“We haven’t decided,” I replied. “I saw a hotel on our way in—”
“Nonsense,” his mother said. “Y'all can stay here and have Miller’s old bedroom.”
I could see the desperation in her eyes; the fear Miller would leave and not come back.
“Okay,” Miller said impulsively for the two of us. “We’ll stay.” He turned to me, realizing what he’d done. “If that’s okay?”
“It’s fine with me.”
I woke up in the middle of the night to find my arms empty. Wooly and Sprinkles were lying on Miller’s pillow, but my little darling was nowhere to be found. Tossing back the covers with a groan, I grabbed a shirt out of my suitcase and slid it over my head as I exited the room.
Hearing the sound of a television running, I sighed and ventured downstairs. I figured Miller had been unable to sleep and had wandered downstairs to watch something.
Rounding the corner, I smiled at the picture Miller made as he sprawled out on the couch, the large t-shirt he’d borrowed from me swallowing his frame. Approaching him, I brushed back his hair, not noticing the figure in the chair nearby.
“We used to do this every night,” his father said, his eyes glued to the old western playing on the screen. “I have trouble sleeping. He’d always slip out of bed and join me.” He chuckled. “Used to drive his mother crazy.”
He lifted his hand and toyed with the remote. “There’s not a day that has gone by when I didn’t miss him,” he said, his throat thick with emotion. “I just didn’t know what to do. He was always so wild.” His voice was wet, but I didn’t reply. “But not anymore. He’s… timid.”
What was there to say that he didn’t already know?
You left your son with an abuser who did his best to squash every bit of the wildness you didn’t know you loved in him. You cut contact with him when he needed you the most. You abandoned him.
My silence spoke volumes, and he knew it.
“Get him to bed,” he said, sounding every bit of his age. “That couch isn’t comfortable.”
I placed my hand on Miller's shoulder and shook him awake. “Miller, come on, little darling. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Miller grumbled as I helped him up. “Ten more minutes.”
I laughed. “You can have as much time as you want as long as you come back to bed.”
He smiled and allowed me to help him back up the stairs. I tucked him in under the covers with Wooly and Sprinkles and climbed in after him, knowing he would always be safe in my arms.
Chapter Fifteen
Miller
I woke up before the sun began peeking in through the curtains. A faint haze of light was beginning to peek over the horizon. Rubbing my eyes, I looked around the room and remembered where I was. Carson was asleep beside me, his arm flung out and hanging off the side of the bed.
I hugged Sprinkles and watched Carson as I tried to see a way forward. The day before had been so painfully awkward, and I couldn’t stand another day of dancing around the issue.
As I lay there, the sweet scent of pancakes wafted through the air followed by a hint of fried sausage. Lifting my head, I turned toward the door, imagining my mother down in the kitchen, cooking us breakfast, humming at the stove as she flipped pancakes. Suddenly remembering the conversation I’d had with Carson in his kitchen not that long ago, I reached for the covers and pulled them back.
I tried to get up but was held back by a solid arm wrapped around my waist.
“Where are you going?”
I turned back to find Carson looking at me through sleepy eyes. “Downstairs. My mom’s cooking breakfast.”
“Do you want me to go with you? I can get up.”
“No,” I said softly as his arm let me go. “I need to do this alone.”
Carson nodded in understanding. “Come get me if you need me.”
“I will.” I leaned down and brushed a kiss to his cheek.
I’d been thankful for his presence so far, but I needed to do this without him. Sometimes even littles had to stand on their own two feet.
Dressed in Carson’s t-shirt and a pair of sleeping shorts, I opened the door and ventured downstairs. Standing in the entryway to the kitchen, I found my mother at the stove. Her hair was up in a messy bun and her threadbare robe was one I’d never seen her