“It was all me. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, I know you are,” she says before sighing.
Cold washes over me as she pulls out of my grasp and sits up. She scoots down to the other end of the couch, and the aching in my heart grows more painful—visceral—with the distance between us. Dealla refuses to meet my eye. Her fingers visibly shake as they rake through her hair.
“You saying you’re sorry isn’t really good enough. You can say you’re sorry until you’re blue in the face. But Holden, I need to know what you’re going to do. What action are you gonna take to make sure this doesn’t happen again? Because I can’t go through it a second time. There’s a little boy in the other room who needs stability. He deserves that. He deserves to be loved and never have to wonder if he’s gonna be left alone. And honestly? I deserve the same thing.”
The room echoes with the force of her statement, and she finally drags her gaze to my face. I slide my legs off the couch until my feet hit the floor. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and frown.
Dealla is right. Of course she is. I tell her as much, tell her I should have done more to show her the love she deserves. She and Ashton should never have gotten less than that. But—
“Why didn’t you say something, though?” I ignore her twitch and push on: “We’re supposed to be a team. You should have told me how unhappy you were.”
She sighs, bringing her knees to her chest, and stares down at the chipped polish on her toenails. “Because I thought it would change if I gave it time. All I had to do was hold on a little bit longer, and you’d go back to being the guy I fell in love with.”
“Dealla, I’m not a fucking mind-reader,” I snap, spurred on by the surge of anger. “I know I can get wrapped up in my own head, inmyself, and I know it’s a problem. But it isn’t fair that you expected me to, what, justknowhow you were feeling. How can we be partners in this if you don’t actually tell me anything? If we’re going to work, Dealla, I need you to promise that you’ll start actually communicating with me. Please.”
“I want us to work,” she whispers after nearly two minutes of complete silence. She rests her chin on her knees, pins me with a watery stare.
It breaks the ice in my chest. My anger abates.
“So do I, sweetheart, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.”
Dealla doesn’t move as I stand and move to sit next to her. The tension slips from her body when I wrap an arm around her shoulders. She allows me to tug her into my side, and I kiss her hair. Close my eyes against tears.
We sit in silence for a long few minutes, holding onto each other as if afraid to let go. I let out a slow breath and settle back into the cushions. Dealla follows without hesitation. Her head drops to rest against my chest, and I absentmindedly run my fingers along her arm, soft as a feather.
“I hate that I hurt you,” I murmur into the quiet, and she sniffles and presses her face into my T-shirt.
“I hate it, too.”
“The only way I ever want to make you unhappy is by refusing to let you eat in the car.”
My words have their intended affect—Dealla giggles and sits up, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. A glimmer of hope has replaced the haunting pain that resided in her eyes. It’s weak, but it’s there. I blow out a breath as she links her fingers with mine.
“Oh, babe,” she says softly, “that’s not me being unhappy. That’s me being whiny because I don’t wanna wait for food. There’s a difference.”
I shake my head with a chuckle and give her hand a gentle tug. She curls back into my side again, and I breathe in the scent of her shampoo. The floral mint is so familiar. I’m certain I will never find another smell I love more. Closing my eyes, I hold her ever more tightly.
I ache to take back all the pain and loneliness she has endured over the last few months. I know this isn’t going to be a quick fix, and I’m still so furious that she never bothered to talk to me. But here we are now, both invested in making this work, and all I can do is make sure I never cause her to feel as hopeless as she has.
Her face turns toward mine, lips parting as if to say something. My breath hitches in my throat at the sight. Even with her lashes clumped together and eyes still bloodshot, I am hard-pressed to think of anyone I have ever thought more beautiful. I duck my head, kiss her gently, and the jagged edges in my chest smooth out. This... This is coming home.
“’Den?”
I pull away with all the grace of a newborn deer finding its footing. Ashton stands in the doorway to the bedroom, a fist scrubbing at his eyes. His lion dangles limply from his arm. Frowning, I cross the room in only a couple long strides. I crouch in front of the toddler, run a hand over Ashton’s hair.
“What’s wrong, bud?”
“I pee.”
“Oh, no, that’s not good. Did you have a bad dream?” At Ashton’s sleepy nod, I stand upright and reach for the toddler’s hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”
As I lead Ashton to the bathroom, I glance back at Dealla. She’s smiling softly, a sort of longing in her eyes as she watches me. She joins us in the bathroom, stripping Ashton out of his soiled pajamas while I start the bath. Caring for a child, having someone who relies on me for so much, hasn’t ever really been something I considered ‘attainable’. Sure, I’ve always wanted a family, but I’ve known from the start it would be hard to find someone who accepts my lifestyle. But Dealla… Dealla does, and she’s brought Ashton with her.
I have a family. I came dangerously close to losing my family, but I have them still. And as I stare at Dealla who sings quietly to Ashton as she rinses shampoo from his hair, I swear to never let them go.
Half Past Never
