"You did what you thought was best," I tried, hearing the thickness in my voice, trying to breathe through it, get control over myself.
"And I fucked everything up," he growled, voice getting an edge that had me stiffening.
Angry.
At himself, sure.
But still angry.
And because I knew him, I knew that the last thing he would want was to lose it at his first family gathering in six years, a gathering he had convinced himself would never happen.
My hands slid down his tense arms to curl around the fists he had curled behind my back. "Hey," I said, pulling back slightly so I could look at him. "Don't do this."
"Do what? Say the truth?" he asked, a mix of broken and pissed, a combination that would not be good in another minute or two. "All I have done since I walked down that street that night was fucking wrong. I have fucked everything up with every choice I have made."
"You don't believe that--"
"I haven't--"
"No," I cut him off. "I'm talking," I clarified, pleased when he looked taken aback for a second, the new emotion wiping a bit of the anger away. "You don't believe that what you did that night was wrong. In fact, not a single person in the world - including the asshole you beat up - thinks what you did was wrong. You did the right thing for the right reasons and got the wrong judgment in court."
"I beat a man half to death, Autumn. The judgment wasn't wrong. I did do that."
He wasn't wrong, and I was having a hard time coming up with a rebuttal, but I wanted to keep him talking. His body was relaxing with every word.
"You're talking about it like you walked up to some random innocent and beat him. You stopped a bully from possibly killing a woman he was supposed to honor and cherish. He should have gone away for that. In lieu of that, you should have been up on charges that were thrown away given the situation. It was a miscarriage of justice from the second that battered woman was allowed to be taken away by the very people who allowed her abuser to keep hurting her. You did the right thing in trying to protect her."
"You don't have to raise your voice, sweetheart," he said, making me realize that I had almost been yelling. I wasn't the best with strong emotions, and they had a tendency to burst out of me in almost manic explosions of feeling. "I'm listening," he added.
"I can't imagine what it felt like when you realized you were going to lose six years of your life, Eli. I, I just... I can't fathom that. But because I can't even wrap my head around it, I know - not think - know that whatever decision you needed to make to be able to survive those six years was the right decision. There are consequences to every choice we make, good and bad, you just have to deal with them as they come. You're here now, Eli. You can make amends. You can spend the next forty years showing Becca just how perfect she is, how lovable. You can meet all those kids and show them how awesome their Uncle Eli is. You can mend bonds with your brothers, sisters-in-law, and parents. You have that chance. But you aren't going to accomplish that by being out here bitching about a choice that didn't go the way you planned."
There.
That about covered it.
I felt like I was shaking, knowing some of the things were a bit aggressive, worried it would drive a wedge, but knowing down to my marrow that he needed to hear it regardless.
When I finished though, he didn't seem mad or upset.
Instead, he was watching me like I had sprouted another head and it started singing in Swahili.
He looked at me like I confused him.
Then, slowly, his lips twitched, then tugged upward into a smile. "I've had my ass handed to me a lot in my life," he started oddly. "My mom used to whoop it when I stepped out of line. My brothers did it just to fuck with me. It came with the job as I aged up. But I've never had my ass handed to me verbally before. That's quite a hook you got there, sweetheart."
"Well," I said, feeling oddly confused and proud at the same time, "you were losing your shit. You needed your ass kicked a little."
"Guess I did," he agreed, smiling fully. "Thank you."
"Hey, if ever you need an ass-kicking, you know where to find me," I said, trying to keep things light, especially because there was something deep in his eyes that I couldn't place, and therefore felt worried about.
"Good to know. You can verbally whoop mine," he agreed, eyes going molten, "and I can physically whoop yours from time to time."