Page 33 of Madness

I find them in the driveway, Lauren and Shannon engaged in a complicated dance of fitting boxes into the cramped backseat. Roman sits on the porch step, his small shoulders slumped, looking lost in a way no three-year-old should.

"Hey," I call out softly, gravel crunching under my feet as I approach.

Lauren turns, a sad smile flickering across her face. "Dakota, hey. I didn't expect you tonight."

I shrug, shoving my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching out to her. "Thought you might need an extra pair of hands. Or, you know, just some moral support."

Shannon emerges from the car, wiping sweat from her brow. "Well, well. If it isn't the rockstar," she says, her usual teasing tone tinged with something harder - worry, maybe, or skepticism.

"Need any help?" I offer, gesturing to the remaining boxes.

"We've got it," Shannon says, her eyes flicking between Lauren and me. "But it's good you're here for Lauren. She'll need support."

The emphasis she puts on "support" isn't lost on me. It's a reminder, a warning perhaps, of the responsibility I'm taking on.

I nod, moving to stand beside Lauren. She leans into me slightly, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo.

"You okay?" I murmur low enough that only she can hear.

She nods, but I can feel the tension thrumming through her body. "I will be," she whispers back.

As Shannon loads the last box, I crouch down next to Roman. "Hey, buddy," I say softly. "Tough day, huh?"

He nods, his big brown eyes welling with tears. Without thinking, I open my arms, and he launches himself into them. As I hold him, I'm struck by how right it feels, and how terrifying that rightness is. Soon, I'll be leaving, too. What right do I have to offer comfort I can't sustain?

Shannon's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Well, I guess this is it."

What follows is a flurry of tearful goodbyes. I stand back, an observer to this family's pain, acutely aware of my outsider status even as I long to be a part of it.

As Shannon prepares to leave, she pulls me aside. "Dakota," she says, her voice low and intense. "I know you care about them. But this isn't a game. Lauren and Roman... they can't afford to get hurt. You understand?"

I meet her gaze, feeling the weight of her words. "I do. I promise, I'm not taking this lightly."

She searches my face for a moment, then nods. "Good. Take care of them, okay? They're special."

As Shannon's car disappears into the distance, Lauren's hand finds mine, squeezing tightly. Roman clings to her legs, sniffling quietly. The three of us stand there, a tableau of grief and uncertainty.

"You've got this," I tell Lauren softly, even as doubt gnaws at me. "And I'm here, whatever you need."

She nods, leaning her head against my shoulder. But as the streetlights flicker on around us, I can't shake the feeling that I'm making promises I might not be able to keep. In a short time, I'll be gone, too, chasing my dreams on stage while Lauren faces her new reality alone.

The guilt is overwhelming, but so is the certainty that I can't walk away from this - from her, from them.

19

PASSACAGLIA

LAUREN

The house feels eerily quiet without Shannon's presence, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of traffic outside. I lean against Roman's doorframe, watching his little chest rise and fall in the soft glow of his nightlight. His face is still puffy from crying, and dried tear tracks are visible on his cheeks. My heart constricts, knowing this is just the beginning of the changes he'll have to face.

I feel Dakota's presence before I see him, a warmth at my back. His arms slip around my waist, and I lean into him, grateful for his solid strength even as guilt nags at me. Should I be allowing myself this comfort when Roman is hurting?

"He finally asleep?" Dakota murmurs, his breath warm against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

I nod, not trusting my voice just yet. Dakota gently tugs me away from the door, and I let him guide me to the living room couch. We sink down together, his arm still around me, my head finding that perfect spot on his shoulder. The leather of the couch creaks softly beneath us, a sound that used to mean Shannon flopping down after a long day.

For a while, we just sit in silence. I listen to the steady thump of Dakota's heartbeat, letting it ground me in this moment. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my arm, each touch igniting a spark under my skin. The scent of his cologne – a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him – envelops me, comforting and exciting all at once.

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