Page 22

Parker

Ironic how I’d gone through so much trouble to avoid facing an intervention by my family, and my chest felt strangely hollow when I got back home from my walk, and the house was quiet. The only proof of the shower was the blue balloons in the dining room.

My mom’s bedroom door was closed, and on top of my phone, which I’d left on the table, was a note in Sheila’s handwriting.

On the phone with Adaline in my room. Leftovers are in the fridge if you’re hungry. I love you.

For a moment, I tucked my hands into my pockets and looked around the space that raised us. The kitchen wasn’t huge. It wasn’t perfectly decorated or decked out with high-end finishes—wood tone cabinets that showed some wear, knobs that needed updating, and a light fixture that had been there for at least ten years. But if a single piece was changed, it wouldn’t quite feel like home. Sheila’s favorite coffee mugs hung off a display on the wall Ian made for her in high school. The fridge was covered in drawings from the grandkids and magnets from travels over the years. The floor was dinged up, courtesy of the one time Cameron dared Ian to walk through the house in his ice skates to see if anyone would notice.

They did. It didn’t help that Erik tripped Ian, and the toe picks dug straight into the wood. He was grounded for a week, and my dad made Ian clean the house for Sheila for another two weeks past that.

Countless meals, holidays, and birthdays and rushed nights between sports practices never seemed like a struggle for her. It was amazing how easy she’d made it all look, taking care of a veritable army of children after she married my dad.

My walk helped. I’d lost some of that heaviness along the miles that I wandered. One of the barn cats followed along, a cute little black and white thing with gray eyes. I told him I’d trade him for Spike if he wanted to come live in Portland, but he didn’t say a whole lot, content to amble along behind me.

I tucked my phone in my pocket and headed up the stairs, the sound of the shower in the bathroom across the hall stopping me short. The door to the bedroom was cracked open, as was the bathroom. Probably so she could hear Leo if he woke.

Rolling my neck until I heard a crack, I paused long enough outside the bedroom that I couldn’t deny the thing holding me back.

Fear.

Throat-strangling fear of letting myself love him.

Letting myself love. Period.

It was quiet when I pushed the door open; the small lamp on the nightstand on my side of the bed was the only thing lighting the room.

A small cry came from the bassinet. I paused, glancing over my shoulder, but Anya was still showering. Carefully, I closed the bedroom door so she’d be able to finish.

Leo let out another sound, just a bit louder. The sound turned into an angry little squawk, then a tiny cry, and my chest rolled over at the pitiful sounds. I strode to the dresser and grabbed the pacifier, my pulse racing as I took a few steps closer to the baby.

My fingers tingled when I finally took a full look in his face, and my heart dropped down into my feet in a sudden, sharp swoop. It was like looking right at one of my baby pictures. The nose. The eyes. The chin. The shape of the mouth. A mirror fucking image.

His eyes locked onto me, and he blinked slowly. My heart did this weird hiccup thing, and I felt a little lightheaded.

Boom .

A different kind of explosion, leaving a crater behind, just as irreversible as the one that carried far more pain. I’d feel this one for the rest of my life.

“Hi,” I managed, voice a raw whisper.

That was when he screwed up his face and let out an angry wail. But hell, if I was bundled up in one of those little straitjackets, I’d probably scream too. My hands trembled when I tried to give him the pacifier, but he pushed it back out with his cries.

I pinched my eyes shut as my mind raced through the times I’d held babies. It had been years, the product of moving away before my siblings started their families. My cousin had a kid, and I remember holding her at a shower or something.

Hold the baby right up against your chest, hands under the butt , my dad told me. You’ll know what to do once they’re there.

Boom . My head spun with the memory, and I was stuck between the need to claw it away. To bring more of it forward. My ribs shook from how badly I wished he was here. It was like I could hear his voice in the room with me.

“What do I do?” I whispered. “Dad, I don’t know what the fuck to do right now.”

The baby didn’t particularly care for my mental freak-out, and his cries intensified. With my pulse thundering in my ears, I carefully reached underneath his head and his butt and lifted him out of the bassinet.

He was so small. So light.

I shifted him into my arms and did a gentle rocking motion.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s okay, buddy.”

His face was red from tears, and every single one felt like a knife to the chest. I tried the pacifier again, and he spit it right back out.

“I wish you could tell me what you need,” I begged him, trying to rock side to side.

Without thinking, I shifted him again, palming the back of his head and laying him out on my forearm so he was straight out from my chest. With the other hand, I tore at the velcro things holding him in. The moment his arms stretched out, his cries lessened a little.

He hiccuped, arching his back. But he was still unhappy.

A tear slid down my cheek, and I didn’t try to stop it.

What did he need? What would I have needed?

My dad’s voice filled my head again, and I had to swallow down a thick sob, my eyes falling shut and a few more tears escaping.

Rise up this mornin’, smile with the risin’ sun

Three little birds, pitched by my doorstep

He always started there. It wasn’t the beginning of the song, but it was the part I loved best, and he knew that. He knew that by slowing it down, his rich, deep voice turned a song I already loved into a lullaby. God, how did he always know exactly what we all needed? Somehow, impossibly, he always did. And every time he sat with me in the dark, he made me feel safe and loved, like everything would be okay simply because he willed it.

How long had I still been that scared boy, terrified of the dark and clutching onto the single most important anchor in my life? That anchor, the man I loved so fucking much, was brokenhearted too. He sat there and sang to me like he had all the time in the world, like nothing else mattered even though he’d buried his wife and the mother to his kids.

He did it because he loved me. Loved my brothers. And nothing was going to stop him from showing us that, day in and day out.

When I pried open my eyelids, Leo was staring up at me. His eyes were mine.

My eyes were my dad’s.

My heart cracked down the middle, something messy and warm spilling into my chest.

“Rise up this mornin’, smile with the risin’ sun,” I sang, tears thick in my voice. “Three little birds, pitched by my doorstep. Singing sweet songs of melodies pure and true. Sayin’ ‘this is my message to you,’.” I paused, the thundering pulse in my ears finally slowing as Leo stared up at me.

“Singin’ don’t worry about a thing. ’Cause every little thing’s gonna be all right.”

He sucked in a shaky breath but didn’t cry again.

“I said don’t worry about a thing. ’Cause every little thing’s gonna be all right.”

Carefully, I adjusted my hold, easing Leo back against my chest. Something about his warm weight had my heart heavy and thick with feelings I didn’t want to name.

I sang it again, tears sliding unchecked down my face while Leo’s eyelids got heavier and heavier. When it felt like he was fully asleep, I eased him back down into the bassinet, laying him on his back. As carefully as I could manage, I folded his arms back into the sleep bag thing, carefully hooking the velcro back together with a gentle pat.

When it didn’t wake him, I let out a relieved breath.

His eyelashes were long and dark, his lips a perfect little heart shape.

Anya was right. About a lot, actually, but she was especially right about him. It didn’t matter if he was mine or not. If someone showed up and took him away now, it would feel like they’d sliced out a part of me.

As I straightened, I watched Leo to make sure he didn’t wake, not even daring to breathe too loudly, but he stayed asleep. Letting out a slow exhale, I ran my hand through my hair, seized by an immediate urge to take a picture of him. Capture him on this night because it felt like a moment.

A breakthrough.

One of many that I needed to have, even if I was still only halfway up the fucking mountain. I patted my pocket, but realized I left it downstairs. The shower was still running, fragrant steam filling the hallway as I pulled the bedroom door almost shut. A low humming echoed in the bathroom, and even though I couldn’t recognize the tune she was singing, it still made me smile.

I went down the steps, skipping the bottom one out of habit because it always creaked more loudly than the others.

“Don’t think I don’t know you guys figured out that step when your brothers were in high school.”

Sheila stood in the kitchen, a mug of tea in her hands and an eyebrow arched in a way that made me feel like I was fifteen again.

“Does that mean you always knew when we snuck out?”

“Every time, sweetheart. Why do you think your dad and I started watching TV so late?” Before I could answer, she raised her chin. “Come here.”

There wasn’t much about it that was a request, and when Sheila Wilder commanded you to do something, there was no choice but to listen.

“I scared everyone away, huh?” I asked.

She smiled gently. “Every once in a while, they know when to leave well enough alone.”

I nodded.

“Erik got here while you were gone. And Adaline FaceTimed in. She wanted to come, but they had two staff members get food poisoning, and she had to step in to help. Emmett’s at some retreat with his receivers.”

“All that chaos, and we were still missing half the fucking family,” I muttered.

Sheila laughed, but her eyes were full of worry. How many wrinkles had we added to her face over the years? How much gray hair? She’d never been one to obsess over looking young. Both she and my dad always looked a little older than their age.

Wisdom, she’d told me. Hard-earned wisdom from living a full life.

With a sigh, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, my eyes closing when she leaned her head against my chest. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s a good present. The kids will love it.”

“If you’d like, I can wait to start Leo’s until you have those test results back, but that boy looks exactly like you.”

“I know,” I admitted quietly.

Sheila set her mug on the counter. “You know why I’m doing it?”

“Because we’re not keeping you busy enough?”

Her eyes crinkled with laughter. “Smart-ass,” she said fondly. “No, that’s not why. We’re always looking for ways to make it hurt less, aren’t we? It hurts because the most important thing we leave behind is the way we make people feel. It’s not things or money. It’s losing the way that person made us feel while they were alive. A blanket is a poor substitute, I know, but your father was so good at making people feel safe and warm and taken care of.” Her eyes filled. “He did that for me when we met, and I’m telling you, I swore I’d never get married again after my first husband left. There was no choice but to change my mind. I couldn’t help myself. And I’m so glad I did. Your father could’ve lived another twenty years, and it would’ve hurt the same to say goodbye.”

The ache inside me was marrow-deep, not even remotely confined to my chest, and it didn’t dissipate when I wrapped her in a tight hug.

“I know.” I set my chin on her head and we stood there for a while. “Anya told me I’ve been trying to get rid of the hurt. Make it disappear. But we can’t, can we?”

“No, sweetie.” She pulled back and cupped my face in her hands. “She’s good for you, Parker.”

Instead of agreeing to that too, because the lie felt too big and too ugly, I simply smiled. “I’m glad we could come home this weekend.”

She patted my cheek. “Me too.”

“No parenting pep talk?” I asked as she dropped her hands.

“Nope.”

My eyebrow arched. “Are you waiting until I’ve let my guard down, and then you’ll pop up around the corner later? Show up at my front door like Greer?”

Sheila laughed, her eyes warm as she looked up into my face. “You’ll be just fine. You know what to do.”

“Do I?” I asked wryly.

She patted my chest. “Yup. Plus, you have all those sisters just dying to give you advice on every single thing.”

I winced. “Don’t remind me.”

“Come on, watch some TV with me, son. I don’t get to do that with you very often.”

“What are we watching?” I asked, following her into the family room, waiting while she picked her seat—Dad’s chair. With a smile, I took the corner of the L-shaped couch, stretching my legs out in front of me.

“ SportsCenter .”

My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

She gave me a look like I was crazy. “Of course. My son starts training camp soon. I gotta hear what they’re saying about him.”