He was asking me, the man who’d been shitty with emotions my entire life, to be a hero. Over the months of being together, I’d learned a lot about these men and myself. Forgetting Father’s lessons would be an ongoing battle, but I was better than him.
Better than past Ren.
I was the new and fucking improved Ren, and right now, KC needed us more than ever. I couldn’t let his illness win, not when it’d beat Andrea. I wouldn’t lose him.
But I didn’t think I could do anything to help. He’d sunk deeper into a pit of despair, and we were nothing but ghosts to him. No matter how many times I gently called his name, he didn’t respond.
“KC?”
Nothing. Not a damned thing. What happened? Who the fuck knew? KC wasn’t in the right frame of mind to tell us. Should we call his psych?
My breathing turned choppy as images of Andrea flashed in the forefront of my mind. Her fake smile. Her desperation. The police investigation.
“KC?” Oliver’s voice shook and he reached out to touch KC’s cheek, but KC buried his face deeper into his knees. Wetness flooded Oliver’s eyes and he bit his bottom lip as his jaw quaked. When his gaze met mine, I read his thoughts as if they were mine.What can we do?“We need to call someone.”
“Who?” I studied KC’s folded body and listened to the heart wrenching but furious weeping, and the panic in my throat grew with intensity. I didn’t know what to do and neither did Oliver. We’d never seen KC this way. He was our calm negotiator, the middleman who settled arguments and soothed tension. But right now, he was a broken shell of a man begging for help through his sobs of misery. And we needed to act.
Who knew him best?
“Quain,” I said out loud, answering my internal question. “He’ll know what to do.”
Oliver didn’t disagree and watched me desperately as I pulled my phone from my pocket and found Quain’s number. The only reason I had it was for emergencies. Despite his thoughts about me, Quain had made sure I had his contact info, in case KC ever ended up in the hospital again. I’d received firm instructions to call him and if I didn’t,I may end up very,very dead. I believed him, too.
“What’s wrong?” Quain answered, tone instantly alert. I’d never called him, so I didn’t blame him.
“KC... .He’s not well. He’s breaking down and I can’t help him. He won’t respond. He had practice this afternoon and I don’t know what happened and he won’t answer me.”
Quain didn’t waste a second. I heard a door shut loudly, then a car revving. “I’ll be there as soon as possible. Keep touching him. Tell him I’m on my way.” The line went dead.
“Do you think we did the right thing?” Oliver’s whisper was loud even though KC’s whines filled the apartment. He laid a hand on KC’s knee, squeezing. “Maybe we should call an ambulance.”
“No. They can’t help with this.” I laid my forehead on KC’s shoulder and wrapped my arms around him. His body shook so hard I was vibrating against him, but I stayed where I was. Oliver did the same on the other side.
We stayed like that until the front door slammed open and Quain rushed in. I didn’t ask him how he came up on the elevator or how he opened my very locked door because I didn’t care. He was here.
Oliver and I moved immediately, making space for Quain, who dropped on his knees in front of KC’s legs.
“KC?” His voice was gentle, yet firm, the kind you’d expect from a parent. I’d never wanted to be a father, but I’d never had a good example. Why would I want kids when I had no role model and all I could remember as a child was how lonely I was? No fucking thank you. Growing up with maids who knew you better than your parents gave you a cold sense of life, and I never wanted to bring anyone else in this world feeling like that. Even Luke couldn’t make up for our sad excuse of a mother and father.
Quain was different. He wasn’t KC’s bio dad, but he held him as if he was. Like he’d raised KC from a baby. He whispered soft words of encouragement.
“Come back to us,” Quain murmured, palms cupping KC’s knees. “Your pa is here. Your boyfriends are here. You need to tell us the problem so we can kill it.”
I held in a snort. Kill it? If only it was that easy. I’d murder everyone and everything to make Oliver and KC happy, but I had a feeling KC was battling an inner demon and that was something we couldn’t fight.
Finally, after what seemed like hours—but wasn’t—KC raised his wobbling chin. “Papa.” His voice was low and childlike, submerged in anguish that ripped a hole straight through my chest. “I’m a failure.”
“Never,” Quain said fiercely, his palms shooting to KC’s cheeks. He cradled KC’s face gently. “You can never be a failure. You are strong no matter what you do. Let me—” He glanced over his shoulder so briefly I nearly missed it. “Let us help you. Tell us what’s wrong.”
“They benched me for the last game of the season. I’m going to need a medical release to come back next year.” Tears and snot streaked his face and he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. I dropped beside Quain, heart shattering into pieces for KC. “Until I figure out my eating. They fucking dropped me. I fucking failed.”
Quain rearranged his legs like he’d done this a thousand times, then dragged his much bigger son against his chest. He wrapped his arms around KC and rocked him, and KC’s crying slowly subsided.
Oliver and I observed, Oliver shifting to sit beside me. I hooked my arm around his shoulders, offering him comfort, and he leaned against me, his face half burrowed into my neck.
“Shhh. It’s going to be okay,” Quain whispered, and I suspected he was talking to all of us. “Life has a funny way of working out. This is nothing more than a hurdle, KC. You’re a linebacker. You can jump ten hurdles at one time.”
The most beautiful sound came from KC, a half chuckle that had my chest feeling a hundred times lighter. His fast breaths slowly began to even out, but he didn’t look at us. Didn’t say a word as Quain continued to murmur assurances.
