“Nope. I’m not starting over, Scotty. Prayers are how you feel at the end of the day. They don’t have to be the same every night.”
“But you said it wrong,” he insisted, and even though he was lying down, I could see the agitation in his body in the way he started rolling from side to side, hands at his ears.
“It’s not wrong, buddy. It’s just something I added. We can be thankful for new things, don’t you think?”
“Start over, start over,” he repeated, and I sensed a meltdown coming. “You have to start over or it’s not right. Start over, start over, start over.”
I sighed, closing my eyes for a second. This was one of those moments where I wanted to be firm. I wanted to say No, I don’t have to start over. If I want to be fucking thankful for a new friend, you should let me say it, and stop acting like this. I love you, and I know you’re doing the best you can, but stop it. Just stop.
He began to cry, and I said nothing, just pulled back the covers and got in bed next to him. Maybe his day had been harder than I knew. Maybe his sensory input was already overwhelmed. Maybe this tiny change in the prayers sounded like an avalanche to him, where I heard only a marble bouncing down the stairs.
I didn’t know. Because he couldn’t tell me, and I felt ashamed of myself for wanting him to be something other than he was, even for a moment.
Just leave the prayers as they are tonight. Maybe tomorrow, you can talk about adding some new things to be grateful for, at a time when you’re not trying to get him calm enough to fall asleep.
I put my arms around him, trying to quiet his restless body. “Hey, hey. It’s OK. I’m sorry, I’ll start again. Let’s say them together.”
Was I doing the right thing? Who the hell knew? Maybe I should have insisted he be more flexible. Ten fucking times a day, I second-guessed myself.
Which was another reason why it had felt so good to be in Jillian’s bed tonight. No second thoughts or hesitation. I’d felt more confident, more relaxed, more myself than I had in years. It was like some part of me had been silenced for so long—the part that was just a man with his own needs and wants and self-interests apart from being Scotty’s father—I’d forgotten he even existed (aside from the occasional furnace maintenance).
But suddenly he had a voice. Was it selfish of me to listen to it? I’d made a promise to my son, and I intended to keep it. I knew that was right.
But being with Jillian felt right too.
I couldn’t walk away.
After Levi left, I had some soup, poured some wine, and stared at the same page in the book I was reading for an hour, a silly grin on my face. Eventually, I gave up reading and got in bed, which still smelled like Levi and sex. I lay on my side, hugging my second pillow and breathing in the scent, my stomach fluttering as if I’d swallowed a flight of doves for dinner.
Moment by moment, I relived the hour we’d spent here, relishing each kiss and caress, each sigh and moan, each dirty word from his mouth and every thrust of his cock inside me.
I’d be sore tomorrow.
I didn’t care.
Flopping onto my back, I smiled at the ceiling and wondered how soon we could do it again. I was still lying there, thinking about all the things I wanted to do to him next time we were together, when I heard my phone vibrate. I glanced at my clock and saw it was after midnight.
Rolling to my side, I picked up my phone, hoping it was him. It was.
Get out of my head already. I’m trying to sleep.
I grinned. Me too.
I’m sorry I had to leave so fast.
Don’t be. I’ll be sore enough as it is in the morning.
Is it bad that I’m proud of that?
No. You can be proud.
I want to see you again.
Under the covers, I wiggled my toes. When?
Next weekend?
Want to come over for dinner?