Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(92)

I set a soothingly scented candle I bought at Albertson’s to burning in the bedroom, I got Cob an iced lemon-lime and then I set about making dinner.

The chicken noodle soup was warming in the pan and I was setting out bowls on plates with buttered saltine crackers around the edges (what my Mom used to serve when my sister or I got sick) hoping the butter wouldn’t be too rich for Cob when I heard the front door open.

Then I heard Cob surprised greeting of, “Heya Slim.”

I sucked in breath through my nose.

Then I heard Brock ask, “How you feelin’?”

“Better,” Cob answered then offered, “Tess is in the kitchen.”

“Right,” I heard Brock mutter then, “Be back, Dad.”

“Okay, son.”

I grabbed the spoon, started to stir the soup and braced.

I felt his mood hit the room before I saw him do it. It wasn’t sparking and pissed off, it wasn’t abrasive and angry. It was something I’d never felt before. Something heavy.

Weighted. Soft but not warm. And when I saw him, that heavy look was in his eyes, the soft on his face.

He stopped by the stove but not too close.

Then he held my eyes and said, “Hey.”

“Hey,” I replied.

He studied me.

Then he noted quietly, “You’re pissed.”

“I don’t like to get hung up on anytime but especially not when I’m buying carpet cleaner to eradicate puke smells,” I returned also quietly.

He continued to hold my eyes.

Then he nodded once and murmured, “Right.”

“I’ve got this, you didn’t need to come,” I told him, still quiet so Cob wouldn’t hear.

“He’s my Dad, Tess,” Brock replied.

I tipped my head to the side and asked, “He is?”

I watched his mouth get tight.

Then he warned low, “Don’t go there, babe.”

I turned off the burner and grabbed the saucepan, moving to the bowls.

While I poured, I whispered, “It’s go time, Brock. You need to jump off that fence and land on one side or the other. You don’t miss much so I’m guessing you can take one look at your father and know where this is heading. The destination is uncertain but the path is not and it’s an ugly one. You no longer have the luxury to sit on that fence. You need to make a decision.” I put the saucepan back on the burner and my eyes went to his. “Is he in or is he not? You’ve got ten seconds to decide while I take him his food. You walk out the door, that’s your decision and I’ll support you on that but you need to know my support will not include me not kicking in to help Jill and Laura with Cob. If you don’t walk out the door, I’ll make you a bowl and we’re hanging with your father to make sure he keeps his dinner down.”

Then I grabbed a spoon, put it in Cob’s bowl, took the plate and walked into the living room.

By the time I got back, Brock had moved. He wasn’t standing at the stove. He was standing at the kitchen window, his weight leaning heavily into one hand set high on the window frame. His eyes aimed at the flurries now falling outside. His mood filling the room now, the weight so heavy, it was suffocating.

His jaw was clenched.

But I knew his decision was made.

And the decision he made made me love him all the more.

I pulled in breath and walked to him.

Then I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my front into his back.

I held him for awhile then whispered, “Snow keeps up, will you take me to your place and bring me back to my car tomorrow morning? I don’t like driving in it.”

He didn’t answer for several long seconds.

Then he said to the window, “Yeah, babe.”

I pressed my forehead into his back.

Then I lifted my head away but pressed my body closer and carefully said, “He’s not taking his nausea medication. You need to talk to him about that.”

I looked over his shoulder at his profile and saw a muscle in his jaw jump. He made no verbal reply but I knew he heard me and he’d do what he could.

Then I gave him a squeeze and kept whispering. “Take that plate, honey, and go sit with your Dad. He’s got the game on. I’ll make another one for me and be out in a minute.”

He nodded to the window.

Then his body moved, I let him go and he walked to the bowl. Then he looked at it and walked back to me. Then he lifted both hands, cupped my jaws and tilted my face up to his so he could touch his mouth to mine.

When he lifted his head, I whispered, “He loves you.”

He closed his eyes, that suffocating feeling suffused the room before he opened them and whispered, “I know.”

“I love you too.”

His eyes got soft, the weight in the room lifted. Then he repeated his whispered, “I know.”

“We’ll get through this,” I promised.

He didn’t look like he believed me and he didn’t repeat himself again.

“Go eat, it’s getting cold,” I ordered.

His eyes held mine a moment before he let me go and walked back to his plate.

I made my own, took it out and watched the Nuggets game with Brock and his father.

Cob held down the soup, crackers and one of the cupcakes his granddaughter baked that I ran out to my car to bring in.