“No, Dee. I’m not good with words, I know this, not unless it’s a song, but I need you to hear me.” His hands are warm on my cheeks, and I close my eyes as he brushes away the tears with his thumbs. He presses a soft kiss to my hair, rests our foreheads together. “Whatever we had between us changed, and it felt…right. Okay? I didn’t hesitate to ask you to move in. How I felt didn’t change just because I knew Ashton would always come first. I didn’t mind that you and him came as a package. I wanted you in my life, so I wantedhimin my life. You’re both so fucking important to me, I love you both so much. So yeah, you might think I didn’t sign up for this, but Dealla? The second I realized casual wasn’t working for me, I signed up for whatever came after that.”
I open my eyes to stare at him, the darkened gray of his eyes and the softness they hold. He nudges my chin until I lift my head, and the kiss he brushes to my lips is gentle and reassuring. The last of my panic, my worries and doubts and everything that’s had me in a chokehold, fades away. He tugs me in against his chest, setting his chin on top of my head.
“I don’t expect you to say it back, not if you’re not ready. Just… Don’t try to make decisions for me.”
I nod. The tears come faster, spurred by the relief suffocating me. I melt into the warmth and safety of his arms, and nearly fall to my knees when he repeats the three words I myself have been trying to say for the last four months.I love you. I breathe in the scent of the warm night, the soil beneath our bare feet, the sweet edge to his spiced cologne. My emotions—mixed-up as they are—have drained me of any sort of energy. My body yearns for years of sleep.
Somehow, Holden understands. He leads me across the yard, and we climb the stairs to the deck in silence. He speaks only to tell me Eddie has gone home: “He didn’t think you needed an audience.” I nod and follow him up to our bedroom. My heart clenches at the sight in front of me.
Ashton is sprawled in the center of the mattress, surrounded by pillows. One little hand clutches his purple lion, and he doesn’t move even when I climb into bed beside him. Peace diffuses through me as I settle in beneath the duvet, and I curl around his body. Holden runs a hand over the sleeping child’s hair then leans down to kiss my cheek. I reach up to stroke a trembling finger along his cheekbone.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and his lips twitch before he’s kissing away my apology. “And I…”
“I know. Take your time.”
The weight of the conversation hangs over my head, but I no longer struggle under it. I breathe in slowly as Holden slides in under the sheets on the other side of Ashton. The room fills with quiet, interrupted only by the steady breathing coming from the other two. A nightlight, the one from Ashton’s room, sends an illuminating image of cartoon puppies onto the ceiling. I turn my attention from the characters smiling overhead to the toddler I lie beside.
Pride and love bloom in my chest as I think of his life so far, of who he’s becoming and who he’ll be. I ignore the dark voice in my head that says I can’t do this. I have to. I can’t let Ashton down like his mother has so many times before. Failure isn’t an option.
Having Holden by my side through all of this can only make it that much easier.
Downhill Days
Thecupoficedcoffee teeters dangerously as I struggle to unlock the door, and I drop my keys to grab onto the drink so it doesn’t spill everywhere. Ashton lets out a cheerfulUh-oh!, but I ignore it in favor of holding my belongings steady as I crouch down. I can’t see past the books in the crook of my arm, but I manage to grab the keyring and stand again.
Unfortunately, the drink tips too far to the side. Cold coffee and ice cubes splash against the concrete and my feet. Ashton squeals and giggles, stomping backwards, and I bite back the annoyance that flares. This is another inconvenience in a long line of inconveniences, destined to make my days even worse than the ones before. The last three weeks without Holden have been a nightmare, and this is just the cherry on top.
I unlock the door and shepherd Ashton inside. Pushing him gently toward the living room, I toe off my wet flats and kick them to the side. I make sure he’s distracted by his toys then run upstairs to change out of my soaked slacks. The hamper is overflowing, dirty clothes trailing onto the floor, and the slacks join the rest. I swallow thickly and turn away from the mess. The unmade bed. The stack of half-folded clothes sitting on the armchair.
Rushing through pulling on a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt, I give myself a moment to ruminate over the day. I’d woken up late and rushed through readying Ashton for daycare only to find my car wouldn’t start. Annie had to come pick us up, which made both Annie and me late for work. Then I’d nearly been cornered by Lily’s father, only saved by a child who’d wandered too far from his room. The house is in desperate need of cleaning, and now I’m out of the only bit of caffeine I’ve been able to have today, thanks to Josh’s kindness in stopping by a coffeeshop on the drive.
With a start, I realize it’s been too long since I left Ashton alone—and he’s far too quiet. I barrel down the stairs, stubbing my toe along the way and nearly falling on my face.
“Oh, no. Oh,no.”
Ashton grins from where he sits on the floor, and my throat tightens. My eyes burn. Thick, black lines of ink cover his face and arms. His T-shirt has a jagged stripe down the center of it. I have no clue where he found a marker, but he has.
“Ashton Alexander, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I art!” he announces, dragging the marker across his leg.
I sprint across the room to take the marker—oh, God, it’spermanent. Ashton pouts but doesn’t fuss. Instead, he turns to his toys while I search for the cap. My hands tremble as I carry the marker to the kitchen and toss it on top of the fridge. Once I’m certain he no longer has access to any writing utensil, I collapse to the floor and bury my face in my hands.
“I can’t do this. Holy shit, I can’t do this anymore.”
The freak-out bubbles just below the surface, a monster of frustration and anxieties and anger roiling under my skin. Knowing I can’t let it loose, I force myself to draw in a breath that doesn’t steady me as much as I wish it would, then I clamber to my feet. There are only a few more hours before Ashton’s bedtime. I can get through it. I can. I have to.
Even scrubbing his skin with warm water and soap does nothing to budge the ink he’s scribbled on himself with. Ashton whines as pink blooms across his body, and I wince at the sound. I drop the washcloth into the tub and sit back on my heels, apologizing quietly to the toddler. Leaning against the wall, I watch him play with the rubber ducks and boats.
My phone vibrates across the countertop some time later. The only reason I reach for it is because Holden is meant to call. He always calls at the same time every day when he’s gone. True to my expectations, Holden’s contact photo fills the screen when I fumble for the phone. I hesitate then blow out a breath, dragging my finger across the screen to answer the video-call. His smile dims.
“What happened?” Holden asks, frowning when I shake my head. “Sweetheart?
In lieu of replying, I tilt the phone to show Holden the marker-covered arms and face I’ve spent ten minutes trying to scrub clean. Ashton remains uninterested in the conversation as he splashes about, but Holden’s jaw drops. A hand comes up to cover his mouth—to hide his smile, no doubt.
“Oh, no.”
“Exactly what I said. I left him alone for, like, two seconds.”
