Page 49 of Forfeits

“I thought it was real. Then I woke up.”

I’d had those dreams, too. The nightmare was waking up.

Patrick stood by the door, looking at his phone.

“I called an Uber. It should be here soon,” he said.

“Patrick.”

He turned to me.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, no worries. Did you have a good time?”

“I…I can’t even think about that right now.”

“Yeah, sorry. She’s okay, though. She’s a tough kid.”

I didn’t reply. Patrick was wonderful, but how would he know how tough or not tough Lucy was? He hadn’t seen her almost catatonic in the first couple of weeks after Daniel’s accident, when I’d been barely functional. He hadn’t heard her angry words when she went through that stage of her grief or seen her wracked with sobs a few days later. He hadn’t been the one to try to tempt her to eat when she couldn’t see past her sense of loss enough to have a snack, let alone a full meal.

As we sat together on the sofa after Patrick had left, I held her close and wished I’d been here instead of at Maverick Molly’s with Aiden. I should have been. What gave me the right to have fun when Lucy was still suffering the effects of Daniel’s death?

The carefree feeling I’d experienced was an illusion. This was real life.

I held her close, with the dogs sleeping at our feet, for an hour before I carried her to bed. She was getting big, but I could still lift her. In another year or two I probably wouldn’t be able to manage it.

I remembered arguing with Daniel about who got to take Lucy to bed when she was small and up in the night. If I’d known what was coming, I’d have let him do it every single time.

I made sure she was still sleeping before I went to my own room, stripped to my boxers and got under the covers. I laid there for a long time, trying to get back to that feeling of peace and ease that I’d experienced at the club, but it was no use.

Maybe this was finally my sub drop. Moisture gathered in my eyes, and I did the only thing I could think of.

Aiden picked up the phone after a couple of rings.

“Hey. What’s going on?” Aiden asked in a sleep-filled voice.

I’d woken him.

“Aiden, I—” was all I could get out before the tears came in earnest.

“Fletcher? Are you dropping?” he asked, with what sounded like a yawn.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“You’re probably dropping. It doesn’t always happen right after. I’m glad you called,” he said, his voice filled with kindness.

“Yeah.”

“Has Patrick gone home?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m glad you called me.”

I played with the edge of my comforter. “Lucy had a nightmare while I was gone.”

“Yeah? Is she okay?”

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