I grabbed a bottle of wine for everyone else.
I sat down at the head of the table, Lany to my left. This was always our spots whenever we used the big dining room table and not the smaller breakfast nook off the kitchen. Tradition said Lany should have been seated at the opposite end of the table from me, but I guess I wasn't a very traditional guy. I wanted Lany as close to my heart as he could get.
“Eat up,” I told everyone when Mrs. Martinez brought the food out. “We don't stand on ceremony much around here.” We had six kids who were usually eating machines. We didn't have time to stand on ceremony.
I added food to Lany's plate, knowing what he liked, and then filled my own. Lany was still swaying a bit so I picked up his fork and started feeding him. I ate my own food in between bites. It may have seemed weird to some people that I was feeding a fully grown man, but those that knew us would understand. As tired as Lany was, he'd end up stabbing himself with a fork or something just as bad.
It was just easier for me to do it for him.
I frowned as I thought about what Lany had said earlier. Was this one of those things Lany referred to when he said he sometimes felt as if I was his parent and not his husband? I'd been doing it for years. Was I doing it wrong? Should I not be doing it at all?
I glanced at the others sitting around the table. No one was looking at us strangely, so that was a plus, but none of the other married couples were feeding each other.
I slowly lowered the fork to Lany's plate. I suddenly didn't know what the right thing to do was, and that wasn't a feeling I'd had since I first laid eyes on Lany. I had always known exactly what to do with him and how to treat him.
Until now anyway.
“Finish your food, Lany. You need...” I cleared my throat. I was doing it again. “Skip says you need some rest.”
Lany's brow flickered as he reached for his fork. He took a couple of more bites before laying his fork down again. His eyes darted to me for a moment before lowering. “I'm going to go lie down.”
I nodded, not saying a word for fear I'd say the wrong thing.
I felt a pain in my chest as I watched him walk out of the room. Everything in me urged me to grab him and carry him upstairs before tucking him into our bed where I knew he'd be safe.
I stayed where I was.
Lany was right. He was an adult, and I needed to treat him like an adult. If he wanted me to carry him upstairs, he'd ask me. I needed to stop taking his decisions away from him just because I felt I knew better.
I sat there drinking my wine because I doubted I'd get a single bite of food down my throat and watched the doorway. I stayed until everyone had finished eating and then stood. “If any of you need to stay the night, rooms can be arranged for you. We'll start up again in the morning. I'm sure Mrs. Martinez will provide us with a good breakfast.”
There. I'd done my host duties. Now, I was going to do what I'd wanted to do since Lany walked out of the room and go make sure he was okay. He couldn't fault me for checking on him.
On my way out of the dining room, I stopped in the security office. “Brant, I'm headed up to check on Lany. Please ensure that rooms are made ready for anyone that wants to stay the night.”
Brant nodded once. “Of course, sir.”
“We're still on lockdown until further notice.”
“I understand, sir.”
I really did like this man.
I left the security office and walked across the room to the grand staircase. I couldn't count how many times Lany had fallen down these stairs. Each time had scared me to death. How could I stand to the side and watch him fall just because he was an adult?
My feet felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds as I walked up the stairs and headed for our bedroom suite. Being indecisive was not something I was familiar with, and I didn't like feeling that way now. I relied on the fact that I was confident in my ability to make split-second decisions, except now I was questioning the choices I made.
I felt rattled right down to my soul.
When I reached the bedroom, I expected to find Lany tucked into bed. I did not expect to find him sitting in a chair by the window going through one of our photo albums.
“Lany?”
“Do you remember when this picture was taken?” he asked without lifting his head.
I walked over to see what picture Lany was talking about. I smiled when I saw the photograph. It was me and him sitting on the new couch he had bought when he replaced everything Sergeant Hugh Booker had destroyed.
“That was taken right after we moved in together.”
