Page 95 of Scoring Eden

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t want you feeling so alone.” He releases me from his heartrending stare to study his shoes. “I know it’s not actually your stuff, but it would have felt weird to go into your apartment and bring it all here without you knowing. I just… I thought, maybe, that it would help if you had a taste of home here while we finish…you know, this thing we’re doing. And that it might be good for Macon too, to be surrounded by something familiar.”

This thing we’re doing.

Faking feelings for each other that, evidently, aren’t all that fake at all—at least on my end. But after what he told me last night, maybe on his end too. It’s the cruelest form of torture, knowing that the only reason we can’t explore this thing between us for real is because he won’t allow us to.

“I hadn’t thought about what it must be like for you to be here—not really, not until you said what you did last night. And I know that I’ve drawn a line that I won’t let us cross, but that doesn’t mean that I want you to be uncomfortable while you’re here.”

I’ll just wait here, alone, in an apartment that isn’t mine, without any of my own stuff, while my son asks where you are.

That’s what I’d said last night. And while I’d meant every word, I didn’t expect him to do anything about it. Not like this.

But I should know Alex well enough by now to realize that he needs to take care of those around him. It’s instinct for him, as if his entire being has been crocheted out of yarns of kindness and protection, leaving him no choice but to constantly put himself out for the betterment of others.

Whether it’s buying the house next to his sister’s so he can be sure she’s safe, or cleaning blood off his bed sheets because I leaked during the night, or redecorating his entire apartment to make it feel more like home for me and my son. He wouldn’t be Alex if he wasn’t doing something for somebody.

“So, do you like it? You can redo whatever you want. I’ll pay for it all, of course. Ah, who am I kidding? You probably hate it. Aspen said you’d appreciate the effort, but I knew you’d rather do it yourself. God, I—”

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He sags like I’ve just removed an eight-hundred-pound weight from his shoulders. And finally, a glimpse of a smile peeks out from the corners of his lips. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until now. No matter how much I might be hurting, Alex doesn’t look right without his smile.

He raises an arm to scratch the back of his head, a small blush staining his cheeks. That’s new. He didn’t even blush when he came in his pants.

“So, I don’t need to retile?”

“No, you don’t need to retile.”

In my periphery, Macon bounds onto the couch and flops into the mauve throw cushions. “Alex, can we play Minecraft now?”

My head snaps toward him. “Buddy, it’s ten p.m. You gotta go to bed.”

“But I’m not even”—he pauses to release an enormous yawn, jaw stretching as wide as a hippopotamus—“tired.”

Alex snorts, lowering himself beside him. “Come on, kiddo. I’ll play with you tomorrow, yeah?”

My son blinks tired eyes up at him. “Promise?”

“Yep.”

“And you won’t break it?”

“Have I broken a promise to you yet?”

Macon shakes his head, gazing up at Alex like he hung the damn moon. “Can you put me to bed tonight?”

Pain and longing singes along my synapses, but there’s also gratitude. That, even temporarily, my son has experienced the type of warmth and dependability that he should have been shown by his own father.

“That’s up to your mom, big guy.”

I give a small nod of my head. “Get your pajamas on first and brush your teeth. You can come and get Alex when you’re done.”

Macon launches himself off the sofa with a squeal and trips over his own feet.