Page 55 of Saving Little Clark

With a gleeful cackle, Alex scampered off on all fours. I gave chase, losing myself in the simple joy of play and pretend, unburdened by the troubles of the adult world.

We made it about halfway to the elaborately set-up tea party in the corner before Alex abruptly pulled up short, sending me crashing into his back with an oof. Startled, I rocked back on my heels, shooting him a quizzical look. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he turned to face me head on, searching my expression with a gaze that saw too much.

"Clarkie," he said softly, and the rare note of seriousness in his tone made me stiffen instinctively. "What's going on in that head of yours? You've been awful quiet all morning. And don't even try thatI'm fineroutine with me, mister. You know I can see right through it."

I struggled to put words to the tangled knot of emotions in my chest. But Alex just waited, patient and nonjudgmental, scooting closer to bump his shoulder against mine.

"I've got all day, bestie," he reminded me, quiet but resolute. "However long you need, I'm here. No rushies."

Drawing a shaky breath, I let it out slow, fighting past the anxious flutter in my gut. "I'm scared," I confessed, barely above a whisper. Felt Alex go still beside me, his full focus zeroing in. "Sterling really did a number on me. Made me believe thatno one could ever really want me. Seeing him again brought back those memories. Those feelings. That I was too broken, toodifficultto be worth loving. And logically IknowDaddy adores me, but I'm just so fucking terrified that one day he'll get sick of dealing with my triggers and my nightmares and all the ugly shit I'm still carrying around and he'llleave, Lex."

Before I could retreat, could curl in on myself and try to shut out the world, Alex was there. Pulling me into his arms and tucking my face into the crook of his neck, one hand cupping the back of my head while the other stroked soothingly down my spine.

"Oh Clarkie," he breathed. "Bestie, no. No, shh, you listen to me now. Just breathe for me. I've got you, bubba's got you."

He began to rock me gently, keeping up that steady stream of reassurance as I fell apart in his arms. Let me cry myself out until I was limp and wrung dry, nothing left but hitching breaths and the occasional shuddery aftershock.

Only then did Alex pull back, just far enough to frame my blotchy face between careful palms. His eyes were red-rimmed but fiercely determined when they met mine.

"Clark, I need you to hear this," he said, low and intent. "Uncle Brody loves you. He loves every part of you, even the messy, complicated bits. There isnothingyou could say or do or be that would make that man walk away from you. You’re so much more than your trauma. So much more than the lies that bastard put in your head. You're kind and brilliant and brave. The way you keep fighting, keep choosing joy and light even when the darkness feels like it might swallow you whole..." He shook his head, a wondrous sort of smile playing at his lips. "Youamaze me, Clarkie. And I know for afactthat your Daddy feels the same way.”

"How," I croaked, barely recognizable to my own ears. "How can you be sosure?"

He huffed a little laugh, fond and exasperated all at once. "Because I've been where you are, bubba.”

My breath caught. In all the years we'd known each other, all the long, soul-baring talks, Alex had never once hinted that he harbored the same insecurities.

Beside me, Alex squeezed his eyes shut, visibly struggling to compose himself. When he opened them again, they were glassy and pained, but resolute. “But maybe we’ll save that story for another day.” A hitching breath, another unsteady smile. "Just know that my Daddy put me back together, piece by jagged piece. Showed me that I was stronger than my darkest moments, braver than my deepest fears. That the cracks and scars I carried only made me more beautiful in his eyes."

Gently, so gently, he stroked his knuckles down the line of my jaw. "That's how I know. Because Daddy looked the ugliest parts of me dead in the eye and loved them,honoredthem, until I had no choice but to believe it too. Just like Uncle Brody loves and honors yours."

He was right. Daddy did love me. Unconditionally. He'd proven it time and again, with his words, his actions. His steadfast, unflinching presence, even in my darkest hours.

"How do you always know exactly what I need to hear?"

Alex's lips quirked, a glimmer of mischief returning to his eyes. "Well, I'm like an onion, all layers and shit."

"Really? That's the metaphor you're going with?"

"Hey, don't hate on the onion!" Alex exclaimed, putting on an affronted pout. "Plus, I am afontof wisdom, I'll have you know. I am the Yoda to your Luke, the Gandalf to your Frodo. When I bestow my knowledge upon you, you should be grateful, young padawan."

"I know I haven't said it enough lately," I began. "But I'm really grateful for you, Lex. Especially these past few weeks, with everything that happened."

He just hummed in acknowledgment, one hand cupping the back of my head.

I'd be lying if I said it hadn't chafed, just a little. If some small, petty part of me hadn't bristled and snapped, lashing out in defensive anger when the full weight of Alex’s focus turned my way. But now, I could admit how much I'd needed that unshakable foundation. Even if it meant enduring the occasional burst of smothering overprotectiveness. The sometimes grating enthusiasm of a friend determined to keep his hurting bestie afloat.

It had been a lot. A barrage of increasingly awful puns and gleeful goofiness to cheer me up, delivered at breakneck speed. Each groan-worthy zinger punctuated by jazz hands and exaggerated facial expressions, the kind that threatened to pull a muscle if sustained too long.

By the tenth knock-knock joke, I'd been ready to throttle him. To shove a pillow over my head and scream until blessed silence reigned once more. But it had worked. Startled a laugh out of me, rusty and creaking.

He'd beamed at me. Swept me into a crushing hug that squeezed the air from my lungs, babbling how he knew he could do it, knew his comedic genius would win the day. I'd calledhim a dork. Swatted at him in half-hearted irritation, grumbling about abuse of power and cruel and unusual punishment.

But inside, that tiny spark of mirth had taken root. Because he'd cared. Cared enough to make an absolute fool of himself, to risk my snappish wrath and pissy ingratitude. All on the off chance that he could bring me a single moment of levity, of reprieve from the anguish threatening to swallow me whole.

He hadn't given up on me. Hadn't let me drift away into the dark, lost to everything but my own spiraling thoughts. He'd grabbed on with both hands and yanked, dragging me kicking and screaming back into the light. Even when I'd hated it. Even when I'd resented the effort, spat harsh words and pushed him away.

He'd held on. Just like he always had. Just like he always would.

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