Page 32 of Every Promise Broken

It’s a lot easier to stay up late and get up at the ass crack of dawn when you’re in your early twenties, but now, at nearly forty-eight, I need the full eight hours. The older I get, the moreI relate to my father. It’s funny how that works. Couldn’t even pinpoint when exactly I became a creature of habit. Hell, maybe I always have been; it’s just gotten more noticeable.

By the time I’m kicking off my boots at the backdoor, it’s half-past nine, and I know I need to get into bed now or I’ll be paying for it in the morning. Five a.m. comes too damn fast. The house is quiet as I go through and turn off all the lights. Walking down the hall, nerves jump in my gut the closer I get to my bedroom. To where Whit’s at.

It’s our first night sleeping in the same bed together. Well, the first time since he moved out four years ago. It feels wrong admitting how much I’m looking forward to it. Prior to Whit, the idea of sharing a bed with anybody sounded awful. Then he came into my life, and it was like the soft, steady sound of the breaths leaving his lips and the weight of him beside me was everything I had been looking for but didn’t know I needed up until then.

When he moved out, it took months before I was able to get a full night’s rest.

As quietly as I can, I twist the brass knob, easing the bedroom door open. The light in the en-suite is on, the door cracked, but otherwise, the room is blanketed in darkness. Crossing the space, I come to a stop in front of the bed. It looks like Whit is already asleep, and a pang hits my chest when I notice he’s on the side he used to sleep on. Granted, he’s on the very edge of that side, but there’s something so familiar and comforting about seeing him in my bed on his side again. It feels right.

I strip down like I do every night before bed, but it’s not until I’m in nothing more than my boxers that I stop for a moment and reconsider. Maybe sleeping in only my underwear isn’t the right move. Glancing at Whit again, I note that, while he’s got the blankets pulled up pretty high, I can still tell he’s wearing a shirt.

Maybe I should too.

Heaving a sigh, I quietly pad across the floor toward my dresser, pulling open the top drawer, and I grab a plain white t-shirt out of there. After I slip it on, I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a piss before turning off the light and sliding into bed. Now that I’m here, in bed beside my ex-husband, my heart hammers against my ribs. It’s beating so hard that I’m positive Whit would be able to hear if he were still awake. The urge to reach over and drag Whit into my arms is strong… Almost like it’s muscle memory.

It almost pains me knowing that he’s so close, yet I can’t touch him.

I bring the covers up to my chest, and it’s not until right now that I realize Whit stuffed a pillow under the covers in between us. Part of me wonders if he did that so I won’t touch him, but the other part wonders if it’s so he doesn’t roll over and drift toward me in the middle of the night.

Either way, it has my mind turning over and over, unable to settle down enough to sleep. I don’t know how long I lie here listening to the soft sound of Whit’s breathing, but it’s long enough that I know I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow.

14

Whit Bowman

Idon’t think I’ve ever been so excited for it to be Monday as I was this morning when I woke up.

It’s been two days since Conrad’s nana arrived. Two nights of tossing and turning all night. Two mornings of waking up and finding the spot beside me already empty but still warm. Two mornings of lacking any trace of self-control as I roll over and bury my face in his pillow, inhaling the scent of my ex-husband as I ignore the way my dick is harder than it’s been in way too long. The scent that somehow, still to this day, sends a wave of warmth and ease through my body. It’s as infuriating as it is comforting.

Getting ready for work in Conrad’s bathroom brings back so many memories I’d rather not think about, but it’s impossible not to. All the times we’d brush our teeth side by side at night before bed. All the times we’d shower together. How we’d diligently and affectionately wash each other. Our hair, our bodies. The gentle touches. The way he’d hold me as the hot water ran down my back. He’d whisper into my ear as his armswrapped around me. Under the stream, he’d tell me how much he loved me. How proud he was of me. How he couldn’t imagine his life without me.

Our daily showers together were one of my favorite parts of the day. It wasourtime.

It’s only been two days, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep this up.

I’m exhausted. It’s barely ten in the morning, and I’m already on my second cup of coffee. Thankfully, I have a full day of appointments ahead of me, so I’m able to submerge myself in work for the next several hours, letting myself forget about the stress that waits for me once I’m off.

By the time I finish up with my last patient of the day, I feel good. Well, better than I was this morning.

Working has always been a happy place for me. I think it helps that I truly love what I do and couldn’t imagine doing anything else day in and day out. Although, as soon as I make it to my truck and get it started, the dread returns with a vengeance, but it’s not because of Conrad and the ranch and the lie that awaits me.

It’s because I’m going to see my dad tonight.

Guilt fills me as I exit the parking lot in the direction of my father’s house. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve been to see him, and that makes me feel like a crappy son, especially since we live so close by. My relationship with my dad has been strained ever since I was a teenager. Ever since I came out. But it has only gotten worse since my mother died. It was like she was the glue that kept our family together, which is ironic to even think, since she couldn’t keep anything together when she was alive.

I know I should try harder, especially since his health isn’t great, but the idea of that makes my stomach sour. I love my dad, of course I do, and he’s come a long way in accepting who I am,but…I don’t know. It’s like I’ll never be able to forget the look of disgust on his face when I told him I was gay.

I’ll never be able to forget the dismissive way he threw me out of the house. It was harsh. And rash. No matter how many times he apologized for it after, or the way he said he didn’t mean it. That he was just shocked and needed time to process.

I’ll never forget how it felt.

Some days, like today, when I realize I’ve avoided going to see him for weeks, I wonder if I’ve even truly forgiven him. How does someone just get over something like that? You’re supposed to be there for your kids. You’re supposed to be their comfort, their safe space. You’re supposed to love them unconditionally. It was dark and gutting as a confused teenager to realize my home, my family, wasn’t my safe space. Not only that, but I felt horribly judged just for being who I am.

My dad and I have worked on our relationship a lot over the years. We did therapy together, we talked a hell of a lot, and it’s nothing like it was back then, but it’s also nothing like I thought my relationship would be like with him when I was younger. As a kid, you assume you’ll be close with your parents even when you’re an adult. Or at least I did. It’s jarring that the ‘family’ I’m closest to, the ‘family’ I feel the safest with, isn’t that of blood relation at all.

The people who feel the most like family to me are the friends who have proven that they’ll be there for me, no matter what. The friends who have shown up when I needed them the most, with no questions asked. And for many years, it was also Conrad. Conrad was my safe space, my sounding board, my absolute comfort for so many years, and sometimes I find myself missing that. I miss him, even though I shouldn’t. Even though it’s pointless.

And his nana still feels like my family too. Heck, she thinks wearestill family. Even if being around Conrad isuncomfortable, being around her is a breath of fresh air. It’s impossible to be around Nora and not feel happy. She’s one of a kind.

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