Chapter 26. Ford #2
"And that's fine. Some people love differently. But you are not too much," I say. "Not for me. Not for this house. Not for that little girl who falls asleep to the sound of your voice. Do you understand?"
He doesn't answer with words. He answers by collapsing forward, his forehead hitting my chest, his hands fisting in the front of my sweater, and I catch him. One hand cradling the base of his skull, fingers threading into his hair. He's shaking again, but it's different now.
He cries into my chest.
"I thought I was over it," he chokes out between sobs.
"I thought I was… this whole week, Daddy, I was so happy.
I was so fucking happy. And then one stupid video and it all just…
it came back. Everything. The way he'd look at me when I asked for too much.
The way he'd go quiet. That specific silence that meant I'd done it again, I'd crossed the line, I'd been too needy, too clingy, too much.
I'm not crying because I miss him, Daddy.
I don't miss him. I want him out of my mind.
I'm crying because once again I'm sad and ruining everything because of a ghost from the past. I'm sorry, Daddy! "
"Shh." I press my mouth against the top of his head. "Healing isn't linear. You know that. You told me that yourself, about Callum, about Alfie."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because Callum and Alfie are strong. Callum got through it. Alfie wouldn't fall apart on someone's guest room floor because of a fucking cat video."
"You don't know that. You don't know what they do when no one's watching."
He lets out a small, watery laugh. I'll take anything that isn't the sound he was making five minutes ago, because it was breaking my heart.
"And for the record," I continue, my hand making slow, firm passes down his spine, "falling apart doesn't make you weak. It makes you human. The weakness would be pretending you're fine when you're not. The weakness would be hiding this from me and letting it rot."
"I was hiding it," he admits, so quietly I almost miss it. "I came up here so you wouldn't see. I didn't want you to… I was afraid you'd think…"
"Think what?"
A long pause. His fingers loosen in my sweater, then tighten again.
"That I'm not over him. That I'm still… that this means I still want him.
Because I don't. Daddy, I swear to God, I don't. I don't want him.
I want this. I want you and Angel and Martha's casseroles and the stupid laminated schedule and the choir and the… "
His voice breaks again, and he buries his face deeper into my chest, and I hold him tighter.
"I know," I tell him. "I know you don't want him. That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about? Why do I know it so clearly, but I still cry?"
I think about this carefully. I think about how healing doesn't mean the wound closes. It means you learn to live with the scar. It means the body remembers what the mind has moved past.
"It's about the version of yourself that you were with him," I say slowly, choosing each word.
"You're not grieving Emmett. You're grieving the Jude who didn't know he deserved better.
The one who shrank himself to fit inside someone else's comfort zone.
That version of you is gone now, and you're allowed to mourn him, even as you're glad he's gone. "
The silence that follows is vast. His eyes fill again.
"I'm a loser. I don't know why you'd be with me. Just let me go and save yourself the trouble," he says, and it breaks my heart. I hold him closer, resting his head on my chest. I have to hold him firmly or he'd pull away. But I'm not about to let that happen when he's this vulnerable.
"Jude, look at me," I tell him and make him meet my eyes. "Do you think I'd allow a loser to get close to Angel?"
He tries to look away, but I don't let him. "She's the most precious thing in my life. I'd kill for her, easily. Sign me up for a life sentence. Do you think I'd allow a loser in her life?"
He's crying silently again, tears rolling down his face.
"And I have a secret. You're also very precious in my life. When you say bad things about yourself, it's as if you're saying bad things about Angel, because you both are precious to me."
"I'm s-sorry, Daddy," he says, the realization hitting him. "I'd never want to say anything bad about Angel."
"I know, sweet boy. Remember that when you think badly of yourself. You're precious to me and to her."
He nods against my chest, small and shaky, and I feel the fight go out of him.
"I'm scared that I forced you into this relationship by going after you until you got tired of running away."
I laugh, loud, but then realize it could come across as mean, so I soften my voice.
"Boy, do you think anybody can force me to do anything?
I only do what I want to do. I was after you as much as you were after me.
Maybe not at first, but that's just because I was in denial about how much you were in my head. "
He chuckles softly. "You do love denial," he jokes, even now. I chuckle too.
I keep my hand on the back of his head.
"Daddy?" he asks, and he looks much calmer now. I sigh in relief.
"I'm here."
"I got snot on your sweater."
"I know."
"It's the good one."
"I know that too. And I don't care."
He chuckles softly again.
"Can I tell you something?" he asks.
"You can tell me anything."
"I think…" He swallows. I hear it catch.
"I think the reason it hit me so hard wasn't just the video.
It was because this week has been the happiest I've ever been.
And I got scared. Because the last time I was this happy, it ended.
And I wasn't… I wasn't strong enough to survive the ending.
Callum had to practically carry me for months.
Alfie sat with me on the phone for hours, just listening to me breathe, because I couldn't talk, I couldn't do anything, I just…
I lost all my friends in the club. Glynn and Pierce tried to get me out of the house, but I wouldn't go.
Noa had to basically force-feed me, because I wouldn't eat… "
He stops. Breathes.
"I got scared that this would end too," he finishes. "And I wouldn't survive it a second time."
"Oh, sweetheart," I say, pulling him tighter.
"I can't promise you it won't be hard," I say into his hair.
It smells like my shampoo. He's been using my shampoo all week.
"I can't promise you I'll always know the right thing to do.
I get it wrong. I'll get it wrong with you.
I'm rigid and controlling and I have a pathological need for order that borders on clinical, and you are the living embodiment of entropy, and there will be days when that collision is not romantic.
It'll just be hard. But hard things are worth it. "
He's listening.
"I can promise you this." I pull back enough to see his face.
His eyes are still red, still swollen. "I will show up.
Every single time. The way I show up for Angel.
The way my mother shows up for me. The way you show up for Alfie and your friends.
That's what I can give you," I continue.
"Not perfection. Not a guarantee that it won't hurt.
But presence. Consistency. The boring, relentless, unsexy discipline of being there.
Day after day. Even when you send my blood pressure through the ceiling.
Even when you teach my daughter pirate songs. "
A laugh escapes him. He sighs, much more content than before. The storm is starting to pass.
After a beat of silence, he looks up at me.
"You don't deserve me. I'm a mess. I can't get over stuff. I'm too… too intense. You deserve peace."
"Are you trying to tell me what I deserve, brat?" I ask, and his eyebrows shoot up. "I will decide what I deserve. I don't want you saying bad things about my property. If I hear that again, we'll have problems. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Daddy," he whispers.
"Good boy. Also, I'm done with you punishing yourself. That's not your job. Do you understand? I'm the one who decides when you need punishment. Do you want to do my job for me?"
"No, Daddy," he says, and there are tears in his eyes again. I take his chin.
"Good. No more of that. If I tell you that you deserve every bit of what I give you, I want you to believe me. This is an order. If you don't believe me, you're calling me a liar. Do you think I'm a liar?"
"No, Daddy!" he exclaims, almost shocked I'd say that.
"Good. Because that would land you in bad, bad trouble. And you don't want to be in bad trouble, do you? That would mean no orgasms and no spanks."
"No spanks?!" he protests, but it's playful.
"Exactly. You don't want that, do you?"
"No, sir."
"Good boy," I say and caress his cheek. "I have something to tell you."
"What is it?" he asks, still small.
"I love you," I say.
He looks at me, and his eyes go huge. He opens his mouth.
"I love you too, Daddy," he whispers.
We stay holding each other for a long time.
"Thank you for not…" he says, and pauses, searching for the word. "For not making it small. What I was feeling. You didn't make it small."
"It isn't small."
"It's a cat video."
"It's a wound. The cat video just pressed on it. There's a difference."
He nods against me. I kiss his temple. He'll be alright. We will.