Page 18 of Don’t Call Me Son

Archie’s breath hitches as tears slip down his cheeks, but he doesn’t speak. He just stares at me, barely blinking, completely raw.

“I’m so sorry your dad didn’t get to see you run tonight,” I whisper. “He would’ve been so fucking proud. The way you moved… the way you lit up out there. I’m proud as hell that I got to be there; that I got to watch you do something you love so much. You’re incredible, Archie. You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re kind… and you deserve to take up space. You deserve to be loud. You deserve to be selfish sometimes. You deserve someone who reminds you every single day how fucking amazing you are.”

I rest my forehead against his, voice dropping even softer. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re in the way again. Not in this house, not with me. I see you now… and I’m here, Archie… I’m right here.”

Archie doesn’t say a word. He just sits there in my lap, tears falling silently, lips pressed tight together like he’s trying not to break. He looks so vulnerable; so heartbreakingly young. Like no one has ever really seen the weight he’s been carrying since he was fourteen. I hope, more than anything, that he feels even a little bit of comfort in this moment.

I just hold him for a while. Archie curls against my chest, silently crying; trying so hard to be quiet, still thinking about not waking his mom even now. It breaks my heart and makes me proud of him at the same time.

After a few minutes I pull back again; I smile at him, soft and a little sad. “Sorry for upsetting you, Arch. I just needed you to know I see you, baby.”

He nods, eyes wide and wet, lips pressed tightly together like he doesn’t trust his voice.

I grin as much as I can through the heaviness in my chest. “You don’t want to talk?”

He shakes his head almost comically, lips still sealed. I let out a quiet breath and stand, keeping him in my arms. His legs instinctively wrap around my waist. I hike him up higher, hands under his thighs, and carry him like he’s something precious. His head drops heavily onto my shoulder, all the energy draining out of him. His crying has slowed, but he probably needed that.

I don’t bother turning off the TV. It’ll shut itself off soon anyway, and it’s muted. I flip the light off with my elbow and carry him slowly upstairs, careful not to jostle him.

I pause outside my bedroom door, listening; Sarah’s still snoring gently, good. Then keep going down the hall and gently kick Archie’s bedroom door shut behind us. I manage to twist the lock without dropping him, then walk over and carefully lay him down on his bed, and pull the covers over him. I don’t want to invade his space, so I kneel beside the bed, just watching him curl up small under the blanket.

Archie’s voice is barely a whisper. “You should go to bed, Colt.”

I tilt my head and reach out, gently stroking his damp hair. “Is that what you want, Archie? For me to go?”

He doesn’t answer right away, he just inhales shakily; that hesitation tells me everything. Eventually he nods, like he thinks that’s the right thing to say.

I shake my head softly. “Archie… what do you really want?”

His lip trembles, before he rolls over, pulling the covers up to his chin. His whole body starts shaking again as fresh tears come, still trying so hard to stay quiet.

I stand up, still fully dressed, and lift the covers. I slide in behind him and pull his back against my chest, wrapping my arms around him tightly. Pressing a long kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m right here, baby,” I murmur against his hair. “It’s okay.”

Archie nods, a tiny, relieved movement, and tucks himself closer to me like he’s grateful I stayed.

Chapter Eight

Archie

I wake up slowly, still half-lost in sleep, warm and heavy. My robe is tangled around me, twisted from how I slept. It takes me a second to realize I’m not alone… I’m lying on top of Colt. My head lifts groggily and I blink in confusion, trying to make sense of it.

Then Colt lets out a deep, sleepy rumble of a laugh underneath me. I look down to see he’s awake, eyes soft.

“It’s only four, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. His hand comes up to stroke my jaw fondly. “Go back to sleep. It’s Saturday.”

I roll off him carefully, stretching my sore body with a quiet groan. Guilt hits me almost immediately. “You really need to go back to Mom now, Colt,” I whisper.

Colt sighs but rolls onto his side to face me. “Her alarm isn’t set until eight today, Arch. That’s four hours away.”

I look at him for a long moment. Last night… the way he saw me… really saw me; no one has ever looked that deep. Not even Mom. He found every crack and every hidden piece of pain and loneliness I’ve been carrying since Dad died. I grieved him, sure; I cried for a few days. But then I realized it was just me and Mom, and I had to be strong for her. I guess by the time Colt came into our lives, that quiet maturity and locked-away grief had become part of who I was. I don’t even know how to let it go anymore.

And Colt… he saw all of it.

“Thank you, Colt,” I whisper, voice thick.

He nods like I don’t even need to explain. “You don’t need to thank me, Arch.”