We have people working on it, but between that and worrying about Bruiser, Harper’s barely had a full night’s rest since the showdown with Senior.
It’s been a lot, but she’s more determined than ever to be there for our son, and so am I.
“Did you love Z?” Bruiser asks into her shoulder, his voice muffled.
“I loved him.” Harper’s voice shakes as she says it. “Maybe not always the way he wanted me to, but I loved him. And hereally and truly loved you. That part was real, baby. That part was always real.”
Bruiser pulls back and sinks into the armchair, pressing his hands over his face.
The silence stretches between us, and I count the seconds without meaning to. I used to count everything because I thought it would give me control over a world that refused to be controlled. I thought if I followed the right rules, I could keep people safe and alive. Keep them from leaving me.
“Do I have to call you Dad now?” Bruiser asks quietly, without looking up.
My chest tightens so sharply that it’s difficult to breathe.
“Only if you want to,” I say. “There’s no pressure.”
“What if I don’t know?”
I slide off the couch and lower myself onto the floor in front of him so that we’re at the same height, close enough that he can see I mean every word I’m saying.
“Then we’ll figure it out together,” I tell him. “I’ve waited nine years to be your father, so I can wait as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
He finally looks at me, really looks at me, searching my face for any sign that I might disappear the way other people in his life have. I let him look, and I don’t hide anything from him.
I let him see my certainty that I’m his and that I’m staying.
“You promise?” he asks. “You’re not leaving?”
“I promise,” I say. “I’m yours, buddy. I have always been yours, even when we didn’t know it.”
Something shifts in his expression. Not acceptance yet, but the beginning of something softer.
He nods slowly and wipes his face with the back of his hand.
Harper watches both of us with her hand pressed to her mouth, and I can see that she’s barely holding herself together.
“Okay,” Bruiser says at last. Then, more quietly, “Okay.”
The rest of the morning unfolds in careful, quiet movements. Harper makes breakfast, pancakes, because they’re Bruiser’s favorite. He picks at them at first, but ends up eating more than he has all week. We don’t push him to talk and we don’t force anything.
We simply sit together in the same space and let the truth settle.
Around noon, Bruiser goes to his room. Harper and I clean the kitchen in silence, passing dishes between us with an ease that comes from knowing each other so well. We have been doing this long enough that we don’t need words for the small things.
“You think he’s okay?” she asks softly.
“I think he will be. Eventually.”
She nods and sets the dish towel aside before leaning into me. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close, breathing her in as I think about how completely she changed my life.
She made me believe that wanting something didn’t have to mean I would lose it.
That afternoon,I’m in the garage working on the Mustang when I hear footsteps behind me. Bruiser stands in the doorway with his hands shoved into his pockets.
“Can I help?” he asks, his voice uncertain.
I look up from under the hood. “Yeah, you can grab that wrench over there.”