Page 13 of Tough Love
This boy’s going to ruin me—I know it.
“So, Briar. Tell me what you do when it’s bedtime.” Knowing Kath’s shared love for structure and order, they’ve probably got a routine set down to the smallest detail.
“Um….” He looks around his room as though searching for a clue. “I brush my teeth. And then I have a bath, put on my pyjamas, and then Mum reads a book to me.”
“Sounds like a good plan, buddy.” How the hell do I bath him at this age? Does he wash himself? Do I need to supervise him, or can he be left to play with the bath toys? Is he going to rat me out if I clean his back for him and get me locked up as a perv? How far is too far?
So out of my depth.
“You’ll have to help me out, okay?” I ask … or damn near beg. “Make sure I don’t forget anything.”
“Okay.” The wee trooper takes on his task with a firm nod, probably proud to have the responsibility of being a “big boy” for a night.
And then he slays me with his next breath.
“Is Mum coming home?”
The tears well in his eyes, and damn it all if I don’t feel them mirrored in mine. The relationship with Kath might be non-existent; too much history to simply patch over the potholes in the road, but this kid? Damn it, he’s innocent in all of this.
“She might need to stay a few nights to get better, but she’ll be home,” I reassure him as much as myself.
He smiles weakly, nodding again as he focuses on the toy shield in his hand, moving it between the set positions on Captain America’s hand and back. “I miss Mummy.”
“I know you do,” I offer softly.
His little shoulders heave as his chest shudders, and I reach out, hesitating a few inches short of actually touching him. I want nothing more than to make him feel better, to say the magic words that’ll apply a salve to his pain, but I also know that a heart as cold and detached as mine only creates more friction when offered to others.
I don’t know how to connect properly, to soothe and reassure.
Fighting my basic instinct to recoil and protect myself from awkward situations, I connect—my hand rests on his shoulder as the first tears trickle over his rounded cheeks. He looks up at me, those dark eyes that are so muchhim,so full of hope and desperation, that for the first time in almost ten years I do the one thing that scares me most: I open myself up to another—if only a child—and do what I can to beenough.
“Come here.”
He crawls over and situates himself on my lap, his legs folding under him to rest in the crook of my knees. I wrap an arm around his small body and hold him close, not saying a word, but merely being the one thing I wished I’d had when my world fell apart: a warm body to connect with, a human soul that made me feel as though I wasn’t alone in this personal hell.
Companionship.
Everybody needs an ally, most of all those who are unable to fight for a different outcome from what fate has in store.
Briar curls tighter, his hands fisted and buried against my stomach as he quietly sobs. I arch over him, resting my chin gently atop his head, and before I even realise what I’m doing, my hand tracks paths up and down his arm, soothing, comforting in the same way I remember my mother would when Kath and I were little.
By the time Evan appears at the door to let us know dinner is ready, I’m crying, Briar cries, and the two of us are so tightly entwined I don’t even know if I want to let go just yet.
I lift my head, wiping away the stray tears with the side of my hand, and look at this man who’s seen a friend out of her depth and helped without having to be asked. Why couldn’t I have this version of him seven years ago when I needed him the most?
Regardless, what did I do to deserve such selfless compassion now? How could a heart as cold as mine be gifted this after how I’ve behaved?
“Food’s on the table,” Evan says quietly, stepping into the room. “You two want to help each other get cleaned up and come downstairs?”
“Sure.” I make a move to disengage from Briar, yet he refuses to let go. “Come on, buddy. We need to wash our hands and faces before we eat.”
He lets loose one more shuddering breath, and then unfurls his short legs from inside mine. His red, puffy eyes almost undo me all over again, but not so much for the remorse that Kath is in hospital and he’s this upset about it, but for the fact I don’t have it in me to feel the same way.
I didn’t cry because my sister almost died. I didn’t cry because his mother isn’t here to console him when he’s upset. I cried because seeing Briar so cut up only reopened wounds I’ve tried so damn hard to cover up. His distress dragged memories I’ve done everything I can to bury, back into the light.
And I can’t stomach what I see.
A girl who was let down by not only her family, but also by the boy she loved without compare. A woman forged in fire. A heart so broken it doesn’t know if there’s any trust left to give, even to those who deserve it.