Page 21 of Vital Blindside

Cooper’s lips part in surprise, and he scrunches his face like he’s genuinely appalled at my answer. “The Falcon has Cap’s shield, Dad.”

“Spoilers!” Beth shrieks, covering her ears. “I haven’t finished Endgame yet.”

“What?” Cooper and I cry at the same time. I peer at her over Cooper’s head and say, “Looks like you have homework.”

“I’d say,” she agrees.

A strong gust of wind blows past us, and Beth is quick to swipe her long blackish-brown hair out of her face and secure it with a hair tie. I’m about to look away and double-check that none of our stuff has blown away when I spot a swirl of black ink on her wrist, protected with a clear wrapping. Curiosity nips at me, and I tilt my head at her.

“Cooper, why don’t you go test out the water? You know I’m a big wuss when it comes to cold water,” she says.

He laughs and starts to stand before brushing off the sand from his legs and hands. “Sure. Be right back!”

After watching him jog down the beach and cautiously dip his toes in the soft waves at the shoreline, I twist myself around until I’m facing her and my toes are only a hair length away from her legs. She grins at me, extending her arm and offering me a full view of the inside of her wrist.

“When did you get this?” I ask, gently grabbing her wrist and bringing it closer.

A beautifully drawn daffodil covers years’ worth of self-harm scars. My throat grows swollen when I see Cooper’s full name and birth date written in the petals.

“Daffodils symbolize rebirth. A fresh start. And, well, Cooper was mine,” she whispers.

My eyes burn, but I blink away the wet before it escapes. I brush my thumb over the slightly shaded flower. “That’s amazing, Beth. Truly.”

“It breaks my heart that Cooper doesn’t know how much I love him,” she admits.

“He will. He needs you in his life, so as long as you continue to do what you’re doing, keep trying the way you are, he’ll feel that.”

She laughs, the sound jagged, almost pained. “Cooper doesn’t need me any more than you do.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, dropping her wrist, my eyes wide. “He definitely can’t handle you disappearing again, and I’ve done this on my own for so long, Beth. It’s been nice having someone to talk to that cares about him the same way I do. You’ve already made so much progress in your relationship. It might not feel like it now, but it will happen.”

She sniffles then, and my muscles lock up as my brain loses communication with my body. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry,” I apologize. “Shit, I feel like an asshole.”

Shaking her head, she huffs angrily. “Don’t apologize. They aren’t bad tears. They’re happy ones. Thank you, Adam. Sometimes it just gets . . . too much. I know this is all my fault, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

I reach over and squeeze her knee instead of hugging her like I want to do on instinct. Seeing someone upset has to be one of the toughest things, especially when you know nothing you do or say can help take away their pain.

If it were anybody else, I wouldn’t have stopped myself from wrapping my arms around them and holding them tight, but Beth isn’t everyone else. She never has and never will be. Our boundaries are clear-cut, and although I’ve never thought of her in the same light I did during that brief stint in university, I refuse to risk blurring them and destroying the current relationship we’ve all been building together.

Beth and I aren’t meant to be, and I’ve known that for over a decade now.

“You didn’t ask to be born with a mental illness, Beth. You made the right decision when you came to me and decided to put yourself first. He’ll understand that when he gets older.”

I can’t even think about what would have happened if she hadn’t found me outside that bar and brought Cooper to me without feeling sick to my stomach. We both know she made the right decision, even if it hurts.

“You don’t think he’s going to hate me for giving you full custody? He won’t look at that and view it as a betrayal? Because some days, that’s exactly what it feels like,” she confesses. Her voice is sad, and it hits me right in the chest. “I stand with my choice. I believe it was the right decision—it still is. I couldn’t provide for him the way you could, or at all, even, and the chance of me losing myself again will always be there. But having him so close yet so far feels worse than being bipolar in the first place.”

I try not to show how shocked her words leave me. Beth has openly talked about being bipolar only a handful of times with me over the past few years since she was diagnosed, and even then, it’s never been in such a public place or in such a casual tone.

She’s been doing so well, though, that maybe I shouldn’t be this surprised. Her acceptance of her disease speaks volumes to her growth.

“He could never hate you. You’re his mom,” I say.

A small smile pulls at her mouth as she nods. She blinks a few times before sucking in a deep breath and standing up. I look up at her questioningly.

“If we don’t go join him in the water, he might forget about us altogether.” She laughs.

Very true. In full agreement, I stand and wait for her as she pulls her sundress over her head, leaving her in a very modest yellow one-piece suit, before walking beside her toward the water and the boy floating on his back a few feet past the rocky shore.

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