Page 51

Chapter forty

Griffin

DANAE

I’m back at my house. Samantha dropped me off before she went to meet her friend.

ME

How’d the tattoo turn out?

DANAE

It’s perfectly adorable. And she told me about why she was getting it.

ME

Oh yeah? I still need to hear the full explanation.

DANAE

It’s definitely something you should ask her about. Work your winsome magic on her. I think it will be a bigger conversation.

ME

Will do. Jason and I should be back to your place in about 20 minutes.

DANAE

Drive safe.

“This was the best day ever,” Jason says.

“Well, maybe it was the best day ever. I don’t know.

Coming to spring training was pretty awesome.

But so was sitting in the suite to watch the games with your dad.

But also that day that Mom and I played cards and Legos at home was pretty nice too.

I’m gonna have to think about which one was best.”

I stifle a chuckle at how seriously he’s taking this ranking of his favorite days.

I also rub a hand over my chest, feeling a tightness there in response to him listing off so many good days he’s had since moving in with Danae.

I know it’s not this simple, that his problems aren’t all magically fixed just because Danae loves him. But it sure moves the needle.

Danae must have been watching out the window because I see her come out her front door from across the parking lot. As Jason hops down out of the Jeep, I give him a fist bump. “Thanks for going to the park with me and throwing the ball around. This was a super fun day, Jase.”

The way his face morphs from utter delight into a mask of simmering rage is something that will haunt my dreams for the foreseeable future.

Jason’s eyes are suddenly shuttered with an almost inhuman filter. His lips turn down into an angry frown, and his fists clench into tiny, tight balls.

“That’s not my name.” His voice is eerie—deep and quiet. But his volume rapidly rises as he screams at me, “You only call me Fireball or Jason. YOU DON’T CALL ME THAT!”

He pivots on a heel and sprints across the parking lot toward the house, not pausing to check for cars.

Reflexively, I run after him, leaving the door to my Jeep wide open.

Thank goodness, the parking lot is clear, and Jason makes it safely to the sidewalk leading up to the house.

He runs right past Danae, and her head whips to me, utterly confused.

“What just happened?” she asks as I run up to her.

“I don’t know. I called him ‘Jase’ and he suddenly got really upset,” I say.

The look of terror that transforms Danae’s facial features is another sight to haunt my dreams. As quickly as Jason, she turns to the townhouse and starts sprinting inside, so I chase after her.

“What is it?” I ask.

“His father used to call him ‘Jase’ on their good days. He doesn’t want anyone calling him that,” she explains as we tear through the front door.

I thought I had seen just about all there was to see from kids experiencing trauma responses. But still, I’m not at all prepared for the sight before me, of this kid I’ve grown to love absolutely losing his mind in rage.

Jason is standing in the living room, shredding pages out of one of the illustrated Harry Potter books I gave him for his birthday.

He’s yelling exclamation after exclamation of how he hates the books and hates me and hates Danae and hates all people and hates birthdays and hates just about every random thing about life he can think of to hate.

Danae’s hands are tented over her mouth, tears rapidly streaming down her cheeks. “Jason, stop!” she says, taking a step toward him.

I grab her elbow and hold her back, giving her a look to let me step in. After all, this was my fault. I triggered this.

Slowly walking toward Jason, I hold my hands out at my sides and speak with an even tone. “Hey, Jason. I’m really sorry that I upset you. How about we put the book down so we can talk?”

When he looks up at me, his eyes are like lava—the kind of lava that’s sloshing, sparking, exploding. He finishes ripping out the page in his hand, and then he throws the book at me. My shortstop reflexes kick into gear in time for me to dodge, but he moves to pick up the next book .

Taking quicker strides to reach him, I kneel down on one knee and reach my hand out to him. He jerks his arms away, clutching the book but not destroying it yet.

“Fireball, I’m really sorry I called you that name.

I didn’t know you wouldn’t like it, and I’ll never call you that again, okay?

” I say quietly. I can hear Danae’s heavy breaths behind me, and I watch the temperature of Jason’s eyes cool ever so slightly.

Holding my hand out a little closer to him, palm up, I say, “Will you forgive me, Jason?”

His tiny chest rises and falls dramatically with his gasping breaths, and his eyes dart from my eyes to my hand to the book in his hands.

His chin starts to quiver right before he wails, “I’m sorry!

I don’t hate these books! I’m sorry! Why am I such a bad kid?

! I try to tell my brain not to do bad things, but it tells me to do bad things because I’m a bad kid! ”

He drops the book to the floor as he covers his face with his arms, and I gently reach out to touch his shoulder.

When he doesn’t flinch away, I press against his back to pull him into a hug.

He melts against me, sobbing into my shoulder, continuing his string of apologies and remarks of self-loathing.

I hold his head against my shoulder with one hand, firmly rubbing his back with the other.

“Hey, I forgive you, man. You’re not a bad kid.

You got really sad and mad, and that’s okay.

Those are just books, a bunch of pieces of paper.

I don’t care about the books. I care about you.

I love you, Fireball,” I say quietly. I feel Danae’s touch on my shoulder as she kneels down to join us in a group embrace.

“Jason, it’s okay, we love you no matter what. We want you to be safe,” she says, voice still choked with emotion.

Several waves of tears later, Jason has calmed down enough to drink some water and eat a snack. A little blood sugar regulation certainly won’t hurt things.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Griffin. I’m sorry I said mean things, and I’m sorry I ruined the present you gave me,” he says. I hear the threat of renewed tears in his guilt-laden voice.

I tap a knuckle under his chin to get him to look at me.

“Hey. You don’t need to apologize anymore.

I said I forgive you. And you forgive me for calling you a name you didn’t like being called, right?

” He nods. “ So we’re both forgiven, and we’re not gonna keep thinking about it all the time, okay?

” Another nod. “Would you want to play a game of Trash before I have to leave tonight?”

Jason shakes his head. “I’m really tired. I think I might want to go to bed. Is that okay, Mom?”

“Of course, bud,” Danae says, stroking his hair. “Should we have Mr. Griffin sit with us while we read a little bit from our book?”

“You’re still gonna read to me tonight?” Jason asks, voice and eyes thick with tears again.

Danae wraps him up in her arms, tears springing to her eyes as well. “Of course, I’m still going to read to you. I love you. Just because you got mad doesn’t mean I’m not going to read to you. That’s our thing!”

Jason nods and looks over to me. “Will you sit with us? Even though you don’t really like books very much?”

Smiling, I say, “I wouldn’t miss a chance to sit with you and your mom while you read together. I may not love books, but I love you both. So I’m in.”

While Jason changes into pajamas, I return to the parking lot to close the back door of my Jeep I'd left open in my rush to follow Jason.

When I get there, I discover that a good neighbor already shut the door at some point.

I pause to take a deep breath before heading back inside to join Danae and Jason.

If I wasn’t already head-over-heels in love with this woman, listening to her read to Jason would have put me over the edge for sure.

The three of us squeeze onto Jason’s twin bed with him wedged between us.

The only way we can possibly fit is for me to drape my arm around Danae’s shoulders, and she doesn’t seem to object.

Her voice is like spun sugar as she reads, equally drawing you into the story and lulling you into a state of utter relaxation.

I could get used to ending every day this way. I could get on board with books for twenty minutes every night if it means listening to Danae’s reading voice.

Jason is half-asleep by the time Danae places a bookmark in the book, so I carefully extricate myself from his bed. She crouches down and leans close to Jason, voice so hushed I almost don’t catch her words. “I’m with you one hundred percent, forever. ”

“Love you too,” his voice murmurs back before she kisses his head.

We exit the room and walk down the stairs in silence. Danae heads straight for the living room and lowers herself onto the couch, dropping her head in her hands. I ease myself down next to her and gently massage her neck with one hand.

“Is that what it’s always like?” I ask, voice library-low.

The muscles of her neck strain beneath my fingers as she nods.

I wrack my memories from the times I saw my mom’s therapist for any sort of appropriate words that will ease Danae’s mind.

Words that will show her I’m with her and not come across like an “it will all be okay” platitude.

My memory comes up empty.

I sit still, continuing to rub the tension from Danae’s neck as she breathes. Her hands are still holding her forehead, so at least her fingernails aren’t presently in danger.

“I hate these moments. The helpless feeling of having zero idea what to do. Sure, I’ve read books, I’ve learned strategies from Jessica, but it’s so hard to hang on to those threads in the emotion of the moment.

I hate that this little boy I love so much is going to continue experiencing these things and dealing with these wild emotions.

Knowing it’s not his fault, that he can’t help it, not really.

That choices adults made created these connections in his brain. ”

She takes a deep inhale, and I continue gently kneading the muscles of her neck.

“But I hate how I know those facts in my mind but still get so frustrated, so angry with him in the height of the moment. Sometimes I think—” Danae abruptly stops speaking.

“You think . . . what?” I ask, waiting for her to fill in the gap of her thoughts.

“Never mind,” she says, dropping her hands from her face and staring straight ahead.

I lean forward, attempting to make eye contact that she doesn’t allow. I nudge her knee with mine. “You can tell me. Whatever it is.”

She shakes her head, eyes still boring a hole into the wall across from us. “No. I don’t want to say it out loud. Just . . . never mind.”

“Danae, I won’t— ”

She holds up a hand to cut me off. “Please, stop. I don’t want to talk any more right now.”

Her posture is giving loud “back off” vibes, so I stop pressing the issue. Instead, I wrap my hand around her shoulder and tug her toward me, murmuring a quiet, “Come here.”

Danae leans into the invitation, laying her head on my chest as I sink back against the crook of the couch. Her legs curl beside her, knees resting on my thighs. I move to prop my feet on the coffee table but pause to ask, “Is this allowed?”

She sighs deeply, and I bite back a smile. “Normally, no. But these are extenuating circumstances.”

Legs stretched in front of me, I wrap both arms around Danae and hold her tightly against me.

She’s not crying, not speaking. Just staring and breathing.

The lack of tears pricks at me with concern, but I quietly trace my fingers along her spine, up and down her arm, up the curve of her neck to her scalp.

“What was that you whispered to Jason in bed?” I ask.

“I’m with you one hundred percent, forever,” she says, voice tiny.

“It’s something I told him early on to try to explain what it means when I say ‘I love you’ to him.

I think he needs the reminder a lot.” Her voice sounds so hollow—drained and empty—despite the significance of the words she’s saying.

Closing my eyes, I start mentally brainstorming ways to fix this for her. When problems arise, I lean into my competencies to find solutions. I take action to make things better.

But if my upbringing has taught me anything—if being Sam and Ian’s big brother has taught me anything—it’s that there is no simple solution to what’s happening in Jason’s brain, in his body.

And I hate the feeling of powerlessness that brings.

My arms tighten around Danae, hoping that she has a sliver of comfort in not being alone.