46. Truly, Madly, Deeply – Savage Garden
Skye – 25 years
Shay stayed that night. It was the first time we’d ever spent a night together and after Griffin returned and went to bed, I found myself sitting up in bed staring at a sleeping Shay. My heart still couldn’t believe we were together now. That come tomorrow morning he was going to be sharing the shower with me and breakfast.
Either my son was oblivious to Shay’s sudden entrance into my life, or he liked the man too much to care that he was now sleeping in his mother’s bed. Yet, one glaring factor remained. How did I tell Shay, Griffin was his son without upsetting him? Our journey had been so delicate, the smallest jar could derail us again. Then again, finding out you had a six-year-old son wasn’t a small jar by any means. Granted, he had two children with Ryleigh, and I was surprised he hadn’t filed for custody of the children, he still needed to know about our son. There was still the aspect of telling Dad about Shay and me and Griffin.
Unable to sleep, I ventured downstairs to get some work done. It served as a distraction until I could get my head screwed on right and decide what to do.
“Griffin!”
The sudden yell forced open my sleep-heavy lids. I sat upright remembering I wasn’t in the bedroom. Earlier while working on my laptop, I’d fallen asleep on the couch. Now I shook the lethargy out of me and cocked my head to listen, positive it was just a dream.
The sound came again. This time, loud, aggressive, unintelligible words but I recognized the voice.
“Shay?”
Pushing aside the blanket I’d thrown over my legs, I stood and hurried up the stairs to my bedroom. Moonlight streamed in through the open windows, casting the large bed and his body in silver and dark blue shadows. I switched on the bedside lamp and stared down. Tangled in the sheet around his waist, his body jerked and thrashed about, similar to what I’d seen in that hospital room in Germany, yet his eyes remained closed.
My lower lip between my teeth, I hesitated before I reached out a hand to wake him, but his flailing arm had me quickly pulling back.
Sweat beaded his brow, upper lip and his chest. This was taking its toll on him. “Please, Griff, stay with me. You can’t leave me,” he sobbed.
“Oh, my God.” My chest tightened. “He was stuck in that nightmare he’d mentioned but didn’t want to talk about.” Was how he’d lost Griffin the recurring nightmare?
“Shay,” I whispered.
His hands fisted the sheets so tight, the knuckles turned white and I hesitated again, doubtful if I should wake him from what seemed like a horrible nightmare.
He cried out again, rolling from stomach to back, repeatedly. I held my breath, praying for him to find peace, silently pleading for him to wake. He mumbled something, a throaty mutter before his jaw clenched and I heard the low grind of his teeth. “Please, Griff, stay with me,” he shouted again, his arms swinging wildly, hitting the bed, hard. I flinched, feeling his pain, hurting for his scarred soul that hadn’t known peace for so long.
Balling my fists, I slowly shook my head, unable to watch him suffer anymore. “Forgive me, Shay, but I need to help you and this is the only way.” My heart in my hands and tears in my eyes, I left the room and walked down to the other.
Inside, I knelt by his bed and slowly shook him. “Griffin, sweetheart.”
He stirred on my second try. “Mom?” He stared at me through sleep-filled eyes.
“I’m sorry to wake you, baby, but I need your help.” I brushed a hand through his hair.
Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. “What happened?”
“Nothing, baby. I need to tell you something.” He nodded. Rising, I sat on the edge of his bed. “You remember what I told you about your dad? That he was a soldier?”
His eyes widened, sleep flying from them. “Yes.” His expression turned hopeful.
I swallowed the hesitation, knowing I had to do it. “Sweetheart, your dad has been through a tough time. He’s lost a lot of people along the way, people he’s loved so deeply, he still has nightmares about them. Nightmares that keep him from the peace he craves.” I didn’t bother to curb my tears, they rolled down my cheeks unchecked. “I think you need to meet your dad, tell him you’re his son. It might help him heal.”
He looked confused then asked, “is my dad coming to visit me.” I nodded, unable to speak the words I needed to. “Mom?” He took hold of my hand.
“Yes, baby.”
He drew slow circles around the back of my hand not immediately speaking and I gave him time, knowing whatever he was about to ask must be profound.
“Is Shay my dad?” It seemed like my son was more perceptible than I gave him credit for.
