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Damn.
Something wet hits my shirt.
Regan is drooling.
With a sigh, I take her into the house and lay her on the bed. I’d usually wake her to brush her teeth, but I don’t feel like getting on her case tonight.
As I’m tucking her little arms under the blanket, Regan opens her eyes. “Daddy?”
“Yes, sweet pea.”
“Did I do a good job tonight?”
My lips try for a smile, but it ends up falling flat. “Yeah, you did great. I think Island was really happy seeing you bring the cake.”
“Why did you tell me not to talk?” Regan mumbles, her eyes fluttering shut. “Why couldn’t I stay with her and eat with her?”
“Because we were playing pretend, remember?”
“But why?”
“Even though you love someone, you can’t stay with them all the time.”
“But I want to stay with Island,” Regan cries.
“Sh. Sh.” I rub her hair. “Calm down, sweet pea.”
“I don’t want her to go away like mommy,” Regan begs.
My heart cracks in half. I wish I could promise her that Island will always be in our lives. It’s what I want too.
But I can’t.
So instead, I kiss her forehead. “How about you hug Mr. Giraffe really tight? If you go to sleep now, I’ll make chocolate chip pancakes in the morning.”
“Okay,” she says.
Her heart is easily appeased and I wish mine would settle down as quickly. Right now, it feels like I’m dragging a hundred pound weight behind me.
Things between Island and I didn’t get any better after putting our cards on the table. If anything, it might have gotten worse.
If she decides not to see me again, if she decides to draw the line more firmly between us, should I let her go?
The thought makes me sick.
I had to fight to get here, to a place where I could admit to wanting her. How the hell do I go back? It’s too late for that.
I cross the hallway and something strikes me as out of place. Freezing, I turn and check the darkness. Something’s different. The shadows aren’t what they usually are. My mind kicks into high gear and I coil my shoulders, muscles tense.
Easing backward, I sweep the area again and realize what had set me off wasn’t signs of an intrusion.
It was Abe’s door.
For the first time in over two years, my son left the door open.
It’s just a crack, a near imperceptible distance. If not for years of special training and fine-tuned observation skills, I probably wouldn’t have noticed at all.
My fingers press against the door in shock and I push, wondering if he left it open by mistake. But that doesn’t seem like him. So I figure he might have forgotten to lock it before falling asleep.