells me gently, then places a kiss on my forehead before resting his hand on my leg and standing.
I sigh but grab my phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, Charlie, it’s Don, can you come in a few hours early today? We could really use the help, son.”
“Yeah.” I rub my thumb and forefinger over my eyes, squeezing them shut. I hate to leave Paul alone right now, but honestly, part of me feels like that’s maybe what he wants, and I know I can’t leave my boss and my coworkers hanging. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You’re the best,” he says, and we hang up.
“Going to work early?” Paul asks from the kitchen as he plugs the blender in. He’s got a small smile on his face now. I have a feeling our previous conversation is over. But I can’t shake the feeling that he had more he needed to say.
I nod. “I’m gonna go get dressed.”
I’m back out in the kitchen a few minutes later, and he’s washing the blender now. I plant a kiss on his cheek. “What will you do?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t know. I might get wild and mop.” He smiles at me and I grin back.
“See you later.” I kiss his lips and head out the door.
I’m exhausted when I get home twelve hours later, and Paul must have been too, because he’s already in bed. Damn. I don’t need to talk more about Trey. I think that ship has sailed for now, but I wish I could see his face and snuggle with him for a minute or two, get him to rub my aching feet. He did leave me dinner, which I devour before soaking in the tub and then climbing into bed next to him. I take his arm and drape it over me. He stirs, pressing even closer.
I’m hoping that neither of us wake to nightmares tonight.
ChapterThirteen
TWO WEEKS LATER
PAUL
It’s getting colder out, now that it’s mid November. Of course, colder for Georgia means it’s in the sixties. We’re making progress on the firestation. Today we’re working on the bathroom, which is probably my least favorite part of the process. It’s cramped and there’s not as much creativity involved, but we do our best to make it look nice.
