Page 55 of Restorations

I press a kiss to his temple. “You are very, very loved. And if your father were here today, he would love you with all of us.”

He rolls to his side, taking his superhero comforter with him. “Night, Mommy.”

“Goodnight, Sebastian.”

I kiss the back of his head and quietly leave the room, but bump into Asher as I’m closing the door.

“Is he asleep?”

I look up at him, feeling the intensity from the day, of what that kid said to him and all the guilt that goes with it. My eyes fill up with tears as I shake my head and barely croak out the words. “Almost.”

“Viv, what’s wrong?” His hand moves to my shoulder, and I see the caring, disturbed look in his eyes as I cover my face with my hands, wanting to hide.

“No matter what I do, I'm constantly failing him.”

“That’s insane.” He keeps his voice low and pulls me against his body, and I don’t fight it. I let his strong arms envelope me and breathe him in. I feel him guiding me with him as we walk to the next room, which is his, and he pushes the door open.

We walk through the door, and he urges me to sit on his bed. I do, and he sits next to me.

“What’s up, Viv? Why do you think you’re a failure?”

I drop my hands to my sides but don’t look at him. “I got him to tell me what happened.”

“And?”

My throat feels pained as I swallow, knowing this won’t be an easy subject for him. “That kid was teasing him about his father being . . .” The word “dead” feels too harsh when I'm talking to his brother.

Doesn’t matter. He filled in the blank. “What the fuck?”

“I guess the kid heard the teachers,” I glare at him, still annoyed about his flirtation with Baz’s teacher, “probably Ms. Bowen talking about it.”

“Jesus Christ.” He stands up, looking like he wants to punch someone, but he can’t punch a five-year-old. “What the fuck? How is that funny?”

“It’s not.” I fold my arms and try to settle down. “Kids are jerks.”

“No shit.” He sits next to me on the bed again. “That little shit is lucky he’s not in my class.”

That makes me laugh, thinking about how he would certainly punish the kid. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is even worse for you than me.”

“Why does that make you feel like a failure?”

I shrug my shoulders, not sure what Asher and I are at the moment, but still enjoying letting him be someone I can talk to. “He doesn’t have a father.”

“You didn’t kill him.” His tone is ominous.

“Still . . . I’m not ready for all of the conversations and maybe even the issues that arise with him not growing up with a father.”

“He has you, and he has me. He’ll be fine.”

I want to believe that. “I just don’t know if I’ll be enough. There are so many things that he’ll want his father for.”

I see him swallow and think I need to shut the hell up. He lost his brother. “I’ll be there for him, Viv. You know I will.”

I nod my head sadly. “I know, Asher. I just . . . I worry about him. Nonstop.”

I turn my head to look in his eyes, those beautiful, soulful eyes as he nods slowly, his lips taunting me with how good they felt this afternoon.

He brushes the hair out of my face, and I want so desperately to finish what we started today. “I’m not going to let him feel like he’s missing anything. If he wants to know anything about his dad, I'll be there. If he wants advice about girls,” he smirks, and I roll my eyes, “I’ll definitely be there.” He rests his hand over my cheek. “Shaving, erections, how to deal with the pissed-off father of a chick he likes . . . I’m there.”

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