48. Cole
I pullthe car up to the curb at Archie’s pre-K just as the kids come running out of the front doors. Most of them dart straight to their parents, talking animatedly about their days as they climb into the cars.
Archie is usually just as exuberant at the end of a long day, but for the past few weeks, he’s been noticeably downcast. Instead of running up to the car, he trudges over with his head down and his eyes glued to the pavement. I almost wish I didn’t know why.
Ever since Riley left, I’ve been juggling things like I was before I hired her. Trying to get back into the swing of it, doing everything myself. It’s been difficult, but every once in a while, I can almost convince myself it’s doable.
Almost. Until the next emergency strikes.
As Archie climbs into the backseat, I lean over to greet him. “Hey, bud. How was school?”
He shrugs. “Okay, I guess.”
His neon green cast lays across his chest, adorned with Sharpie scribbles from all of his classmates. Some of them wrote their names, while others drew funny faces or attempted doodles of dinosaurs. There are a few “get well soon” messages.
“We’re going to the doctor in just a few days,” I say encouragingly, doing my best to cheer him up even though I know the cast isn’t the cause of his sadness. “Then you’ll probably get that thing taken off, and be able to move your arm around more. Won’t that be nice?”
“Yeah.” Archie leans against the car door, staring out of the window. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk anymore.
It doesn’t seem like there’s anything I can do to cheer him up right now. I wonder if something happened during pre-K, or if he’s just in a bad mood in general.
I pull away from the curb to drive us home.
Typically, when Archie gets home from pre-K, he runs straight into the living room to start playing with his toys. Today, though, he slouches up the stairs and goes to his room. I have half a mind to follow him—to sit on the bed with him and ask what’s really going on—but I know it’s pointless.
There’s no way I can explain this to him. He’s too young, and even if he wasn’t, he would blame me.
Instead, I leave him alone. I walk into the living room, where my laptop is sitting on the coffee table, and pick it up. Time to get some work done—working from home again, now that I don’t have anyone to watch Archie.
It’s definitely cutting into my firm’s productivity. To compensate for that, I’ve been working longer hours, into the night, after Archie is asleep.
Before I head to my home office, I pause, looking at the wall opposite the couch. There’s a blank spot there where Riley’s painting was hanging.
When she left, I sent it over to her apartment with the rest of her things. It belongs with her, but I almost wish I had kept it, just as a reminder of her. A little bit of light in the house.
I’d gotten used to it, while it was here. At first, I didn’t see what Riley saw in it, but the more she explained it to me—the more I studied it, with a careful eye—the more beautiful it became, until I felt like it was the most special work of art in the world.
This house feels fucking empty now.
* * *
“This bad boyright here is called a cast spreader,” the doctor explains as the tech unpacks all of the tools they’ll need to remove Archie’s cast. “It’s going to help us split the cast off. Don’t worry,” she adds quickly, noticing the look on Archie’s face. “It won’t hurt at all.”
“You won’t even feel it,” the tech adds. He bends down and pulls a pair of shears off the cart; Archie flinches.
“It’s just for the cast,” the doctor says. “We’re gonna get this itchy thing off you once and for all, huh?”
The examination room we’re in now is in a different section of the hospital, but it looks exactly the same as the first one we went to when Archie broke his arm—beige walls lined with green stripes near the ceiling, powder-blue leather on the exam table.
Being in here reminds me of the fight I had that day with Riley. It was a blur to me, but my surroundings are jogging my memory, letting me recall everything I said to her, in detail.
That’s what I pay you to do.
I cringe at the memory, feeling even more like shit as each barbed comment comes back to me. Everything I said to her that day was out of line. I know it wasn’t her fault that Archie got hurt, and the things she said to me were true—accidents do happen.
Archie’s sitting right in front of me, healthy as could be, while the doctors crack the cast off of his arm. He smiles as he realizes that it won’t hurt, looking from me to the split bandage.
“Can I take this part home?” he asks, pointing to the hardened green bandage. “All my friends signed it.”
“You’ll have to ask your dad,” says the doctor. Archie glances at me, and I smile, nodding.
“Yes!” He pumps his good fist, excited.
Accidents do happen, and they’re not always the end of the world.
That’s a difficult truth for me to accept. I already lost my sister to an accident, one that did feel like the end of the world. Sometimes, late at night, it still feels as though the world ended that day, and I’m just wading through the aftermath of the apocalypse.
But life goes on, and not every accident is as earth-shattering as that one. It’s difficult to accept the fact that I can’t protect Archie from everything. I wish I could.
As the doctor hands him the marked-up shell of his cast, though, and Archie beams at the signatures of his many friends, I wonder if this wasn’t all bad, after all.
“Does that feel good?” I ask him. “Some fresh air on your arm?”
“Yeah!” he exclaims. It must feel good, because he’s more animated than he’s been in the past few weeks, grinning from ear to ear.
“Glad to hear it,” says the doctor. She turns to me, all business, consulting her clipboard. “So, we’ll want to make sure we exercise the joints in their full range of movement. It’s normal for the arm to feel a little funny for a while after the cast is removed.”
“And that’ll go away with time, right?”
“Right,” she confirms. “Light exercise, taking care not to jostle the arm around too much. The bone hasn’t fully healed yet, but it’s almost there. You can come back in after another three weeks for some x-rays to make sure the healing process is going well.”
“Okay, great,” I say.
“It’s itchy,” Archie complains, scowling down at his arm.
“That’s also normal,” the doctor says with a smile. “When you get home, soak it in some warm water to help the dry skin. You also might want to get some lotion for that arm.”
“We’ll stop by the drug store and pick some up on the way home,” I tell Archie, who nods, scratching uncomfortably at his forearm.
As we leave the doctor’s office, Archie practically skips beside me, clearly delighted.
“Whoa, bud,” I say. “You sure are energetic today.”
“I got my cast off!” Archie exclaims.
“It’s pretty exciting. Soon enough you’ll be able to run around with your friends again. Are you excited?”
“Yeah!” He grins up at me. “And now Riley can come back, right?”
I stop dead in my tracks, ten feet in front of the hospital’s sliding doors. “What?”
“Now that I’m better, Riley can come back to the house,” Archie explains, as if it’s obvious. “That’s why she left, right?”
“Oh, Archie… no,” I say, shaking my head. His face falls, and I steer him over to the waiting room chairs, sitting him down. “No, buddy. Did you think that Riley left because you got hurt?”
Silently, Archie nods, his eyes huge and round.
“That’s not what happened,” I say, feeling a little nauseous. “Not at all.”
“But I’m better now,” he protests. “So Riley can come back.”
“It’s not your fault that Riley left,” I explain gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the reason Riley left, and you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”
Archie sniffles a little, pouting. “But I don’t understand. Why did Riley leave?”
“It’s really complicated,” I sigh. I’ve been asking myself that question repeatedly, late at night, in a slightly different arrangement: Why did I force her out?
“She left right after I broke my arm,” Archie says.
“Yes, but it wasn’t related,” I tell him. “It was a coincidence. Do you know what that means?”
He shakes his head, puzzled.
“Sometimes, two things just happen at the same time, even if one didn’t cause the other. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so,” Archie says dubiously.
“You didn’t make Riley leave,” I assure him, ruffling his hair. “But I’m afraid that doesn’t mean Riley is coming back, either.”
Archie’s bemused expression slowly gives way to a frown.
“She’s not?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. Guilt tugs at me at the disappointed expression on Archie’s face. “She’s not.” I pause, and add, “And it’s not because of you. That’s just how things are.”
For the rest of the ride home, Archie is silent. When we arrive and walk back into the house, he’s more subdued, the bounce gone from his step and his eyes downcast. He plays with his toys for a while without much enthusiasm, picks at his dinner, and doesn’t argue when I tell him it’s time for bed.
Once the lights are out in Archie’s room and his eyes are closed—I’m not sure if he’s really asleep, or just pretending—I head downstairs and pour myself a drink. I haven’t had a drink all week, and after that conversation, I need it.
I need a distraction, really. But no matter what I do, my thoughts keep drifting back to the hurt look on Archie’s face, and from there, to Riley.
I try to get some work done, but every time I close my eyes, I see her distraught expression as she wordlessly left the house. I put on some music, and can’t stop hearing the sound of her laugh. It feels as though there’s a spotlight shining on the empty spot on the wall where her painting once hung.
Eventually, my efforts to busy myself are interrupted by a knock at the front door.
I frown, glancing at my watch. It’s nine in the evening, so I can’t imagine who’s showing up unannounced at this hour.
For a wild moment, I think maybe it’s Noah. Finally coming over to give me a piece of his mind, or to sock me in the jaw. Good; I’d deserve it.
But when I open the door, it’s not Noah. It’s Declan and Reed, standing shoulder to shoulder. Both of them wear serious looks on their faces, which is so unusual for Reed in particular that I’m taken aback.
“What the hell are you two doing here?” I ask. “We didn’t schedule a poker night, did we?”
“You think our friendship is confined to poker night?” Reed retorts, pushing past me into the foyer. “That stings, Cole.”
“You can’t just—”
“We need to talk,” Declan interrupts. He raises a challenging eyebrow at me. “Unless you don’t want us here.”
Reed is already hanging up his jacket in the coat closet. “You can’t kick me out,” he says loftily. “It would be inhumane.”
“It’s fine,” I say to Declan, bemused, “but I’m just… confused. Is something going on?”
“You tell us.” Now that he’s invited, Declan finally steps inside, and I close the door behind him. He turns to me, frowning. “Is something going on?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have news for you. I don’t know what you’re expecting, here.”
Reed scoffs. “Yeah, right.”
“You’ve been avoiding us,” Declan accuses me, exchanging a glance with Reed. “Don’t try to deny it.”
“I haven’t been,” I say, exasperated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We haven’t seen you in more than two weeks. What else are we supposed to think?”
“I swear, I haven’t been avoiding you,” I mutter. Unfortunately, I know exactly what they’re talking about.
The past few weeks have been nothing but a haze. I’ve been going through my day-to-day life like some kind of zombie, trying to keep everything afloat but still not able to feel much. I’ve been a little lost in it, to be honest, and haven’t thought of anything close to enjoyment since the moment Riley left.
“Yeah, you have,” Reed says. He walks past me, into the kitchen. Declan follows, and I drift along in their wake, resigned.
Reed sits at the counter, and Declan leans against the granite surface of the island, his arms folded as he turns back to me. “So. Tell us what happened.”
I hesitate, then sigh. “I… fired Riley,” I admit, glancing at the floor.
“Are you serious?” Declan shakes his head as if he’s disappointed in me. “Why?”
“She was kind of perfect for the job,” Reed adds. “You’re out of your mind for this one.”
“You both know it wasn’t just about the job.” I head back over to the breakfast table, where I left my tumbler of whiskey. I don’t care if neither of them plans on drinking, but I definitely intend to.
“Well, yeah,” Reed says. “You were fucking her.”
“It wasn’t just that.” Declan’s gaze bores into me. “There were feelings involved.”
For a few moments, I’m silent, trying to figure out how to respond. Then I nod and say, “Yeah. Things were starting to get that way, and I thought it was a good time to end it, before she got hurt.”
“Hers weren’t the only feelings involved,” Declan says, as if he can see straight through me. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“Okay,” I reply, challenging him. “Then I decided to stop before either of us could get hurt. It was a bad idea from the start, and it would’ve ended in disaster one way or another.” I scowl, looking away from Declan’s and Reed’s knowing faces. “Frankly, it already was a disaster.”
“Sure, total disaster,” Reed says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Except that you were happier than we’ve seen you in years. But whatever you say.”
I don’t quite trust Reed’s analysis of the situation—what would he know about something like this? He’s a tabloid-level player—but Declan nods at me gravely.
“You want my advice?”
I shrug. Truth is, I do. Declan, of all people, probably knows how I feel. “Fine.”
“You need to fix this,” he tells me.
In some way, I already know that. But it’s a little late now for regrets.
“This was the right choice,” I say stiffly. “The responsible choice.”
“Again, that’s bullshit.” Declan folds his arms. “This is just you, avoiding how you feel. You’re not taking what you want, and you know it.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I argue. “I’m supposed to be a parent now. I have to look out for Archie’s well-being, too.”
“So what?” Declan paces around the counter, approaching me. He snatches the drink from my hand and takes a sip, then grimaces at the taste and passes the glass across the island to Reed. “She was so good with Archie. He adored her.”
Reed catches the whiskey, then nods. “That’s true. Everyone knew that.”
“But if I get distracted—if I—”
“When Riley was in this house, you were happier and Archie was better taken care of than ever before,” Declan says, cutting me off firmly. “There’s no point in lying to yourself.”
I hesitate, then hang my head, giving up the argument. Declan’s right. The look of disappointment on Archie’s face after we left the doctor’s office today was evidence of that, if nothing else.
“Your whole career has been built on taking smart risks,” Declan reminds me. “And now, you’re too hesitant to take a risk and chase something you want. You’re running from love, straight up.”
That last sentence stops me in my tracks. Declan’s words ring through my head; it’s the first time I’ve been forced to contend with that word, with the concept that I was in love with Riley.
I was, wasn’t I? That was the reason I felt so secure around her, the reason I felt comfortable letting her closer than anyone has ever been. It was the warm feeling in my chest as I watched her play with Archie, and the fierceness I felt anytime someone threatened her safety.
And letting her go—telling her to leave… I might as well have shot myself in the heart.
It’s quiet in the kitchen for a long moment, during which Reed downs the rest of the whiskey in the glass and spends five seconds coughing his lungs out.
“That’s a sipping drink, Reed,” I say finally, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” he wheezes. “But I just thought, you know… It was right in front of me, and you guys were—”
“You were right,” I say to Declan, cutting Reed off. “I fucked up.”
“There we go,” he says, inclining his head. “Yeah. You really did.”
“But I can’t undo it. It’s already in the past—I’m already feeling those consequences.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So?”
“So what do I do about it?”
“Well, think about how you made this mess,” Declan says. “Then work it out.”
I set my jaw, nodding.
No matter what I have to do, I promise myself silently, no matter what it takes—I will fix this. I will get Riley back.