Pick up a brick and set it down. Pick up a brick and set it down. Don't think about the sun and how fucking hot it is. Don't think about the endless list of tasks and the endless blank days sitting in front of you. Definitely, don't think about the fact that the only guy you ever loved drove away.

Connor squinted into the sun, then wiped the stinging sweat out of his eyes with the hem of his T-shirt. The water bottle he didn't remember getting was still icy cold, beads of condensation running down the sides. He took a long drink, a deep breath, and went back to work.

Bend. Stack. Sweat. Just like the marches in the Marines. Body armor heavy, pack heavier, weapon heaviest still. The things they carried. One foot in front of the other.

Think about what was right in front of you.

Not two minutes from now, and definitely not dinner time, because if you think about how far away that was, how long and terrible the hours between now and then were, you'll fall down and die. Or worse, cry.

Don't think about the weight or the sun or the futility. Knock down the bricks, then stack them back up again.

There were just so many bricks and pieces of bricks spread out across the yard. They'd gone flying further than he'd expected.

Lift, carry, stack. Don't think about how your arms ache. That pain belongs to someone else, someplace else.

List. Lists are good. Tortillas. Milk. Cheese. Gatorade. Pillows and posters and paint for the kids' new rooms.

Sweat covered his whole body but it felt good. Cleansing.

He took a drink from his still-cold water bottle. It was impressive how long the bottle kept water cold. He really should write the manufacturer and commend them for their design.

So, anyway, a car for Sean.

Beau had been pushing for a minivan but the Volvo would be best.

His mom would have loved Beau. She would have loved his hair and she would have loved the hockey game. If only he could talk to her. He had so much he wanted to ask her. Of course, if she were still there, he wouldn’t have the questions. Connor shook his head hard.

How did you do it? Did you worry about me when I was six and asking where my father was? When I was eleven and had no friends? When I was fourteen and in a hurry to grow up? Sixteen and angry and aggressively gay? Just asking to get my face beat? Did you worry less when I was twenty-one and far away from home?

These big bricks would probably be easier to carry if they were beat to smithereens. Connor grabbed the sledgehammer that had been left in the dirt. Sweat burned his eyes, and he ripped off his filthy T-shirt, wiped his face with it, and threw it on the ground. It fluttered down, landing next to a paper plate with a sandwich on it.

Suddenly, Connor was starving. He put the hammer down and wiped the grit, pieces of brick, and bloody dirt off his hands by rote. He ate the sandwich in four bites, tasting none of them.

The hammer felt good in his hands when he picked it back up.

When he let it drop again, distantly aware of the aching in his body from neck to thighs, the shadows had grown longer, stretching further across the yard.

Time flies.

Connor suddenly realized he only had two more years before Sean went off to college.

Two years will fly. Between school and sports and his friends, Sean is barely home now. What if he starts dating? Dating a guy? And if he has a car? I’ll never see him.

There was so much he needed to tell Sean. How could he get Sean to stay? Though why would Sean hang around with him and the little kids?

Maybe they could work on a car together? Get him the Volvo for now and then a find a better one they could fix up. It would give Sean a reason to stick around.

Connor dropped the hammer with a grunt. When had he picked it up? A memory hit Connor in the gut, and he went down on one knee in the dirt.

Brent smiling at a much younger Connor bent over the engine of the Mustang, explaining for the third time why the oxygen and gas mixture was so important.

A sharp pain flared briefly in Connor's consciousness then faded away.

Brent had known the whole time. Of course, he had. He was a good man, a smart man. A man who loved Connor. Had loved Connor.

Connor would give anything to have his parents back. Everything. Because life is short, and he'd never said the things he needed to say to them.

What about Beau? He’d had that chance and he’d blown it. Let him drive off in a fucking minivan because he was too scared to say what he had been thinking. He never even asked Beau to stay.

A cold breeze sent a chill down his spine, goosebumps pebbling his skin and nipples tightening so fast they hurt. He blinked, struggling to see in the suddenly dim light. His hands hurt.

"Come on," a voice said. A hand on his arm urged him up. He hadn't realized he was kneeling. A man put his arm around Connor and led him across the yard. The sun was setting low behind the creek.

"Sit," the voice said.

Sean. The man helping him was Sean.

Connor forced himself to concentrate. He went willingly when Sean pushed him down to the familiar branch of the oak tree. "Drink this." He pushed a beer into Connor's hand.

Connor drank half of it in one long pull. The cold bitter sting pulled him part of the way back. He should probably say something about the habit they were getting in of turning to alcohol after a breakdown, but since it seemed to be working, he'd table it for later. He finished the beer in a second long pull.

Sean handed him a second one, top already twisted off. Yeah, they definitely needed a talk. The thought didn’t stop Connor from taking it, though. A third beer sat on the ground between Sean's feet.

"You—" Connor's throat was raw like he'd been yelling for hours. Sadly, he remembered exactly what that felt like from some incidents in the Marines he couldn’t forget if he tried. And oh, how he had tried. He cleared his throat, took another drink of the cold beer, and tried again. "If you want that," he said, pointing at the third beer, "you can have it." Kid deserved it.

Sean looked at Connor suspiciously. Miraculously, Connor managed a tiny smile. "Really. Go ahead."

Moving slowly, Sean reached down without breaking eye contact with Connor. Straightening up, he shifted position on the branch so he could face Connor. "Y'okay now? Feeling better?"

Was he? Connor took inventory. Everything ached, from his sunburned scalp to the sliced up bottoms of his feet. Pinpricks of pain, and oh, look, blood, dotted his skin from his face to the waistband of his jeans. They were ripped at the knees, and there was more blood. His skin was streaked with sweat and blood, and he could feel the tightness of tear tracks on his painfully-sunburned face.

His hands were the worst, though. He pried one off the cold bottle and turned it. The palms were a ruined mess of shredded skin, dirt, sweat, blood, and embedded brick shards.

The earth swayed beneath his feet, there was a high-pitched whine in his ears and his heart felt like lead.

"I feel like shit."

"You look like shit. But at least you're back with us."

Connor slipped down off the branch to the ground. He didn't think he could hold himself up much longer. The rough bark scraped over his skin, but at least it was real. He could feel it and was aware it was happening. He leaned a little harder against the branch, digging his feet into the warm earth just to feel it sliding between his toes.

A fat, gray squirrel jumped from a high branch and landed directly above them. He scolded them loudly, kicking lose pieces of bark and dead leaves at them. Sean squinted up at him. "I think that's the same squirrel."

Connor tilted his head back. All squirrels looked the same to him, but he nodded his head. "I think you're right."

Sean stared off across the fields, and they drank in silence. From the way Sean sucked his beer down, Connor highly doubted it was the first one he’d ever had.

"So," Sean said. "Want to talk about it?"

Connor did. He knew he had to. He added schedule more therapy to his mental list. He might not remember much about the last few hours, but his never-ending todo list was still up to date.

Tortillas. Milk. Cheese. Gatorade. Mall. Therapist.

"How long was I out here?" he asked. He didn't remember coming outside, so it was hard to judge the time.

"About six hours," Sean said.

Connor sucked air in between his teeth. "Damn." No wonder everything hurt. He looked at the sledgehammer laying in a pile of brick shards. He touched the cuts on his face gently, thankful that he hadn't taken an eye out.

"Sean?" Fiona said from behind them. She sounded scared. Connor hated that he had made her feel that way.

"It's okay," Sean said.

"I brought some stuff," she said, stepping carefully over the wide branch. She carried a plastic bowl of water and the small first aid kit they kept under the sink in the kitchen. "Hey," she said to Connor. "You're a mess."

"So I hear." She knelt between his legs and took his chin in her hand.

Connor let her wipe the dirt and tears off his skin. She was so gentle it almost made him cry again. "Did you bring me water and a sandwich?"

"I brought out the water," she answered. "Sean brought the sandwich, you were kind of…yelling by then."

"God, I'm sorry. Did I scare you?" he asked them both.

Fiona's eyes darted to Sean.

"A little bit, not gonna lie." Sean finished his beer and set the bottle gently down in the dirt.

Connor could tell he wanted another one. So did Connor. And he would kill for a cigarette. Too bad he wasn't going to let himself have either. Things had to change. "Are Benji and Micah okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Fiona said. She looked over his shoulder. "They want to know if they can come out."

Connor cringed as she pulled out a sliver of brick from his face. "Sorry," she said, wiping the spot and spreading some antibiotic ointment over the cut.

Connor shook his head. "No, thank you for taking care of me. And tell them it's okay."

Fiona waved to the kids over his shoulder. A few seconds later he heard the back door slam.

Fiona turned his head so she could reach a different spot, and Connor got a good look at Sean. He was bleeding from a few places on his arm and on his cheek.

"Oh, God," Connor said, reaching for Sean. "Are these from me?"

Sean looked down at his arm as if noticing the cuts for the first time. "Technically, I'd say they were from flying pieces of brick. You're really strong, dude."

Clutching Micah's hand in one of his and the dingy elephant in the other, Benji walked slowly toward Connor, his eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, buddy. I'm okay. Sorry I scared you. Sorry, Micah."

Micah shrugged and shoved her free hand deep into her pocket. "I made you a sandwich."

"Thank you."

Benji sat down next to Sean, the sturdy branch not budging under his slight weight. "Sean said you were sad about Beau leaving."

"I am," Connor admitted.

"I miss him, too," Benji said, snuggling against Sean.

Fiona rinsed the rag and then started on Connor's left hand. "I can't believe he left after we begged him to stay." She dragged the rag across Connor's palm, gripping his hand so tightly he had to hold back a grimace.

The other three kids made sounds of agreement.

"I didn't ask him," Connor confessed.

Fiona stopped working on him and looked at him. "What?"

"What?" Sean echoed.

"Why not?" Benji asked.

"It's a great opportunity for him," Connor said, the words sounding pathetic even as he spoke them. "It's what he's always wanted."

"And what about what you want?" Sean asked.

Now it was Connor's turn to be confused. "What does that matter?"

Sean rolled his eyes. "I seem to remember you yelling at me and telling me you deserved something for yourself. Something that made you feel good."

"Yeah, but…"

Sean stared at him. "Did you tell him you loved him, at least?"

"I don't—" Fiona snorted and poked at a deep cut on his palm.

"Ow!" He tried to yank his hand away, but she had a death grip on it.

"Don't lie, and you won't get poked."

"No. I didn't tell him," Connor admitted. He was starting to think he was a huge idiot.

"God, you're such a martyr," Sean said. He actually sounded a little annoyed.

"What?" It seemed to be all Connor could say.

"Con, you do everything for us." Sean counted off on his fingers as he spoke. "You have no life. You don't go out. You cook what we like to eat, you watch the TV shows we like. You run yourself ragged for us. How do you think that makes us feel?"

Connor had a feeling good wasn't the answer, though he didn't know why. He didn't know how to answer that question, so he shook his head instead.

"It makes us feel like we're ruining your life." Sean's shoulders slumped. Dragging his toe through the dirt, he looked to his sisters for confirmation.

"Are we ruining Connor's life?" Benji asked.

"No!" Connor said louder than he'd intended. He pulled away from Fiona and turned to kneel in front of Benji. "Never. Getting to stay with you guys all the time, even though I would undo the reason for it in a heartbeat if I could…getting to live with you is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He hugged Benji tightly, clutching his small body to his chest. "I love you guys." He looked at each of his siblings. "I love you guys so much, more than I knew anyone could."

Micah wiped a tear from her face. Benji hid his face against Connor's chest.

"And we love you." Sean put a hand on Connor's arm. "Truly. And we appreciate everything you do for us. But, Con, man. You gotta have a life. What about you? Who takes care of you?"

Connor gave a strangled laugh. The answer was Beau. Beau had for a few brief weeks.

"So you didn't ask him to stay, and you didn't tell him you loved him, and now you're out here smashing up bricks because he left," Fiona said. "Did I get that right?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Connor sighed. He was an idiot.

Benji wiggled out of Connor's boa-constrictor hug. "If you don't tell him, he can't know. He's not a mind reader," he said.

Connor laughed out loud at that. "Would you guys stop using my own words against me? God, I sound like my mother."

"Our mother," Sean reminded him. "And that's not a bad thing. She was a great mom."

"The best." Connor slipped back down to the ground. Now that his adrenaline-fueled break down was over, he was exhausted, starving, and in a lot of pain. Tomorrow was going to be worse. "Do you think I should have? Do you think it would have made a difference?" A line from a poem he'd read in high school floated through his head. Would it have been worth it, after all?

"I don't know," Sean said coolly. "Would it have made a difference if you'd said it to Dad?"

Shit. Direct hit. Connor felt it like a physical blow.

"Would it have made a difference if you had known how much Dad loved you?" Sean kept battering at Connor's bruised heart. "Hell, maybe if I had said something, you would have been around more. You telling him is something you have to do for yourself. Then you'll never have to wonder what if. What would have happened if you had asked him to stay?"

Connor covered his face with his hands. He was so emotionally spent, he couldn't even cry.

"Remember at the hockey game you asked me if you were entitled to want something for yourself? Well, you are. One hundred percent you are."

"What if he doesn't want me?" Connor asked quietly, giving voice to his deepest fear.

Sean shrugged. "Then that will suck. I didn't say you were entitled to get it, just to want it."

Connor was awed by this kid, by this man. "How did you get so smart?"

Sean grinned. "Great parents and a great big brother."

"He needs us," Micah said with a frown. "We're his only friends."

"But he's gone already," Connor said. "I guess I could call him."

"Go get him," Fiona said firmly, both hands on her hips. "Go to Seattle, tell him you're sorry you're such an idiot, but you love him. We love him. And he needs to come back."

"It's not like he can leave again," Micah pointed out. "You can't make it worse."

Sean nodded in agreement. "Marines never leave a man behind."

Connor held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Okay. Let me think about it for a second." Micah started to say something, and Connor shushed her. "One second."

He could go get Beau. Go chasing after him like the hero in those sappy romcoms Fiona and Beau loved to watch. What's the worst that could happen? He felt like more of an idiot than he already was? He could live with that.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

"You're gonna go get him?"

"I'm gonna go get him. But I'm going to need some help. After a shower, ten ibuprofen pills, and two cups of coffee." He tried to stand up, but his muscles screamed in protest. "Jesus," he said. It took Sean, Fiona, and the tree to get him up. "Okay," he said as he hobbled to the house. "Here's the plan. Micah, you get on the internet and find me the Lightning schedule. Fiona, can you help me find a plane ticket to Seattle and how to get to the Four Seasons from the airport?"

"I'm going to get a Lyft," Fiona said.

"I keep forgetting about them. Okay, I'll call Peggy and find out if she can stay with you guys. Will you be okay with that?"

They nodded.

"What can I do?" Benji asked.

"You can help me pack and pick out an outfit. I'm gonna need to look extra sharp if I'm going to impress Beau."

"Are you going to bring him back?"

"I don't know, buddy. I'm gonna try. I can't make any promises. How do you guys feel about spending some vacations in Seattle?"