THIRTEEN
Colby
It was late by the time we got home after ice cream, and I still had to write a blog post before I went to bed.
“Upstairs, kids,” Rip said as we walked into the dark kitchen. “Brush your teeth and put on your pajamas. We’ll both be up in a little bit to put you to bed.”
“Can we sleep in the big bed again?” Ben asked in a sweet little voice. “Please?”
We were seriously creating some bad habits.
“Please, please, please,” Viera mimicked him. “It smells like Mommy and Daddy in that room.”
My throat got thick with emotion as I watched the look of horror pass across Rip’s face.
“Sure, but just one more time,” he said in a subdued tone, and I was thankful he’d answered because there was no way I could speak.
I had a feeling that promise wasn’t going to stick, but I didn’t say anything. Both kids sprinted up the stairs in a flurry of movement and stomps.
“That was nice of you,” I whispered into the darkness. Neither of us moved to turn on the lights.
He was still, staring at the stairway, when I came up behind him and touched his arm. “Rip?”
“I miss them.” His voice was barely audible.
It was the first time he’d offered it up without prompting. Apparently he did have a heart in that perfect body of his.
“I know you do,” I said softly, almost afraid to say more since he was finally opening up. “Would it help if we talked about it?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I just need to work through it.”
“By not talking about it?”
“I look at the door a lot…,” he went on, hanging his head. “I still imagine them walking back through it. I go to bed and I dream about it, only to wake up and be stuck in the nightmare.”
“Our lives aren’t a nightmare, Rip,” I whispered. “You have two amazing little kids who adore you, great friends, a wonderful job…”
“But they’re gone,” he said. “And no matter what I have—I don’t have them, not anymore.”
I swallowed past the thickness in my throat. “You’ll always have me.”
I’d turned to go up the stairs when he reached for my hand and pulled me back against him, pulling me into his embrace for a tight hug.
I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do other than wrap my arms around him and hold him tight.
He smelled like spice and warmth, his arms strong, holding me steady.
He rested his chin on my head and sighed. “I’m not usually a hugger.”
“We can change that,” I said against his chest.
His laugh was low, sexy. “I still think you’re a hot mess.”
“And I still think you have a perpetual stick up your ass.”
“Good to know.”
“Yup.”