Page 37 of The Road Back Home

The cup of iced coffee 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 cheerful Uh-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’s permanent .

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.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, because that smile tells me you’re real sympathetic to the situation.” I manage a smile that I hope will take the sting out of my words. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Only a little bit longer, then I’ll be home.”

“Good. So how was your day, since we know mine went downhill?”

I listen as he talks about the interviews, the people he’s meeting with, and the up-and-coming musician who will be opening for him on tour.

Something sharp stabs through my chest, a jagged edge that slices me clean, at how at ease he seems. He’s off in the world, doing what he wants and loves, away from the responsibility of raising a child.

He got his escape from the burden of having a toddler relying on him for everything.

I don’t get that opportunity. I can’t just walk away.

Even if I had the ability, even if someone came in and told me they’d take over caring for Ashton, I’d never accept.

I had the chance to be selfish; I could have told Katie and the judge I can’t do it, I have my own life to live.

But I hadn’t. Now I’m left to deal with the consequences of that decision, and I have no right to complain.

Holden has to hang up a few minutes later, citing a business dinner with the tour and band managers, but promises to call back at bedtime so he can say goodnight to Ashton.

I stare at my phone screen, blank and mocking, then lock the device before setting it on the countertop.

Ashton scoots away from me when I reach for him.

“No go! No go!”

“Ash, please, don’t do this, okay? Let’s get out of the tub and go have dinner.”

“No!” he shouts again as he slams his hands into the water. “No, no, no, no—”

“That’s enough!”

He stares up at me with wide eyes and quivering chin. I clap a hand over my mouth, stomach churning, and bitter guilt chokes me. It’s hot and vile and excruciating. My heart aches, yearns to turn back time, to never yell at the innocent child who’s only doing what toddlers do.

However, the damage is done.

Ashton remains silent as he climbs clumsily to his feet. My eyes burn, a sob bubbling up when he flinches as I near. I hold him as close as I possibly can, and he trembles in my arms. I will never forgive myself for this.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Auntie Dee is so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I’m so sorry.”

The toddler doesn’t say anything in response, but I hadn’t expected him to.

I continue to murmur out apologies while I wrap him in a towel, carry him to the bedroom, and dress him.

Throughout it all, he stays quiet, fingers picking at the hem of his clothing, and he goes to his toy bin without being told.

I swallow down the bile when he grabs his purple lion and clutches it tightly. My heart breaks further when he avoids my gaze—the same thing he always did to Katie. I’m Katie. I’m no better than his mother . I barely manage to make it to the toilet before I’m vomiting and sobbing in turns.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Ashton hardly touches his food, and I do the same, pushing my peas around my plate instead of taking a bite.

I’d already tried—it all tastes and feels like sawdust on my tongue.

How can I help Ashton past this betrayal?

I’ve just proved to him that the one person he’s always relied on has become exactly like the one who abandoned him. I have failed him.

“Wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” I whisper as I carry him up the stairs, and the nausea abates, recedes a fraction, at his nod. “Okay, baby, let’s get you tucked in.”

Ashton doesn’t speak much to Holden when he calls, and I see how worried my boyfriend is.

I can’t explain it, not with Ashton so near.

Eventually, Holden gives up trying to get conversation from the toddler.

I kiss Ashton’s hair and promise to be right back; he curls up in the center of the bed, still clinging to his lion, and watches the cartoons on the television.

“What happened?” Holden asks quietly once the video grows dimmer as I leave the room.

I sit on the floor just inside Ashton’s bedroom and stop trying to hold back the tears.

My voice cracks and shakes as I tell Holden everything—including having shouted at Ashton.

He doesn’t interrupt, and I want to thank him for that.

I don’t think I could be this honest if he spoke right now. He just lets me cry.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there,” he murmurs after I’ve finally fallen silent with only my soft hiccups breaking the quiet. “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on you these last few weeks.”

“It’s—it’s fine. Whatever. I chose to accept the responsibility instead of letting him go into the system.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to pretend you’re not struggling, Dealla.”

“I don’t get to complain about it, Holden,” I snap. “It was my decision to keep him.”

“Dee—”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Tell me something happy.”

Holden blows out a breath, scrubs at his jaw with a hand that’s never brought me pain, then smiles crookedly. “Would me telling you I love you be considered something happy?”