“This is for him,” Brent responded, but the force of the protest made him fall. He dropped to the ground, the envelope falling with him. Melinda bent to retrieve it without thinking, but it was filthy. She opened it quickly, and gasped.
“What is it?” Ra’if asked curiously.
Melinda shook her head, running her fingers over the leather braid. “It’s a necklace. I gave it to Brent when we first started… dating.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m surprised you didn’t sell it for a fix.”
“I kept it for him,” Brent mumbled, but he was barely coherent. “It’s for Christmas.”
Melinda compressed her lips,
and when she looked at Ra’if she bore such an expression of hopelessness that Ra’if immediately reacted. “I’ll take care of him.”
“No, he’s my problem…”
“Melinda, I meant it when I said I loved you. That means loving all of you. Even your problems and your past.” His meaning, whether he’d intended to lay it before her or not, was clear. Did she love him? If so, didn’t that mean that she had to love his past and problems too? And wasn’t that part of being in a relationship?
She swallowed and nodded, pushing aside the prickly issue for later analysis. “I can call an ambulance.”
“No.” He put a hand out to still hers. “I have spoken to the director of the facility I was at. I will have him taken there tonight.”
“What? Isn’t it in America?”
“It is the best.”
“But …” Her head was spinning.
“He is Jordan’s father. Let me do it. For him, and for you.”
“Ra’if.” A groan. An uncertain plea.
“It is my honour,” he said simply, and she could see in every line of his face the ruler that he would have been; the man he was. Powerful, confident, strong, flawed – yes, but brave too, for he’d fought and faced his flaws and conquered them. How many people could say that?
He reached down and picked Brent up easily. As Ra’if lifted him, Brent vomited a little, filling the hallway with stench.
Melinda swore, her eyes huge on his face. “I’m sorry.”
“It is not your place to apologise.” Ra’if said seriously. “Go to sleep. Don’t let Santa wake you,” he called over his shoulder, carrying the other man downstairs as though he weighed no more than a feather.
It was Christmas eve, and he was looking eye to eye with the ghost of Christmas past.
* * *
“Damn it.” She glared at the blackened gravy – the second she’d burned that day.
Jordan didn’t hear the curse. He was driving a remote control car around the sofa in noisy circles that were giving Melinda a bit of a headache. But it was so rare for her son to have new toys that she didn’t contemplate asking him to stop.
She checked her phone for the tenth time in as many minutes.
The screen was blank. No calls or texts from Ra’if.
What did that mean?
Was he okay?
Had Brent hurt him?
Was Brent okay?
Had he choked on vomit?