Page 4 of Should the Sky Fall

Dawson loves kids, always has. They’re so honest and uncomplicated. Not easy by any means, but uncomplicated. He still remembers what it felt like holding Chloe and Leia when they were just cute, ugly bundles, so small he could fit them both in his arms at once. The memory is bittersweet, filling him with longing. He’d be a crappy dad, he knows. There’s no way he could ever take responsibility for another human being. He can barely take care of himself.

He shakes the thought away. There’s no use brooding over it. Cal doesn’t want kids—that, he made perfectly clear from the start. Hell, he won’t even be talked into adopting a dog. It’s for the best, anyway. Cal isn’t exactly the nurturing type, so Dawson would end up worrying about one more thing on top of the bunch of shit he already loses his sleep over.

Ray huffs, though he’s smiling. “We’ll see what you say when the day is over.”

Dawson snorts. “That bad?”

“Worse.” Grinning, he claps Dawson on the shoulder and steers him inside the house. “Maybe seeing you will finally make Liv sit down and relax.”

“‘Relax’ and ‘Liv’? Those two words should never be used in one sentence.”

Ray throws his head back, laughing. “Good point. Anyways, everyone else is here and they’ve got their drinks and nibbles, so it should be smooth sailing from now on.”

Dawson bites his lip. “How many people are we talking?”

“Just a couple of Liv’s friends and their kids.”

That’s not too bad. Dawson will just say hi, introduce himself, and steer clear of unnecessary human interaction.

“Okay, then.”

After Olivia has thoroughly greeted him—in other words, hugged him tight enough to make his spine crack—and introductions were made, Dawson withdraws to play with the girls. Whoever says kids are loud has never been witness to a group of women gossiping about god knows what. Having pretend afternoon tea with his nieces sounds much more appealing. He already popped two Panadol, so hopefully they’ll kick in soon.

Spoiler alert—they don’t. An hour later, Dawson is forced to join the toast and sing happy birthday while convincing himself to stay upright. He reluctantly accepts a slice of red velvet cake which he doesn’t touch, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Olivia’s watching him, a perpetual furrow between her brows.

“You look like shit,” Olivia says after she’s dragged him to the kitchen under the pretense of needing his help with plating up.

“Thanks. You look great, too.” He doesn’t take it personally. Hard to look as fresh as a daisy when you feel like you’re dying inside.

Olivia isn’t impressed. “Seriously, Dee.” Oh, no. Not that tone. “Are you okay?”

Dawson shrugs, but it feels all wrong, like even his shoulders can’t relax enough to do that. “Just a headache.”

That’s not what she’s really asking, but Dawson wouldn’t know what to say. They don’t talk anymore, not like they used to. Dawson knows it’s his fault, but that doesn’t make up for shit, and it sure as hell can’t turn back time.

As an older sister, Olivia’s always been overprotective of him, even more so after their parents passed away when Dawson was sixteen and she became his guardian. The overprotectiveness didn’t go away when Dawson hit not-so-sweet 18, and blew up when Dawson met Cal shortly after turning 20.

Olivia has never liked Cal. She finds it suspicious that a man like him showed interest in someone like Dawson—a kid twelve years younger, who had his head in the clouds and dreamed of becoming an artist. Yeah, he knows—super original.

Her suspicions didn’t ease even after Cal gave him a ring. Dawson remembers getting angry when she tried to talk him out of it, remembers not talking to her for several months after that, not until she turned up at the wedding to call a truce.

He’d been so stupid and naive. And now, he’s too ashamed to admit the truth.

Olivia knows enough about Cal to hate him with abandon, but what she knows barely scratches the surface. Dawson could never tell her, not in a million years.

Olivia frowns, her lips forming a firm line. “You’re not happy, Dawson.” Yeah, no kidding. “I can’t handle seeing you like this.”

“You don’t have to look.” He regrets the words immediately. Olivia’s eyes widen a fraction, the corners of her mouth turning down. Jesus, he’s such a dick. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

Fucking exhausted, to be precise. He gets Olivia’s point. If their situations were reversed, he’d fuss just as much. But they’re not. Olivia might not like what she sees, but she's subjected to it only a handful of times a year. Dawson sees it every time he looks in the mirror, this pathetic version of himself that he’s become and has no one to blame for but himself.

She’s quiet at first, studying him. At last, she closes the gap between them, sliding one arm around Dawson’s waist and the other around his neck, pulling him into a hug. It feels strange, different from the bone-crushing welcome hug, but also kind of good. Olivia’s never been very touchy-feely, and losing their parents just hardened her, forcing her to grow up quickly.

Sometimes Dawson wonders if this touch-starved part of him is responsible for his poor decisions—like latching onto the first person who showed him affection and attention. The saddest part is that Cal isn’t even an affectionate person. Just how desperate must Dawson have been?

He returns the hug hesitantly at first, then more firmly. His eyes sting, so he squeezes them shut.

“You don’t need him to sign,” Olivia says into his neck. “If you stay apart for a year, they’ll divorce you either way.”