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The house was quiet when he walked in. There was light coming from upstairs but he leaned his back against the front door and stood in the darkness. The mute shadows that surrounded him mirrored the hollow feeling in his chest. There were unfinished emotions resting in his spirit and he sighed a heavy breath, wondering if he should unleash them from his depths or stuff them back down, much like he did with a lot of his torments.
It was already late when he left the precinct, so late that he knew that he missed dinner, but his mind was already set on stopping by his building to make sure there was an adequate unit for his father. He’d call and hire someone in the morning to clean it up and put some furniture in it, but he couldn’t bear to go to sleep tonight without verifying that his father would have somewhere safe to go, once he got out of the halfway house.
He’s not sure how long he stood there, with his head against the door, but it lifts upright when he hears footsteps descending the stairs.
“Kev?” Your voice eked out carefully.
“Yeah, it’s me, baby.”
He met you at the last step and you both wrapped your arms around each other tightly. You feel that his weight is heavier tonight and know that today wasn’t a good day. Instead of acknowledging it, you guide him into the kitchen, “I left your food in the microwave, let me heat it up.”
He follows you silently, his head still leaned on your shoulder as he walks behind you with his hands on your hips. You lean into his embrace as the timer counts down until the egg rolls and fried rice are ready. Still, no words are spoken. You say nothing as his arms wrap tighter around you.
This is how it went with the two of you. He was a proud man and it wasn’t always easy for him to spill his emotions out to you. You were dogged in your pursuit for the truth, in your mission to heal his afflictions the way he always did for you, without question. There was a silent compromise in the way that neither of you spoke. Time was a pact, the equalizer that told him that you wouldn’t push and that he wouldn’t suppress.
You two sat at the breakfast table in the kitchen, ankles linking against each other under the table.
Always touching, the two of you.
He offered his plate to share, but you only took one bite out of an egg roll before shifting the dish back in front of him. Your ring shines against the glint of the light above and your eyes can’t help but jump to his. Like you did all the thousands of other times you saw that golden piece of metal surrounding his finger, you smile and your heart flutters. He catches the simper and his shoulders shake in a hushed chuckle.
“I’m sorry, that ring will always be the sexiest thing you will ever wear,” you always say.
“Even sexier than the chain?”
“Damn. Can’t forget about the chain.”
You two don’t actually say the words aloud like you usually do, but the back and forth is wordlessly exchanged through your eyes. A language that only two people in the universe will ever be fluent in.
When he finishes his plate, you go to grab it, but he swipes it away before you can and rises to head to the dishwasher. He loads the plate and fork and then detours to the fridge to grab something out of it.
He hands you your half-eaten dark chocolate bar and sits. You offer it, he leans over to only one bite out of it before pushing it back into your hand. And so, now you’re the one who eats quietly because you know that your husband is ready to talk, but still needs a moment to gather his thoughts.
You finish your chocolate, enjoying the crunch of almond in the last morsel and Kevin reaches for your hand.
“I got him a place to stay in the building.”
You nodded, not saying anything, allowing him the space to release whatever he's holding.
“I don’t know… I’m just still so… angry. I’m happy he’s out. He’s safe. But he had all this time to reach out. To make amends. And the best he can come up with for an excuse is his pride?”
His voice still creaked with emotion, much like before, when he let his dad have it at the precinct. He thinks about Jordan and Vinessa and even at his most frustrated, he couldn’t bear to think of not showing up for them whenever they needed. It may not have been fair to him, raising two kids when he was barely an adult himself, but he still couldn’t even fathom letting them down in any way. So how could the man that sired three children allow anything to hold him back from rushing back to them, from picking up the pieces of a long broken family?
Your second hand reaches around to wrap around his and you lean closer to him, allowing your foreheads to rest on each other’s.
“I feel like I can’t even be too mad at him. Because I don’t know what he went through. What he had to get through to survive all those years on the inside… Maybe he wouldn’t have made it if he was too weighed down by thoughts of us.”
You speak for the first time.
“You just hate that it was you and the kids that were weighing him down.”
With glassiness in his eyes, he nods.
You rise from your seat and rest in his lap, nestling his head against your chest, caressing the back of his neck. He heaves a deep breath and bundles closer into you.
“It’s okay,” you whisper.
You hold him tight as his shoulders shake, allowing him to find solace in your embrace. A safe haven so he can mourn for the time lost. And forgive for what wasn’t his fault.