I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice. “It’s…um, Grampy, sweetheart.”
His head pops up immediately, bright eyes full of curiosity and excitement.
“Grampy’s here?” He scrambles to his feet and bolts for the window before I can stop him. “He’s finally back from his trip!”
“Guess so,” I murmur and stand finally to move closer to the window.
Through it, I watch my father still sitting inside his truck, his hands gripping the steering wheel like he’s trying to build up the courage to move.
The seconds drag on.
Behind us, Dean’s laugh floats out of the kitchen.
The soft clinks of dishes and the oven opening and shutting are the only noises that puncture through the blood rushing through my ears.
My heart clenches as soon as the truck’s door pops open and a boot settles down into the slush covered driveway.
Eli’s already halfway to the front door. “Yay!”
“Honey, wait?—”
He’s out the door before I even reach for his coat to throw it over him, his little slippers slapping against on the porch steps as he descends down them.
Through the frosted glass, I see Dad bend down instinctively as Eli barrels into him, small arms wrapping tight around his neck.
For a moment, the world outside the window stills completely.
Dad’s face softens the second he sees him.
That heavy sadness that’s been etched into his features eases just a little as he hugs Eli back, one big hand rubbing his back like he used to do with me when I was small.
He murmurs something I can’t hear, his breath misting in the cold air as Eli laughs, bright and unburdened.
He lifts him up off his feet, cradling him. And that’s when the tears sting my eyes.
God, I missed this. Missedhim.
Not the tension, or the guilt, but the man who taught me how to ride a bike, who used to make me honey tea after nightmares when Mom died, who still carries the weight of everyone else’s pain on his shoulders like it’s his duty because that’s all he’s ever known.
When he finally looks up and spots me standing at the window, he freezes.
For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other through the thin glass separating us—two stubborn people who both wanted to protect the same things but went about it all wrong.
He blinks first.
Then, with a slow, cautious movement, he straightens and walks toward me, Eli still hanging off him like a koala.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says when I finally move closer to the door.
His voice is rough in that way it always gets when he’s trying not to cry.
My breath catches. “Hey.”
Eli looks between us, confused by the heavy silence.
There’s an awkward pause before I step back and open the door wider. “Come in. It’s freezing out there.”
He hesitates for half a second, then nods and sets Eli down before stepping across the threshold.
