I kissed him again—a little deeper this time, my free hand sliding up to the back of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse under my fingertips.
When we broke apart, his voice was rougher, but still gentle. “You don’t have to do any of it alone. You’ve got me in your corner.”
I let my eyes close for a moment, breathing himin. “Are you applying for the position ofUncleMarcus?”
His hand came up to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek. “As long as the benefits include loving you.”
Two days later,I stood nervous as anything in the family room, my hands shoved deep into my jeans pockets. Jess was arriving again—but this time, she wasn’t going to be alone. My parents were coming, too. Marcus had offered to give us space, promising to join us an hour later so I could reconnect without feeling I had to balance everyone at once.
When they arrived, Jess carried Eli in, my mom close behind her, my dad following with an awkward kind of hesitation I knew was more nerves than anything else. My mom’s face lit up when she saw me, and she didn’t hesitate—her arms were around me before I could say a word.
“Tyler,” she whispered into my shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart.”
I hugged her back, feeling the sting behind my eyes. “Hi, Mom.”
Dad was next, more reserved, but his eyes were glassy as he gripped my unscarred shoulder and pulled me into a quick hug. “Son.”
“Hey, Dad.” My voice was rougher now, but steady. And then there was Jess, smiling at me as Eli wiggled in her arms, reaching out.
“Uncle Tyler,” Jess teased, shifting Eli toward me.
I took him, careful and nervous, but Eli grinned, patting my chest with his tiny palm. My throat tightened again.
“I got him some presents.” I shifted my hold on Eli a little and leaned to pull out the bag I’d hidden. I’d gone into town that morning, determined to bring something small back for Eli. And, like an idiot, I’d gotten carried away, much to Jazz’s amusement, as it was he who’d helped me home: plush animals, wooden puzzles, a toy truck, even a hoodie with a superhero design. But the thing Eli clung to the most was the set of brightly colored stacking cups; in fact, he’d lit up when he first saw them, his chubby hands grabbing for them.
We settled into the room, the initial nerves melting away as conversation picked up. My parents asked questions, told me bits about home, takingcare to avoid anything too heavy. For now, it was enough just to be together.
Eli played on the floor, crawling around, dragging the stacking cups toward me. I smiled, sinking to the carpet, and helped him start building a tower. His concentration was fierce, tongue poking out as he placed each cup, climbing me so he could watch me build.
“Wanna go higher, little man?” I asked, adding another cup. Eli squealed with delight because this was our third tower, and I was sure this one would go the way of the first two—demolished by sticky fingers and Eli’s determination to get the rest of us laughing.
“You’re a natural,” my mom said, watching us with a watery smile, and I knew I owed her and Dad a conversation, and maybe Jess saw that as well, picking up Eli, his fingers gripping the red and blue cups.
“Time for lunch, little man,” she announced and headed out and toward the small kitchen.
And now I was here with my parents, and what on earth had I said to them? I recalled the last time I’d seen them in the hospital, long before Guardian Hall. Before the streets. Before I’d known how far I’d fall.
I’d been barely conscious those first days, but there were flashes I could never shake. The way my mom broke down whenever she walked into the room, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as if seeing me physically hurt her. She cried whenever she looked at me, quiet, controlled sobs as if she was terrified that falling apart would break me further. I wanted to tell her not to cry, but I couldn’t find my voice.
Dad was always by my side, standing stiffly, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He didn’t say much—didn’t have to. Every now and then, he’d reach out, pat my arm as if he had no idea what else to do. “You’re gonna be okay, son. Everything will be okay.” Over and over. Stoic. As though if he said it enough, it might somehow be true.
I’d pushed them all away. I couldn’t bear their sorrow; couldn’t stand the way their pain reflected my own. Every visit, every well-meaning word felt like another weight pressing on my chest. I told myself I didn’t want their comfort, that I didn’t need their reassurances or their tears. So, I’d shut them out. And Jess. I’d cut them out of my life entirely, convinced it was easier to face the emptiness alone than deal with their helpless grief.
But here and now, watching my parents sittogether, watching me as if I might snap and throw them out, I wanted to make things right. Or at least take a step in the right direction. Mom was clinging to Dad’s hand, but she wasn’t crying. Maybe they hadn’t known how to help back then—how could they? Hell, no one could help me. But they’d shown up every day. They were here now.
“We need to talk,” I murmured. But then, I didn’t know what else to say.
Mom broke the silence first, her voice soft but laced with pain. “You left the hospital, Tyler. We couldn’t find you. Did you come straight here?”
I swallowed, feeling the familiar sting in my throat. “I slept rough for a while,” I admitted.
Her face crumpled in horror. “Why?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you come home? To your family. Or at least call us. All we had was a note to say you needed time and…”
She sounded so desperate, and I hated it. My fingers curled into the carpet as I stared at the floor. “I wasn’t ever coming home,” I said, my voice tight. My breath caught, knowing what I was about to say would cut deep, but I needed them to understand. “I didn’t want you to see a son who didn’t want to be alive.”
Mom’s hands flew to cover her mouth, a smallgasp breaking from her as tears welled in her eyes. Dad’s eyes glistened, but neither of them moved, both giving me the space I needed to keep talking.
Still on the carpet, I shifted forward onto my knees, drawing closer to them. “I couldn’t face any of it,” I said, voice cracking. “Not Pax. Not Jess. Not the way you looked at me, Mom, like you were breaking inside. Not the way you kept telling me it was okay, Dad. I thought… I thought it would be easier for everyone if I just disappeared.”
