Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 4)

Something inside me settles, all while a knot forms in my chest as I remember my place, or lack thereof.

Another minute or two passes, and in my peripheral I see Royce slowly make his way out as Maddoc moves closer, his hand coming down on Cap’s shoulder.

Captain nods and they too leave, the lights dimming as they exit.

And then it’s just us.

I chance a glance at Zoey who seems to be wide awake now, eyes glued to the screen.

She catches me looking and smiles, lifting her head.

Captain freezes when she climbs off him and crawls across the cushion, laying her head, right where my elbow is pressed.

She doesn’t say anything, just lies there, and I drink her in, knowing I might not have another opportunity to be near her like this.

I drop my arm, placing my chin on my hand and stare at her.

She giggles, stretching in to rub her nose along mine.

“Eskimo kisses,” I dare to whisper.

“Butterfly hugs,” she tries to whisper back.

I chuckle lightly at her pronunciation and horrible whisper, and then my eyes slice toward Captain.

He watches her, a heavy strain in his brows, defeat in his demeanor and I feel like a complete asshole.

He was finally able to comfort her as he’s fought to find a way to all night, and here I am, taking this from him—another first of hers he’s missing, holding her when she’s sick.

I risk his anger, should he give it to me later, and turn back to Zoey.

“Can you move over for me, ZoZo?”

She does, so I climb on the couch beside her, and as I had hoped, she chooses her daddy’s lap to lie her head on.

I don’t glance at Captain, but I can sense the relief slowly settling into him as Zoey’s breathing grows steady, her eyes glued to the screen as she watches her favorite show.CaptainMe.

I take a deep breath, running my hand over Zoey’s hair.

Her eyes flutter heavier as she begins to fall asleep, but every time my voice is heard on the screen they fly open, and damn if an overwhelming sense of calm doesn’t spread through me, taking every ounce of tension and uncertainty with it.

For the very first time since I learned I was a dad... I believe it.

I believe, deep in my core, with every thread of my soul, every inch of who I am, I know I was meant for this.

For her.

For the beautiful, smart, courageous, little girl, who is half of me, but owns every piece.

All my baby girl wanted tonight, while I stood convinced this was the proof I feared would show itself, that I wasn’t enough for her, was to watch videos of me. To feel close to me in a way she must have become accustomed to.

This. These clips are how she felt me, came to love me, grew close when I wasn’t within her reach.

She must have watched them often to have our phrases and things memorized.

She had me with her all along.

The videos aren’t clean, you still get our slang and some cussing here and there, but it’s not vulgar or anything too bad. It’s us.

At the park, at the school, even in gym.

It’s as if it was purposely filmed this way, left true and honest, so Zoey, while away, could get to know the real us, unfiltered, unedited, and in our element.

My eyes close and I inhale deeply, pulling every bit of this moment into myself I can, when suddenly, the cushion dips beside me.

My eyes fly open and look over.

Victoria has her gaze locked where Zoey’s feet lie in her lap, and gingerly begins to slide away, freezing when my hand shoots across to capture her knee cap.

Weary brown eyes hit mine, searching.

“I... she’s sleeping,” she whispers unsure, as if I might not have noticed.

I did.

Still, for some reason, my hand moved to stop her.

Hers suddenly falls on top.

I frown at the contact. “I told you not to touch me.”

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I know.”

Something in me stings.

I don’t know why I reached for her, to help keep Zoey sleeping, maybe, but that doesn’t explain why it takes more effort than I’d like to admit to let go.

I do, but she doesn’t move right away.

Victoria hesitantly reaches over to drag the back of her hand over Zoey’s forehead. Deep brown eyes lift to mine. “Her fever is gone.”

I nod, my brows furrowing.

Noticed that too.

She manages to stand and begins walking past but freezes when the video changes to one of us playing on the school courts.

It’s more recent, toward the end of the season.

“Should I turn it off?” she asks.

But I just keep staring at her, unsure of what to say, torn between demanding her to stay and wanting her to want to.

Does she want to?

I say nothing, instead focusing on the screen as I shake my head.