Finally Finding Faith (The Reed Brothers 3.5)

She’s quiet for a second, and I don’t know what to say because I can see the picture she’s painting in my head, and it’s f**king beautiful. But it’s not real. My strings were cut, and they can’t connect with anyone. Not anymore. I’m so f**king tired of being alone. “Sorry, Faith, but I think that’s bullshit.”

She sits up and takes my face in her hands. “It’s not bullshit,” she says. “So shut the f**k up and connect with me, damn it.”

I shake my head and pull her hands from my face. “I don’t want any connections.”

“Yes, you do. Everyone longs for connections. Why do you think people have sex? One nighters? Because it’s a connection.” She snorts, and my God, it’s the prettiest noise I have ever heard. “Not that I want to have sex with you or anything,” she clarifies, but she’s smiling.

“You want to have sex with me,” I tease, because teasing is easier than forcing myself to feel something real.

“I don’t want anything with you unless you’re able to make a connection.” She sits up and tosses the blanket to the side. “You’re not broken, Daniel. You’re just healing. Once you’re healed, your strings will automatically search for connections again.” She stands up and puts her hands on her hips. “We crave connections, and when you give up on those connections, you may as well be dead.”

I am dead inside.

“You’re so f**king sad that I want to grab on to you and force you to come back to life, but you’re the only one who can do that, Daniel.” She gets up and steps away from me.

“Where are you going?” I ask. I want to catch her hand, thread my fingers through hers, and pull her into my lap so I can hold her. I want to breathe her in. I want to… I can’t. I just can’t.

“To work on your watch,” she says on a heavy sigh. I push to get up, but she shoves my shoulder. “Stay,” she says. “Take a break.” She covers me with the blanket, tucking it around me, taking more care than anyone has with me in a really long time.

“I just need for you to fix my watch, Faith,” I say.

She bites her lips together. “That’s not all you need, Daniel,” she says softly. She presses her lips to my forehead, her breath lingering there, and I feel a f**king sob building inside me. I push her back before it can come out.

“That’s enough,” I grunt.

“I know,” she says. “Thanks for telling me your story,” she says quietly. “I’m very sorry you survived.”

I know what she means. “So am I,” I say.

Faith

I watch him from where I’m sitting across the room, and he’s tormented by his own thoughts and reactions. I want to comfort him, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do for him right now. He settles into the sofa, and he looks so conflicted that I want to crawl in his lap and soften him. But I can’t. He wouldn’t accept it if I tried.

I believe in faith. I believe in love. I believe that there is something bigger than me, and that belief guides my connections with others. It strengthens the strings that hold us all together. I believe in kindness and goodness and light. I can see that Daniel hasn’t let light in for a long time. Where there’s no light, feelings can’t grow.

I can’t be the light that shines on him unless he’s willing to open up and let me in. It doesn’t even have to be me that he lets in, but I hope it’s someone.

He’s asleep now on the sofa. He finally nodded off around two in the morning. I pull the blanket up under his chin like he’s a baby, and he flinches. I try not to wake him, but it looks like his dreams are unpleasant. I’m afraid if I shake him from them that he’ll startle. So, I brush a quick hand across his buzz cut and leave him.

I need to get a shower and get dressed. I’m still in my jammies. I walk upstairs and stick my head in Nan’s room. Granddad has crawled in her hospital bed with her, and she’s curled up with him spooning her. They end up like this most nights. I watch them for a moment and wonder what it’ll be like when she’s gone. How badly will he grieve? How much will he miss her? Will he shut down like Daniel has? Or will he seek comfort from other connections?

I grab a shower and dress warmly in a sweatshirt and jeans, and put on my thickest socks and my boots. There’s still snow on the ground and it can get chilly in the basement. But I want to finish Daniel’s watch. I pour two cups of coffee just in case he’s awake. If he’s not, I’ll just drink them both.

I open the door to the basement and I can hear him snoring softly from the bottom of the steps. He has lifted his feet up on the couch and the blankets are pulled up to his chest. Well, one foot. The other, he has removed and it’s lying on the floor beside him. Apparently, he made himself comfortable when he saw that I was gone.

I work on his watch until the sun comes up, and I drink both the cups of coffee. I can’t get the damn watch to work, and no matter how many times I take it apart, it won’t work on its own power. I don’t know what more I can do. Granddad comes down the stairs and looks at me. His brow lifts. He’s carrying a full pot of coffee. I still haven’t slept from the night before, but I slept some of the day yesterday when Nan was sleeping. She has these crazy sleep cycles.

“You still working on that thing?” he asks quietly as he gets close to me.

I throw my hands up in surrender. “I’ve taken it apart and put it back together more times than I can count,” I explain. “I can’t think of any reason why it won’t work.” I motion him closer. He pours a fresh cup of coffee for me.