Simon.
“Hey, Kid,” Harlow said as Simon entered the room. “You sure you don’t want the couch? I honestly don’t mind.”
“N-No, it’s okay.” Simon sounded no less frightened than he had earlier in the day, and with good reason—Harlow had broken his nose, after all. He wasn’t sure what he could do or say to convince Simon that he wasn’t a bad guy, but he hoped, over the next few days, that Simon would start to come around.
“I used to sleep standing up,” Harlow continued. “Sometimes I’d pass out in my dinner. Trust me, the floor wouldn’t be the worst place I’ve ever slept.”
“No, um, no, it’s okay.” The darkness obscured Simon, breaking him down into blurry shapes. There was no way to read his body language. “It’s only for a night, anyway. Tomorrow, when everyone’s out, I’ll go buy an air mattress and then I can sleep on that. It’ll be fine. B-Besides, I’ve got these blankets and pillows. And it’ll be good for my… um, my spine.”
It wouldn’t be good for Simon’s spine, but Harlow wouldn’t object. He listened to him nestle into the blankets, his gaze fixed on the darkness above.
“Is your nose feeling better?” Harlow asked. It seemed the polite thing to say.
Simon laughed in the wheezy, thin way he so often did. It was adorable. “I guess.”
“I’m sorry that I broke it.”
“You did what you had to do.” They spoke in hushed tones like they were at sleep-away camp, hoping their cabin counselor wouldn’t hear them. “If I were in your shoes, I would have done the same thing.”
“You would have punched me in the nose?”
“Well, I mean, if I had your body, sure.” Simon laughed again, causing Harlow to smile. “But I get it. The, um, the drive to protect. You love your daughter, and you’d do anything for her, right? There’s nothing wrong with that. I was some stranger you thought kidnapped her for nefarious gains. I would’ve punched thehellout of me.”
Harlow wished that Simon had left a light on so he could see his face. He imagined Simon’s uncertain smile and the glow of his cheeks. It was an earnest expression—the kind Harlow saw very few men wear anymore. All these years, he’d listened to Simon’s trembling laugh on the phone and never known that a smile like that was on the other end.
Here in the dark, it was almost like they were back on the phone. Two souls, separated by sight, but bound by sound.
“You were brave today,” Harlow said. He closed his eyes, unable to see much of anything, anyway. “Standing up for Shep like you did…”
“I should have done it sooner,” Simon admitted sadly. “If I’d been a better brother, a better protector, none of this would have happened. If I’d been a better listener, maybe this whole mess wouldn’t have started in the first place. I feel like I’ve failed him since day one. He’s depending on me to be his support, and I’m… I’m barely able to supportmemost of the time.”
The weight of those words would have knocked Harlow off his feet if he wasn’t already lying down.
He understood. God, did he understand.
“And I’m sorry that my inability to raise a teenager dragged you into this mess,” Simon continued. “I, um, I guess if you think of it that way, the broken nose is fair payment for what I’ve done to you.”
“Life shouldn’t work that way.”
“It does.”
“Well, it shouldn’t.” Harlow traced the side of his phone with his thumb, feeling the texture of the raised buttons. “Violence doesn’t fix problems, and it shouldn’t be used as payback. It’s a quick, easy way to get what you want—to keep people in line. And I would know.” He exhaled, letting the words settle. “What with the whole SEAL thing, and all.”
“Oh.” A long pause. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t deserve to be punched, and unless you’re going around kidnapping people’s children or torturing small animals, there is no situation in which you will ever deserve it.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Simon jabbed, then snickered. It was the same wheezy, adorable sound that he made when he laughed, but turned mischievous. “Oh god, I’m sorry. There are probably very few situations in which you deserve to be called Dad by someone who isn’t your kid, either. Like, very few. I mean, Daddy m-might be o-okay for, you know, the right person, or… whatever… but—”
“Kid?” It took more effort than Harlow cared to admit to strip the grin from his voice.
“Y-Yeah?”
“It’s probably best we get some sleep. You’re going to need some time to find a comfortable spot since you’re sleeping on the floor, and I want to make sure you get at least a little shut-eye tonight.”
Embarrassment rolled off Simon in waves so thick, Harlow could feel them from the couch. It shouldn’t have been cute, but it was. The bumbling uncertainty, the motormouth, the image of flushed cheeks and eyes bright and alert…
Harlow raked his teeth over his bottom lip.
“Sleep. Y-Yeah. Of course. Duh, right? We’re in… we’re in bed now.” There was rustling as Simon rolled this way and that, likely pulling his blankets around his body. “Good night, H. Thank you for not killing me today.”
Some habits were hard to break, it seemed. Harlow lifted one corner of his lips, his attempts to keep his grin away defeated. “Night, Kid. Thank you for bringing me home to her.”
“Always,” Simon promised, but the word was spoken so softly, Harlow was partially convinced he’d imagined it.
He fell asleep that night to the hum of the table fan and the memory of rosy cheeks and a skittish smile.
Paradise in ocean blue.
