Chapter 42
Calida
I wasn’t sure who was making more noise, Malcolm or Shawn. I finished plating the food, and watched as they played in the living room with Shawn’s toy cars. They both made loud driving sounds while they crawled around on the floor, followed by the occasional crash and boom when one of them wrecked.
“Dinner’s ready.”
“Come on, buddy.” Mal picked Shawn up, flying him through the air.
His chubby little hands eagerly reached out for his plate as I approached his high chair. Once Malcolm got him buckled in, I sat the plate down on the plastic tray. His little fingers picked up fistfuls of the bite-sized peas and carrots and shoved them into his mouth.
I sat Malcolm’s plate on the table, and then I grabbed my plate and wine glass off the counter before joining the boys.
“It looks good.”
“Thanks. And I’m happy you decided to come.”
He flashed me his signature smile. “Couldn’t pass up a home cooked meal.”
“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
He cut into the baked chicken. “You had mine long before you cooked a single thing.” He paused to chew the piece he’d put in his mouth. “But don’t let that stop you from continuing. This tastes as good as it looks.”
The clatter of Shawn’s plate hitting the floor got our attention. He wore a proud smile at having dumped his food onto his tray before he dropped the plate.
I leaned down to pick it up. “You’re such a little caveman.”
I ran my fingers through his soft hair. He did the same, only he had carrots in his hand that ended up mushed in his hair. Malcolm laughed as I picked out what I could, but gave up when Shawn deliberately put more in.
We managed to make it through dinner with Shawn luckily eating more food than he placed in his hair. I took him upstairs to clean up, and when I got back downstairs, I stopped at the sight of Malcolm cleaning the kitchen. He’d put the leftovers away and was in the process of loading the dishwasher. I stood there, admiring him work. The slight flexing of his arms as he put the dishes in. His butt filled out those jogger sweatpants like nobody’s business. How the hell did he manage to make cleaning look good?
“You don’t have to do that.”
He smiled at me, continuing his task. “Told you division of labor. You cooked. I clean.” He reached, out giving Shawn’s belly a squeeze. “Killer PJs, buddy.”
“Thomas.” Shawn exclaimed happily, pointing to the train character on his shirt.
Readjusting him in my arms, I walked passed Mal to pick up the open bottle of Moscato. I refilled my glass, and could feel Mal’s eyes watching me as I did. He didn’t say anything, but he’d watched me each time I’d gotten a refill. What was three glasses compared to the bottle I’d drank last night so I could sleep?
Dr. Carr had been telling me from the beginning that getting it out, that talking about everything would help. She’d made it seem like I’d be somehow magically healed by not bottling up things. I continued to wait on that magic to happen. As of right now, the only thing talking about Seth did was shine a spotlight on how naive I’d been. The game of what-if seemed never ending.
Taking a seat on the floor in the living room, I sat my glass on the side table, before picking up a book to read to Shawn. I read to him, skipping ahead as he flipped through the pages faster than I could say the words, and listened to the quiet clinking of dishes as Mal finished up in the kitchen. Shawn and I were on our third book by the time Malcolm came over to join us.
I expected him to join us on the floor. Instead, he opted for as much distance as he could, choosing the end of the loveseat furthest away. Shawn quickly flipped out of my lap, taking his book over to Malcolm. I moved from the floor, and curled up on the sofa. I grabbed my glass and watched the two of them interact. If Malcolm ever had any reservations about Shawn, he never let it show. No one did. Either they hid it, or Shawn’s appearance didn’t bother them. The thought made me feel worse, to think I was the only one put off by something he couldn’t control. Malcolm had been a natural with him from the beginning, and Shawn absolutely adored him.
Shawn climbed down, and pulled Malcolm by the hand over to the toys.
“Where’s your roommate this evening?”
“A friend of hers came to town yesterday for a work conference. She and Dorian went out for dinner or something. Not sure if she’s coming back tonight or if she’ll be hanging with her at the W.”
“When does she close on her house?”
“Two weeks or so, I think. Not really sure.” I glanced back at the microwave clock. “Not much longer, kiddo. Bedtime soon.”
“No. Play.”
“Yeah, mommy. We want to play.”
“Really, Mal?”
“What? I’m just trying to help the man out and get him some more time.”
“Are you going to help me out when he’s cranky from not getting enough sleep?”
Malcolm threw up his hands in defeat and went back to playing with Shawn, which was where most of his attention had been all night. It was more than just him playing with Shawn; it felt like a distraction. He’d not been acting like himself from the moment he arrived. No flirty, suggestive comments. No closeness or attempts to touch me. Hell, he’d seemed almost reluctant to come over when I’d invited him to dinner.
I knew we were at a strange place when he dropped me off yesterday. He’d planned a whole night out, one I’d managed to screw up. We’d talked, and I thought—well I wasn’t sure what I thought—but I felt like it’d been resolved. I’d tried to make sure he understood my reaction wasn’t about him directly. Our relationship seemed to be in a near constant state of change. I didn’t know what I expected, but I never imagined it’d be awkward all the time. Being friends with him was easy. We just worked. I didn’t have to think about it, and I didn’t have to worry about doing or saying something wrong. But now there was so much at stake.
I finished off my glass of wine and resisted the urge to refill it. Watching Malcolm play with my son, while barely acknowledging my presence, raked on my already sensitive nerves.
“I’m going to take him up now.”
“All right. Guess I’ll head out then.”
I picked up Shawn, who instantly started throwing a fit, trying to wiggle out of my arms. “Can you wait a minute?”
Mal checked his watch. It wasn’t late, close to eight, but I was taking away his distraction so he was ready to bolt.
“Yeah, sure.”
It took me longer to get Shawn down. He fought hard against going to bed, knowing Malcolm was here. When I got back downstairs, Malcolm sat on the couch, looking like he’d been called into the principal’s office. I noticed he’d put away the toys, and Shawn’s books were stacked neatly on the ottoman. He’d also removed the wine bottle and my glass from the side table. I shot a quick glance toward the kitchen, didn’t see the bottle there, nor did it sit on the bar.
Pressing my lips together, I held back from asking about it as I took a seat on the couch next to him and half expected him to get up and move, but he didn’t. “Thanks for staying.”
“No problem. I guess spending time with you is slightly more important than kicking G’s ass in Madden.”
“Wow. You know how to make a girl feel special.”
He leaned over, bumping me with his shoulder. “I do what I can.”
I slipped my arm around his. My heart rate increased. A tidal wave of dread washed over me. I mentally counted to ten, trying to get ahold of the uncertainty. I’d wanted to talk to him, but now every reason why I should let it go played in my head. My hand squeezed Malcolm’s arm.
“You all right?”
I nodded. “Yeah...yeah I’m okay. Just got a little dizzy.”
“Too much wine?”
I sat up, moving away from him. “Are you going to lecture me again about my drinking?”
“For real? First, I’ve never lectured you about a damn thing. I made an observation that you took the wrong way. Secondly, it was a simple fucking question. You had drinks. You said you were dizzy. It’s not a huge fucking leap to connect the two together.”
I stood and crossed my arms across my chest. “It felt more like a judgement than a simple observation.”
“If it felt that way, then that has more to do with you than me.”
I turned my head, feeling the sting of his words as harshly as a slap to the face. The nervous jitters in my stomach intensified. Mal was right. His question had been simple, but his previous comments about my drinking, coupled with my anxiousness, set me on edge.
“How does this happen? All I did was ask a question and you were ready to bite my head off.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive.”
His arms wrapped around me, and I sighed as I leaned into his embrace.
He kissed the top of my head. “I’m not gonna lie, baby, your drinking bothers me. And before you go off on me, let me explain. I don’t care that you drink. I care about the reason why you drink.”
“It’s just a few glasses of wine. You’re reading too much into it.”
He pulled away, and lifted my chin so he could see my face. His warm, hazel eyes stared at me. Normally, such scrutiny would make me feel self-conscience, but this was Mal. His gaze never held judgement. When he looked at me, I knew he really saw me, the real me. I was of two minds about that. On one hand, Malcolm knowing my darkest secrets added to my anxiety. On the other, I took comfort in the fact that I didn’t have to pretend.
“Don’t do that. You want to lie to yourself fine, but don’t bullshit me.” His tone was stern, but also full of warmth.
I turned away. His words caused tendrils of shame to slither through me. Any excuse I would have tried to give shriveled up, too afraid to be voiced and meet his scrutiny. Truth or silence; my only options.
Mustering up some courage, and doing my best to ignore the overwhelmed feeling that was gaining speed, I turned back to meet his gaze. “I don’t need...I just…” I paused and let out a forced breath. “It helps sometimes. To cope or deal, whatever. Sometimes I just need something.”
The look on his face changed to that same sad expression he’d had yesterday morning. Not exactly the look I’d expected. I thought he’d be angry, or even show concern, but he looked hurt.
Malcolm tucked my bangs behind my ear. His fingers trailed down my jaw, coming to stop on my chin. He tilted my head up to meet his lips. I was given a feather-light kiss before he stepped away.
“First, your panic attacks return. Now, you’re drinking to cope. This. Me. It’s not good for you. The more I hear you struggle to deal, the more I kick myself for, as you said, ambushing you into this relationship.”
“What? No, Malcolm...that’s not…” I took a breath. Truth. “Malcolm, I’ve been drinking since the first night I had to stay alone in this house. It was just me and Shawn, my parents moved into their house. He’d been crying nonstop, because my mom had been the one to take care of him. I…I hadn’t wanted to.”
I dropped my gaze to the floor at that admission. When no judgement came, I continued. “After I’d finally gotten him down, I couldn’t sleep. This house. The memories. I…I just needed something. So, I drank, and it worked. The next time I got stressed...you get the point.”
I dropped down onto the couch, covering my face with my hands. It was one thing to know these things in your head. It was easier to justify and ignore them that way, but saying them out loud stripped that all away. God, what was it about Malcolm that turned me into this leaking faucet of information, spewing all my secrets as if my life depended on him knowing?
The cushion dipped under his weight. His warm hands wrapped around my wrists, removing my hands from my face.
I looked down, thankful my hair was almost long enough to shield my face. “Your girlfriend is an anxiety-ridden, borderline alcoholic.”
“Your boyfriend is an asshole that adds to your anxiety and makes you want to drink.”
I looked over at him and smiled. “At least you’re cute.”
Malcolm returned my smile. “Well, glad I have something going for me.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead on mine. He started to stroke my cheek with his thumb. “In all seriousness though, if this is too much for you…”
I reached out to caress his face. The coarse hairs of his beard tickled my palm. “I’m okay, Malcolm. I feel like I’m coming unhinged, but you aren’t detrimental to my health.”
I could tell from the look on his face he was ready to protest my statement.
“Yes, I realize that sounds like a contradiction, but it’s not. I’m well aware of the fact that I’ve kept my head buried in the sand, and now I’m being forced to deal with all of things I’ve spent a lot of time trying to forget.”
Malcolm shifted us so that we sat back against the couch. I curled up beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. Our fingers intertwined in his lap.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
His thumb stroked my knuckles. “The day you passed out and fell down the stairs—”
“Yes, I’d had a panic attack.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Now who apologizes too much?”
His grip tightened around my fingers, then relaxed. I tilted my head up so I could see him. His head rested back against the couch with his eyes closed. His long, light-brown lashes gave me a surge of envy. Men always lucked out with gorgeous lashes, and most couldn’t care less about them. His tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip. I bit my own as I fought the desperate urge to kiss him. I turned away and repositioned myself against his chest.
We settled into a comfortable silence. The quiet usually wasn’t my friend. It allowed memories to seep out and play over and over in my head. Sitting in silence with Seth had always made me nervous. I’d have the urge to talk, usually to explain whatever I’d been accused of at the moment.
I didn’t have that with Malcolm. No increase in anxiety. No nervous urge to ramble. I sat. I held his hand. I took comfort in simply being in the peacefulness of the moment.
My eyes opened just as Malcolm was headed out of my room. My room? “Wait.”
He turned and looked back. “Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I sat up on the bed, embarrassed I’d fallen asleep on him. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I got up and walked over to him. Taking his hand, I pulled him back into the room. I wrapped my arms around his waist, missing the security of his embrace. “Stay.”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Please. I sleep better with you around.”
He gave a low laugh. “You make it really hard to say no.”
I hugged him tighter. “You aren’t supposed to tell me no.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. Thanks for telling me.”
“Any time.”
I pulled away so I could change. I picked up my pajamas and darted into the bathroom. When I came back out, Malcolm was already in bed, shirtless but still wearing his pants. I climbed in beside him. His arms wrapped around me as I rested my head on his chest. Having him here was better than downing a bottle of wine.