His swallow is audible and when he doesn’t continue, instead staring ahead at the same logo flitting across the television that’s kept me company for hours, I nearly push for more, but I don’t have to. He leans forward with a huff, grabbing the remote and turning the TV off altogether while telling me the rest of it.
“William wanted my father to live with him during chemo treatments. Cade refused to let it happen. William owed him money and had a gambling addiction. He accused William of trying to take our father’s income.”
Shock widens my eyes. “That … couldn’t have gone over well.”
Shaking his head, Zander agrees. “They were fighting on the front porch, screaming at each other. I jumped in the middle of it to tell them both off. The three of us were yelling like crazy and that’s when my father got pissed off and told us all to go home.” Zander licks his lower lip, then offers me a sad smile. “He died later that night.”
The tears prick again, but I can’t hold them back this time. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him and wipe under my eyes.
“It happened eight years ago now. But I didn’t speak to either of my brothers for years after, other than the occasional text on holidays and birthdays. We were close. Then one day … we weren’t.”
“What changed?”
“I went through some things two years ago and Cade was there.”
“What about William?”
“I was never close with William. He and Cade have their history, but it’s the same with William as it’s always been. I hear from him when he needs something.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You’re awfully sorry for me tonight,” Zander says as if it’s a joke. “Want to know the dirt on Cade from when we were in high school?” he offers with a smirk. “You can’t tell him I told you, though.”
“You’re awful,” I say and gently brush my foot against his thigh as if it’s an admonishment, although a smile is clearly seen on my face. “And of course I do. Spill it.”
The next stories are far more entertaining, although I find myself comparing his childhood experiences to mine. His are … so much more innocent than my own. Even with things like sneaking out at night and replacing his father’s bourbon with colored water being his examples of why they were bad children, they weren’t at all compared to the horrific shit I got into. My father was long gone by then, though. If Kam hadn’t been there for me, I’d have gone off the deep end ages ago.
I don’t tell Zander that. I simply listen to his tales as if they were sweet lullabies. The soothing cadence of his deep voice distracts me from my previous plans.
Time slips by much faster than it did before.
My eyes are heavy as my head sinks deeply into the soft down feather pillow. As I shrug my shoulder in an attempt to pull the soft fleece higher, Zander aids me, tugging the blanket up and tucking it under my chin.
With a simper gracing my lips, I peek up at him and he offers me the kind of smile that threatens to break me. A kind one. Sincere and hopeful.
My own vanishes and I close my eyes tighter, feigning exhaustion as I rub my eyes and destroy his efforts to keep the blanket tucked over me securely. I nearly ask him to go, but I don’t. As the tears come, I pull the blanket up higher, hiding and wanting to bury myself in it. Maybe I’ll regret it, but right now, I’d regret not leaning into him more than anything if I don’t do it this second.
I crawl closer to him, turning around so I’m able to push my body into his. His left arm raises, giving me room and I put the pillow on his thigh. At least I give him that to separate us. My breathing struggles as I bury my head there, pretending the dams haven’t broken. His arm lays easily against my body, the weight of it hugging my curves. His warmth is instant. He doesn’t shush me, but he does hum lightly; it’s a soothing rumble.
The overwhelming sadness came from nothing and it feels like everything. I swear I was okay. I was.
With heat rising to my face as tears pool under my eyes, I focus on his strong hand splayed over my hip, his thumb rubbing soothing motions.
The sobs take over; I can’t control them. I wish I could hide my face better, but Zander refuses to let me, brushing the hair out of my face. In an attempt to swat away his hand so I can hide beneath my dark locks, I lift my arm, but his grip is faster. Catching my wrist in his hand.
Inhaling deeply, I peer up at him through my thick lashes, tainted with beads of tears. My vision is still blurry when the rough pad of his thumb runs under my eyes. One at a time, ever so gently, and at odds with the calluses he’s earned over the years.
The distraction pulls me from my outburst and a moment passes and then another before my breathing has steadied again, and I’m able to fully recollect what happened.
Neither of us speaks for a long moment as I calm myself, taking in long inhales and blowing out even longer exhales.
He’s the first to speak and although I dread it, I’m grateful he takes the lead in the conversation.
“Do you know what brought it on?” he questions me just as I’m replaying the scene in my mind. Shaking my head I whisper no and consider moving, but he’s still running those soothing circles through the thin fabric of my nightgown. More importantly, the pillow shifted at some point behind me, and now my cheek rests firmly against his thigh. The jeans aren’t nearly as comfortable pressed against my skin, but they smell like him.
And he’s so damn warm. Everything about him is comforting. Almost familiar in some strange way.
“I don’t know,” I add and note that my throat feels like it’s on fire. I barely even spoke today. Just as I’m reaching up to my throat, Zander reaches across me, one hand holding me in place, the other picking up the cup and handing it to me.