That cry is one I’ve heard before, one that has taken me to the hospital countless times.
I find Kolt and Ethan in the living room, the fire still burning healthy in the hearth. Ethan is in Kolt’s arms, he’s laying still but he is sobbing.
“He’s hot,” Kolt’s wide eyes turn to me, “I can’t get him to settle.”
“Okay,” I rush to the kitchen, grabbing the thermometer and some meds in case he’s throwing a fever and run back to them, uncapping the thermometer to take Ethan’s temperature.
I watch the dial like a hawk, seeing it creep up but it’s not so high I have to worry. Just a cold or something like that. I let out a breath and measure up some meds to help him before I place the syringe in his mouth. He fights but ultimately takes it.
“He’s susceptible to colds and flus,” I explain, helping to soothe him. He still cries but he’s calmer now with me stroking back his hair and Kolt rocking him, “He throws a fever a lot and it makes him uncomfortable but he’s okay. He’ll go to sleep soon, and I’ll recheck his fever when he wakes.”
“He was okay when he woke this morning,” Kolt gently rocks our boy, staring down into his reddened face, “It happened so quickly.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I assure him, “It just happens sometimes. Sit down with him, I’ll go make us coffee.”
I head into the kitchen to pour us both a mug and when I’m back, Ethan is already asleep. I place Kolt’s mug down and then mine.
“You can take him through to his room to sleep.”
“Can I just…” He looks down at our son, “Hold him?”
I melt a little, “Of course you can.”
It’s hard not to remember when Ethan was smaller, how it was easier to cradle him and nurse him but as he’s gotten older and bigger, I’ve found it hard to hold him the way Kolt is now. And despite him growing and getting too big for me to do what Kolt is, Ethan looks tiny against Kolt’s bulky frame. He’s swallowed up by the mass of muscle, wrapped up in strong arms and big hands, cradled so tenderly I wonder if Kolt thinks he’s fragile.
“Did you sleep?” He asks.
“Too long.”
“Eight hours is right,” He frowns, “It’s how long you should be sleeping.”
I laugh, “I haven’t slept longer than three or four at a time,” I shrug, “Not since he was born. I’m used to it now.”
“Absolutely not,” Kolt grumbles, “We’re not doing this that way.”
“It’s only been a couple days,” I try, “Let’s just see if we can get into a routine and go from there.”
“I saw those videos, Ness. I saw how tired you were, I don’t believe that’s changed. You were alone then but you’re not alone anymore.”
But he would leave again, wouldn’t he?
I couldn’t start to trust or rely on him with this because it’ll only hit me worse when it ends.
I hold my tongue though. I’ve been hostile to him, snappy and unwelcoming and even if I believe he’s going to leave, I have to give him a chance to bond with Ethan. My son deserves a father, and I didn’t want to be the reason he doesn’t have one.
I give him a non-verbal response and press my hand to Ethan’s cheek. He’s still a little warm but he’s settled, eyes closed and dreaming peacefully.
“Why did you come back, Kolt?” I finally ask the question that’s been burning on the tip of my tongue since he showed up.
He stares at me, his deep brown eyes so expressive and open it catches my breath.
“I came back for you, Vanessa.” He whispers it, “I came back to fix what I broke, but I’m starting to realize there is no remedy to the damage I caused. I can only tell you I’m sorry, even if sorry isn’t good enough.”
Tears sting my eyes. Fuck, I’ve cried so much in the past seventy-two hours I wonder how I’m not dehydrated. “I just…”
“You just what?” He presses.
“I gave something so damn sacred to me, it was special. And you left. No note. No text. No anything. I thought there was more between us, but I felt used, Kolt. Like I was a game to you.”
