Page 45 of As the Years Pass
“Are you going to have one?” I ask.
“Later, when I’m finished.”
I put mine back in the fridge, and when I turn, he’s watching me with a raised brow.
“Then I’ll wait. Tell me what you need help with.”
He’s quiet for a moment, before saying, “You’re my guest, Emmet, you don’t have to do anything.”
I walk toward him, stopping a foot away. My hands twitch to touch him, wanting to show him physically that I’m here for anything he needs. “Tell me what you need help with,” I repeat.
“I didn’t expect Ian to be sick, and—”
I put my hand on his shoulder, liking it way too much. But this isn’t about that. “Stop making excuses for them, and tell me what I can help with.”
His eyes fall closed, and he takes a moment to breathe.
“Well,” he says, opening his eyes and looking over his shoulder. “I guess if you could get the bath going for Judy, that would be helpful. Then maybe coax Ian into eating while I help her in there?”
I smile, so badly wanting to kiss him. “You got it.”
I make my way to his bathroom, which is around the corner from the kitchen, and figure out how to get his tub going after flipping up the stopper for the drain. I have no idea how hot she likes the water. Instead of bothering Adam with it, because he’s with Ian, I knock on Judy’s door. She opens it and smiles up at me.
“So, how hot do you like the water?” I ask.
“Hm,” she says, tapping her chin. “Warm like tea.”
I hold back my laugh, nod, and thank her for telling me. Then I go back to the bathroom and figure out what the hell that means.
An hour later, Ian ate half his soup, Judy is fresh and clean, and they’re both ready for bed. Ian’s temperature hasn’t changed, so Adam gives him medicine just in case something is bothering him that he isn’t able to verbalize.
Once the kids are settled in bed, I grab two beers and follow Adam into the living room that’s in the back of the house.
“I should have done the pizza thing for lunch. I wasn’t thinking.” He sits on the couch, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. I sit on the other end, one cushion between us, and hand him his beer.
“Are you like this with everyone, or just me?” I ask as I crack mine open.
“Like what?” he asks carefully, turning toward me.
“Constantly apologizing for your kids and their routine.”
“I, uh…”
“You’re a dad, Adam. I know what that means. I didn’t come here and expect all the attention to be on me. I didn’t expect to be treated like royalty. I don’t have kids, but did you forget how I grew up? I know what taking care of them means.”
He sinks into the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. I’m not used to this.”
“Used to what?”
Shaking his head, he says, “Friends? People being here? I don’t do this. I’ve never had anyone here, other than Leslie, and that was only to pick the kids up.”
“I don’t care who it is, Adam, don’t apologize toanyonefor being an amazing dad and caring about your kids.” His lips turn into a small smile, eyes on the can of beer in his hand. “If anyone ever gives you shit for what you just did, you tell me because I’ll punch them in the face.” He huffs out a laugh.
“Thanks, Em.”
My chest floods with warmth.
I haven’t heard him call me that in years.
