Aced

I lose my train of thought. Get lost in the feel of her body against mine, and how much I miss physical intimacy between us. Because physical is my barometer. Makes me feel closer to her and at the same time tells me we’re okay. And without it, I hate not knowing if we’re okay.

“Sorry,” I say, pulling myself from my thoughts. “I was daydreaming about being on the beach with you.”

“Thank you.”

Her voice is so faint but I hear it immediately. I squeeze my eyes shut, overwhelmed from those two simple words.

Gathering her a little tighter, I rest my chin on the curve of her shoulder. I look down in front of her where Ace has fallen asleep, and I know I need to put him in his bassinet but I don’t. Not yet. This feels a little too normal when we’ve had anything but, so I want to make it last a little bit longer. Just the three of us.

There are so many things I want to say to her, so many reasons why she doesn’t need to thank me, but I don’t. I was given two glimpses of my wife tonight. That’s enough to tell me more is coming soon.

So I do what I think is best. I continue on. “Don’t thank me yet, Ryles. This island doesn’t have any indoor plumbing. Or Diet Coke. And I know how you love your Diet Coke. But they do have . . .” I continue on. My rambling evening entertainment.

Anything for my Ry.

Hi sweetheart. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll be up later this week.

THE TEXT FROM MY MOM sits on my phone. The screen is lit up. My insides are still so very dark.

I miss the outside world.

Lazy walks on the beach. Trips to the farmers market in town where I get to laugh at Colton with his hat pulled low to avoid attention. The roar of the racetrack and vibration of the engine in my chest as I sit in the infield and answer emails while Colton tests the car. The incessant chatter, sound of kitchen chairs scooting over worn linoleum, complaints about homework, and sly smiles given behind one another’s back that are a constant at The House from my boys.

I miss everything that makes me feel alive.

But I’m not ready yet. I miss the idea of everything but not the reality. Because with the reality comes the chaos. The intrusive cameras and judging eyes. The scrutiny and the exposure. The lack of any control or privacy. The never-ending sense of vulnerability.

Besides, how can I begin to want any of those things when I can’t even look at my beautiful baby boy and feel that soul-shifting love I should for him? Sure it’s there, hidden deep down and buried beneath the haze. I know it is. I’ve felt it before. And that almost makes it worse. To want something and never have it is one thing but to have something, lose it, and know what you’re missing is brutal.

And I’m missing Ace. Not him, per se, because he’s here and I feed him, but rather the emotion. Brief moments of intense joy and overwhelming love peek through every now and again. The want to have them return consumes me to the point they drive me back into the warped and silent comfort of the darkness.

And then when I resurface, there is Colton. The songs he texts to help me remember. And to help me forget.

It’s when the sky is the darkest that you can tell which stars are the brightest. There’s only one star I see: Colton’s light shines the brightest to me. Maybe because he’s the one saving me.

I wish I could feel the amusement I know is beneath the surface when I watch him deal with Ace in his adorably awkward way. The made-up lullabies about car parts and superheroes he sings to stop Ace from crying are so sweet. I try to dredge it up, hold on to my smile, but it’s a constant battle between the darkness and light.

Then there’s the night. When he pulls me into him and tells me about the silly places he is going to take me, the memories we are going to make, and lifts that lead curtain for a bit so I can lose myself in his voice and humor. I can look down to Ace at my breast and have Colton’s body against my back and know I can beat this.

And so I fight, winning little pieces of myself back day by day. Moment by moment. Because it’s the things we love most that destroy us. Break us down. Tear us apart. But they are also the things that build us back up. Heal us. Make us complete again.

“Hey, man!” Colton’s voice rings down the hallway, interrupting my thoughts. I immediately start to rise from the couch, bothered I was actually enjoying sitting beside Ace in the bouncer, and start to head upstairs because the unexpected usually triggers uncontrollable anxiety. And that anxiety inevitably leads to another trip down the rabbit hole.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call first, but I was driving back to school and needed to stop by. Can I speak to you and Ry for a moment?”

Shane’s voice echoes down the foyer and makes me falter. And it’s not what he says that stops me from standing but rather the tone in his voice—formal, businesslike, and anxious—that makes me sit at attention.

“Not a problem. Let me go tell Ry that you’re here first,” Colton says, followed by the lowering of their voices. They say something I can’t hear but can assume it is the typical question of how I am doing that gets asked when they arrive. “Be right back.” Footsteps. “Hey, Ry?”

“Yeah?” My voice is shaky as I answer, and I hate that the anxiety surges within me when it’s just Shane. He’s the boy who has been with me the longest. The one I have watched grow into a man.

“Shane stopped by. Okay?” Colton’s eyes hold mine. They’re telling me that Shane’s coming in and to prepare for it. My two-minute warning. I force a swallow down my throat as I try to reason with myself that this is Shane; he poses no threat to Ace or me, or my little world.