The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(116)

He tore the comforter from the bed, kicked the nighttable over and then, having run out of things to destroy, collapsed to his knees, the sounds coming from him soul-shredding, and then Tom was kneeling there among the shards of airplane, wrapping his arms around the boy.

“Get off me! I hate you! I hate you!” Charlie struggled against him, but Tom didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, mate. I’m so sorry.”

Charlie punched him, tried to wrench away, but Tom was bigger and stronger, and for once, it mattered. Charlie punched him again. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you,” he said, but the last one was just a sob.

He went limp, hoarse sobs shuddering out of him, racking his whole body, and Tom closed his eyes and held him tighter.

“Why do you still love me?” Charlie choked out, and the words cracked Tom’s heart.

“I don’t know,” Tom whispered, kissing the boy’s hair. “I just do. I always will.”

“He doesn’t want me,” Charlie said with a sob, and Tom’s heart broke entirely.

“It’s his loss.” God, he wished he could do better, find the words that would heal this boy’s heart. “I’m so sorry, Charlie, but I’m more sorry for him.”

The boy cried and cried, and Tom didn’t dare move, for fear that Charlie would lock himself in his room, or run away and never be found. He held him tight and shushed him and wished he could think of something more to do. But eventually, the sobbing tapered off.

“Don’t you hate my mother?” Charlie asked, his face still hidden against Tom’s shoulder. “She left you for someone else, and you got stuck with the kid she didn’t want.”

Tom pulled back to look at Charlie’s face. The kid looked heartbreakingly young. “I think she really did love your dad, Charlie. She wanted to work things out so the three of you could be a proper family. I don’t hate her. I loved her. And yeah, she hurt me and the whole bit, but that’s life, mate.”

“She was so stupid, texting when she was crossing the street. She didn’t have to die.”

“I know. But she didn’t leave you, Charlie. She left me.”

“She did, though. She and my father went off without me.”

“For a weekend. She never would have left you for good. You were her best thing.”

“Do you know that, or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I know it.” He looked into Charlie’s eyes, ringed with smeared eyeliner. “I think the reason she stayed with me for as long as she did was because she thought I might be good for you.”

Something flickered through Charlie’s eyes. “Were you really gonna marry Honor so you could stay near me?”

“Who told you that?”

“She did.”

Something squeezed his chest. “Yes.”

Charlie mulled that over, then used his sleeve to wipe his eyes (and nose; honestly, boys were disgusting...he’d been the same way).

The boy was quiet for a long minute before he spoke again. “Tom?”

“Yes, mate?”

Charlie rubbed his eyes. “You know how you call me your stepson?”

“Yeah.”

“I hate that.”

“Right. I just don’t know what else to call you. I won’t do it anymore.”

“Maybe you could just...” Charlie’s voice broke. “Maybe you could drop the step.”

Tom bent his head, the feeling so overwhelming it would’ve brought him to his knees if he hadn’t already been there. He pulled Charlie into a hug, and the boy let him, and if it wasn’t completely returned, it would be. Someday in the not-too-distant future, it would be, and Tom could wait.

From the floor, Melissa’s face smiled up at him from its broken frame.

All this time, Tom realized in the ruins of the room, he thought he was staying so he could save Charlie.

It was the other way around. Charlie had given him a family, a purpose, a place.

In fact, it was Charlie who had saved him.





CHAPTER THIRTY

ON A BEAUTIFUL spring day, in front of the old maple tree where the swing still hung, Dad and Mrs. Johnson got married, and Mrs. J. became Mrs. H.

Jack was Honor’s date for the event. “That makes me feel really gross,” Jack said. “Like I’m Connor O’Rourke or something.”

“I know. And we’re not even twins, so we have no excuse,” Honor said.

The reception was right there in the yard, as neither bride nor groom had wanted a fuss. Goggy wept loudly through the whole thing and repeated again and again that Mrs. Johnson was like a daughter to her (despite their two-decade rivalry over who made the better turkey on Thanksgiving, but it was a nice thought). Pops forgot about the wedding and had to be fetched from where he was crooning to the grapes. Faith twined some flowers in Mrs. J.’s hair, and Abby played the wedding march on her saxophone.

The ceremony was brief and beautiful.

As they sat down to the picnic lunch, Pru, as eldest, made the toast. “Dad, Mrs. J.— Hey, what should we call you, by the way? Anyway, I hope you’re happy and have a great time discovering each other, you know what I’m saying, and, oh, gosh, I don’t know, I guess we can’t hope for more siblings, because that would be gross, and how old are you, anyway, Mrs. J.? It doesn’t matter. Long life, happy times and great sex, you two.”