Work Text:
November 28, 2019
Aly laughed when she saw the temporary tattoo on the back of his hand, the pink and purple tones discolored and fading even as the glitter held strong. Her fingertips ghosted over it once, twice, and a third time before her fingers looped into his own to pull his hand up towards the light.
“How long’s that been holding on now?”
“Almost a week. Daella’s birthday.”
“Never took you for a butterfly guy.” She grinned, dropping his hand, “Though I shouldn’t be that surprised. Softie.”
They stripped the bed together, pushing the sheets down into the hamper and replacing them with the spare set in a comfortable silence that came with years and years of routine. Him in his boxers, her in the robe she kept in her overnight bag, untied at the front, hair messy. They weren't the cuddling type, or at least Aly wasn't. She was more of a scroll reddit and make him give judgements on AITA posts after sex kind of girl. He was happy with whatever she'd give him.
. . .
Cregan showered quickly when she was over, as one of Aly’s many lovely personality traits was a sharp temper about water temperature. No such thing as quiet anger with her, though he was starting to think that was just a theme in the women in his life. What that said about him, he wasn't sure, nor was he sure he wanted to know.
Sara was downstairs in the kitchen when he finally left the bedroom, singing under her breath as she stared at the stained oven window. Their father had always cooked the turkey, Sara hovering in his shadow. They'd always had Thanksgiving with her while her mother had Christmas, so they'd had to lie to Stefon that Santa could deliver presents a month early if you sent in the right paperwork, but that he couldn’t tell anyone at school or else the system would be overrun with requests.
Their brother had died before he learned that Santa wasn’t real.
Cregan had thought it would be college graduations and birthdays or even Christmas Day itself that would sting the most when it came to Stefon but no, it was this. Sara, looking in on the turkey she wouldn’t let anyone else cook. Rickon, and by extension Jace’s girls, because a preschool-aged Rickon couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the right paperwork and their Thanksgiving-Christmas gifts. Sara, with their father’s wedding ring on a chain around her neck, Cregan with the man’s watch ticking away every moment on his wrist.
“Hungry?” Sara asked, already sliding a plate of scrambled eggs across the counter to him.
“Thanks. Rickon still asleep?”
She hummed an affirmative, turning to the coffee pot as footsteps thudded down the stairs.
“Turkey behavin’, sugarplum?” Aly appeared at his side, hair dripping on the tile floor, mints already cracking between her molars.
She rounded the counter to throw an arm around Sara’s shoulders, shaking her head and ignoring Sara’s annoyed groan at the conditioner-perfumed water spray.
“The turkey’s great,” Sara said, “You however, are a menace.”
“I’m a gem. Tell her Cregan.”
“No.”
The mint between her teeth let out a particularly loud crunch as she pulled his phone out of the pocket of her sweats, “Pity. I’ll keep this then. Baela texted, by the way.”
He sighed, “You’re a gem. Happy?”
“I don’t think he sounds very convincing-“
Cregan reached across the counter and plucks it from her distracted hand.
(If Sara gave him a look like she knew something he didn't, then, he didn't notice it.)
(If she saw that his background has changed from him and Rickon at a hockey game to Rickon, Baela, and Daenaera at her birthday party two weeks earlier, she didn't say anything.)
(If Aly noticed the background and the look, she miraculously kept it to herself for once.)
November 29, 2019
“Ease up, Dae. Come on now.”
Cregan chuckled at the wince on Baela’s face as her eldest daughter knocked Rickon into the wall of the ice rink again, trying to steal the puck from under him. The thud echoed through the arena, which was surprisingly empty. He supposed the stores’ draw on Black Friday and anyone not taking advantage of the sales was caught up in traveling.
The puck flew out from the tussle and Jocelyn swept it up with her stick, speeding by where Cregan and Baela sat, a gleeful look on her face as Daenaera shrieked and took off after her.
“She seems like she’s doing better,” Cregan said, the heat of the coffee cup in his hand bleeding through the styrofoam packaging and warming his fingers, “Rick said she’s driving again.”
They’d all struggled after Jace’s accident, but Daenaera’s pain had manifested in more obvious ways. Crippling anxiety that kept her from behind the wheel and stuck in the house for fear that something would happen if she braved the outside world. Getting her to go to school once the summer had ended had been a battle, conflicting in that Baela had wanted to soothe her daughter but knew that she couldn’t let her lock herself away forever. Cregan had eventually stepped in, working it out with his boss to where he could drive her to school himself in the mornings when her anxiety was worst, Rickon and Jocelyn following in his car. Daenaera would shut her eyes and steal sips from his coffee thermos and he’d play an old Dixie Chicks CD that Arra had loved.
Thankfully, she’d gotten in with a therapist within a few weeks of starting the new routine and they were able to make the switch back to Rickon driving full time by the beginning of October. It was a good compromise, though Cregan found himself missing those ten minutes every morning with her. Daenaera was the closest he had to a blood daughter of all his godchildren, born so close to Rickon they were practically twins. She’d scared him half to death more than once, but every morning with her in the car he couldn’t help but think about the night when Jace was on a business trip and Baela called Arra panicking, thinking she was in preterm labor. Arra had nearly sent herself into preterm labor waking up Cregan and running to the car to get to her.
He’d never forget the look on the labor and delivery nurses’ face when he walked in with not one, but two pregnant women.
It was strange to think how that night was the only time Arra had made it to labor and delivery, when she wasn’t even there for herself. He tried not to think about it too much. Tried to focus on the funny details, on the things that Arra would have wanted him to dwell on.
“She has her days,” Baela said, “We all do. I think its helping that I’m not working nights anymore, or at least I hope it is. Can be there for them more in the evenings or when someone can’t sleep. She’s going to start picking up shifts with me at the diner on the weekends, too. Gets her out of the house and she’ll have some fun money.”
Baela had started waitressing on the morning shift at the nearby diner once she’d left the hospital and to his surprise, she loved it. Leaving the hospital had brought more light back into her eyes and now her days were surrounded in human interaction that no longer was tainted by death and pain. Aly liked to drop in on Tuesday mornings for a bit of coffee and gossip, which was about the extent of her and Baela’s relationship, though they seemed okay with that. Cregan sometimes felt like his worlds were colliding but so far no one was ganging up on him too much, to his relief.
“I worry about Alyssa, really” Baela said, “She doesn’t talk about it and her and Daella are fighting like cats and dogs.”
“Some kids just don’t. I didn’t, when my dad passed.” Cregan shrugged. “Rickon told me that Daella cussed Alyssa out in the store the other day? What was that about?”
Baela’s face went red, “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life, Cregan. I didn’t even know she knew half those words. She used to be so sweet.”
“She still is. Just apparently not at the grocery store.”
Across the ice, Daella was smiling as she pushed herself into a slow, slightly wobbling, spin.
“The therapist says its normal. All of it. And its not like I wasn’t that angry and more when I was her age going through the same thing.” She let out a dry laugh, rubbing her face, “We can only hope she doesn’t take after me and let all that anger turn into a teen pregnancy or two.”
“I don’t know,” Cregan said, “That teen pregnancy or two turned into a couple amazing kids. But no, we can only hope. You’re too young to be a grandmother.”
When he glanced over at her, her eyes were sad. He nudged her knee with his own and she bumped him back, nodding towards Daenaera as she flew by once again with the puck, pursued by Rickon.
“She’s the age I was when I got pregnant for the first time.” She paused, “And I’m older than my mother ever got to be.”
Arra had died at twenty-three, in a few short years Rickon would live longer than she ever had, and Cregan had officially lived longer without her than he had with her for several years now. Someday, Baela would hit that milestone as well, for Jace, and just the thought of it made his eyes burn in a way that he couldn’t blame on the cold rink air.
. . .
Eventually, Alyssa and Daella fought on the other side of the rink, sharp enough that Cregan went around to stand at the gate and motion them in opposite directions, Alyssa to her mother and Daella to himself.
They sat on a bench, the blades of her skates dripping slush onto the chipped blue paint.
“It’s like she doesn’t even miss him.”
“Do you even care that he’s dead?” Sara had screamed at him, once, after Stefon had died, tears streaming down her face-
He sucked in a deep breath now, digging his thumbnail into the side of his pointer finger to ground himself, “What makes you think that?”
“We all cry and talk about him and she just…” She sniffled, bottom lip pouting, “Doesn’t.”
“We all grieve in our own ways.”
“Ah, there it is, that Northern stoicism.” Sara had said, after their father died, her eyes red, her voice pleading for him to grieve with her, but he couldn’t. He’d sat stone-faced at his father’s funeral, the pamphlet crumpled between his palm and the top of his leg. When he’d held her hand through the whole service, it still wasn’t enough. It’d taken her a long time to forgive him for that.
Jace had never faulted him for it and when they sat together at Harwin’s funeral, Cregan didn't fault Jace for the tears in his eyes. His brother by oath, by choice, by loyalty.
“We’re family, Dad always said that when we hurt, we hurt together. So no one’s alone.”
He had said that. Cregan had probably heard it a thousand times in the years they’d had. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep, had been tattoed on Jace’s arm in recent years, stark black ink against his pale forearm. His daughters’ birthdays had marked the stretch of his other forearm, along with their names in gentle cursive.
“He was right. But he’d also say we don’t have to react the same way. ‘Lyssa not crying in front of you doesn’t mean she loves him less.”
Daella sulked, staring out at the rink, across to where Alyssa sat next to Baela, their mother tucking bobby pins into the stray curls that had escaped her braid. Jocelyn came to a stop next to the doorway, ice caked nearly to her knees from a scuffle with Daenaera, her face lined with concern.
“Did she fall?”
Cregan shook his head, “Just taking a breather. How’s the game going?”
“Brutal. Daenaera has to have a secret pair of rollerblades at home, it’s the only explanation. We’re gonna do races next, though. You want in?”
The question she directed at Daella, who nodded, a smile taking over the pout on her face.
“Tighten up those boot laces, Delly-bug,” Cregan said as Jocelyn took off into the rink once again, “You’ve got a race to win.”
(Baela grabbed his hand when Alyssa won a race and Daella hugged her, squeezing so tight that his hand ached, but there was nothing in him that could ever let go. Not of her. Not of any of them.)
December 13, 2019
“Oh c’mon now, who called you?”
The first thing he noticed about Aly in the ER bed was the bruise that was quickly going purple and black all down the side of her face beneath the ice pack she was holding to it.
“Ben.”
“Bloody Ben. They shouldn’t have even called him,” She snapped, “I can drive, it’s just a concussion.”
“I’m sure you can.”
The ice pack flew in his direction, caught in his left hand before it could hit him with a grin. Aly scowled at him from the bed, the bruised side of her face wincing at the motion.
“What happened?” Cregan asked as he dropped into the visitor’s chair, tossing the ice pack at her lap.
“Guy was methed up, got in a really lucky hit.” Another wince, “with a two by four.”
Cregan made a pained sound, “Only one hit, I hope.”
“Two, actually. He got some practice in for his golf swing, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, you’re not driving.”
December 18, 2019
[11:06 - Cregan - you busy tonight?]
[9:22 - Aly - work. Probably wont be home for more than an hour or so for a week with how things are looking]
[9:24 - Cregan - they’ve got you back in the field already? Seems a bit soon.]
December 20, 2019
[10:22 - Aly - yeah]
[10:23 - Aly - its probaby a good thing for us too. We’ve been getting too close again. Need a break]
[10:23- Aly - I don’t know how long. A while. It’s for the best.]
[10:24 - Aly - sorry]
December 24, 2019
Simon Strong was a welcome presence in the subdued Christmas Eve festivities.
The younger children gravitated to him, laughing at the glittering pom-poms and lights of his ugly Christmas sweater, happy to be swept up into warm bear hugs. Luke and Rhaena’s twins tugged at the hem of his coat until he held them, one in each arm with crinkling cellophane tubes of smarties in their little hands.
Alys came with him, in her flowy tunic and pants, a chunky necklace against her collar and smelling faintly of tea tree oil. Well, as faintly as tea tree could smell, Cregan had never been a fan of it. With her came Larys’ involvement in the holiday, a stack of envelopes with their names typed on it, cash tucked into each one. Cregan was mostly sure that it wasn’t counterfeit. Mostly.
The older kids were huddled around the TV for Mario Kart, sitting on the floor in front of Baela who was watching them from her usual seat on the couch. Her shoulders were tense, even as she spoke warmly with Rhaena next to her, and he couldn’t blame her. The first year of holidays in grief was the worst, he was pretty sure he’d blocked out Rickon’s first Christmas in his memory. All he could really recall was a bone-deep anger that all of Arra’s plans had died with her. Family pictures in front of the tree, Rickon’s stocking, a meal with their family. Harwin had come by for hours on Christmas Day, shooing a reluctant Jace and Baela off to their own festivities with the rest of their family, and had held Rickon for hours while Cregan just slept and slept and slept-
Sometimes it startled him when he saw Luke. Not even Jace had resembled Harwin as strongly as him, down to the tone of his voice in recent years.
“I thought your sister was coming?” Luke sat down in the chair next to him, “She alright?”
Cregan nodded, “She’s on a girls’ trip she planned earlier this year. Christmas in Cabo.”
“Lucky. Corlys took all us out there to fish a couple times when we were little, Marlin capital of the world and all. I miss it.”
“Maybe you’ll be able to convince Rhaena to go out there with you in the summer.”
Luke snorted, “Doubtful, not with how things have been.”
Well if he wasn’t on edge already, Cregan surely was then.
“Is everything alright? With you two?”
Luke’s face tensed, hands gesturing off of his knees, “Yeah, yeah its nothing like that. It’s just work.”
Luke's hands flailed a bit, his attempt at finding something to say accompanied by the background noise of the Wii Sports theme playing too-loud through the TV speakers.
“Lots of adjusting and figuring things out and its just been a lot more than any of us expected, I think.”
Cregan nodded, hoping he looked properly convinced despite the worry in his chest. The noise from the kids rose suddenly, Jocelyn’s normally calm voice sharp with agitation as she spoke over the hum of the rest.
“It’s tradition.”
Daenaera’s arms were crossed over her chest, Alyssa nearly a perfect mirror in her own stance. A glance at the TV told Cregan all he needed to know. Wii Bowling was loaded and ready to be played, but the Christmas Tournament was suddenly faced with Jace’s absence. Normally they would split into two initial games: Jace, Alyssa, Daella, and Cregan, with the second group being Baela, Daenaera, Jocelyn, and Rickon.
“Well, who gets the red one? That’s Dad’s,” Alyssa said.
“I’m the oldest, so-“
“And I’m the second born and Alyssa the third and Delly is the youngest, whatever, are we done reciting idiotic reasons for who gets to have it?”
“Hey-“
“Mom-“ Jocelyn whirled towards her mother, who seemed about three seconds from leaving the room to compose herself.
“Rock paper scissors for it,” Luke called out, a stern edge to his tone that brought the bickering to a stop, “Two out of three, we’ll do the same for the second round.”
The arguing stopped and Cregan watched Baela take a deep, deep breath, clinging to Rhaena’s hand where she sat next to her, one of Rhaena’s twins on her lap.
December 25, 2019
[2:43 - Baela - Viserys didn’t show]
[2:51 - Baela - I don’t even know if I wanted him to be here. Kinda just wanted to know if he even cared]
[2:52 - Baela - Rhaenyra’s a mess. She keeps trying to talk to me about it and I don’t know what to say]
December 28, 2019
“He had a good birthday. Your parents sent him some money and bought plane tickets for him to visit them in the summer. Some sort of big hiking and camping trip that him and the cousins have been planning out that he’s really excited for.”
Cregan’s hands were numb from the absence of his work gloves, uncooperative around the cooling coffee in the flimsy disposable cup he’d picked up from Mcdonalds on the way. It wasn’t snowing, thankfully, but the wind had a bite to it that even a northerner couldn’t quite ignore. Someone had decorated the headstones in the cemetery with poinsettia arrangements for the holidays, the waxy fake flowers nearly hiding all of Arra’s inscription, I thank God upon every remembrance of you, which followed the dates of her birth and death.
She’d held on long enough on that operating table so that her son didn’t share a birthday with death, slipping away just a few minutes after midnight. She'd always been the superstitious type, even until the end.
“Aly sent him a text and a bit of money too. You’d be proud of her, she’s doing good work. Maybe too much work at times but good work.”
Arra had been Sara’s friend first, with Aly as the third in their little trio, two years older than him. When he’d met Arra, he’d known immediately that she would change his life forever, no matter what happened, and she had. She really had.
“I worry about her. I know you’ve got quite the list of people to look out for these days, but she could use a little extra these days.”
The first time him and Aly had broken up had been over Arra, over whether she would be able to forgive them for finding comfort in each other. The others had supposedly been for other reasons, but sometimes he couldnt help but wonder if it all came back to her. To Aly’s loyalty to Arra, or maybe to his own. But at the same time, trying to be with someone who didn’t understand who Arra had been? Who didn’t understand who he had been before losing her? It seemed impossible.
To raise Rickon with a woman who never knew his mother? Now that, the very thought of it felt like sacrilege.
His sweet boy with his gentle heart, now a man. He looked just like his mother and it was such a blessing that at least Rickon could know her in his own reflection. That he would truly carry her with him for his entire life, even after Cregan was gone, after everyone else who had known her in life had passed, her face in his own features would remain. Rickon would see her grow old in a way that Cregan would never.
“He’s so good, Arra.” He sipped at the lukewarm coffee with blurry vision, “He’s everything you would have wanted him to become. I don’t think I could ever be more proud of him than I am. I don’t know how I did it, maybe I didn’t. Maybe it was all him.”
. . .
Rickon’s car was missing when he pulled up to Baela’s house, his computer bag still laying on the kitchen table as Cregan stepped inside.
“The older three went to the movies,” Baela said before he could even ask, holding out a half-full wine glass, the bottle still in her other hand, “and the younger two are upstairs watching a movie in the big bed.”
“And you?” He took the glass from her hand and she reached up into the cabinet for another, “I thought you swore off drinking?”
Baela paused in her pouring, “I thought I did too, but Grandmama has a glass every night before bed and I don’t want the rest of this to go to waste.”
She tipped her hand and a bit more wine sloshed into the half-full glass.
“And she had a lot to say about it when she was here. She says she doesn’t want me to live in fear when I could be living in moderation.”
“I think you should be living in whatever way works best for you right now,” Cregan said, “I’ll pour it down the drain if you ask.”
Baela shook her head, dropping the now-empty bottle into the trash bin, “No, don’t. She knows how I am and she’s trying to help. After Mom passed, I didn’t even want to go to my yearly physical because I was so afraid they would find something. She made me go then too. It’s her way of showing she cares.”
She passed him with her glass, crossing into the living room and grabbing the remote, “Speaking of caring, Rick mentioned you’ve been home every night this week, is Aly out of town?”
“Called for a break, actually.”
She winced, “That’s unfortunate. How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t feel any particular way about it. She’s allowed to call for a break if she feels like it.”
Well that was a lie, though not one he would admit. He’d gotten too used to Aly’s presence and now he found himself dreading the evenings where the loneliness would creep in with every moment that his phone didn’t buzz.
Baela hummed at his answer, sinking down into her side of the sectional couch, “Did you ever…think about remarrying? You and Aly have been on and off so many years but I don’t think we’ve ever really talked about it. Not you and I, at least. And Jace never mentioned anything.”
Cregan shrugged from the other end, setting his glass down on the table.
“There was a time where I thought maybe if the right person came along I’d be open to it, but it felt wrong to bring someone into Rickon’s life who didn’t know his mom. Not to mention, we don’t exactly have the best situation for bringing people in, you know?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Baela,” He shook his head, “If you were dating someone and they consistently put a whole other family before you, you wouldn’t want to stick around, would you?”
“We wouldn’t have asked you for that,” Her voice was tight, as were her eyes, brow furrowed as if he’d offended her, somehow, “And besides, we could have been welcoming to anyone you brought home. You never even tried to bring Aly around.”
“It’s not about asking.” He leaned forward in the seat, his elbows braced on his knees, “I don’t want to bring someone into my life only to make them feel like they’re coming third to Rickon and your family. Because they would, and they’d never really be able to understand it, the jealousy would make us all miserable.”
Baela sipped at her wine with a frown, “I’d probably run into the same problem, I suppose.”
“You’re thinking about remarrying?”
It was a surprising thought, one that felt uncomfortable to even really consider, but his feelings on it had to come second to hers. He’d follow her where she went, as long as the girls were taken care of.
Baela shook her head, “Not anytime soon. I’m just lonely, I think. You didn’t warn me that your spouse dying absolutely ruins your sex life.”
It was unfortunate that that was the exact moment that Cregan took a sip of his wine. He choked, fist flying up to cover his mouth as Baela laughed and called out apologies. It’d been so long since he’d heard her properly laugh, the sound of it sent a rush of relief and joy through him.
“Baela-“ He scolded, coughing, and she only laughed harder.
“Sorry, sorry,” She was grinning, it was beautiful, “I mean it though. I haven’t had a dry spell like this since my teens. It sucks. Should we toast to dry spells since Aly’s kicked you out?”
“I could go to a bar."
“I don’t know, you don’t seem the type. Cheers me.”
She raised up onto her knees to scoot across the sectional, extending her glass in his directions, “To unfortunate dry spells.”
“You’re awful,” He said, but tapped the glass against hers anyways.
“Someday maybe I’ll dress up a bit and let you take me to a bar. Wingman a bit for me.”
“I don’t know, honey.” She shifted closer as he spoke, drinking from her glass, “Not a lot of men worthy of you. Might just scare them all off.”
Cregan shouldn’t have looked away from her face, he knew better, but his eyes slipped down to where her oversized shirt had slipped down below her collarbone, her pale purple shorts tight against her thighs.
“Yeah,” She whispered, “You probably would.”
His eyes flitted back to her face, to the line of her jaw, her cheekbone, her eyes warm and watching his every move and horrifically he felt his ears go red, heat burning at the back of his neck. He needed to stop-
And then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
Cregan’s brain came to a screeching halt, taken over by the split-second of shock and the sudden warmth of her all around him. The smell of her hair, of her perfume, the taste of her mouth, the weight of her shifting across the couch, how the cushions gave way beneath her and she tilted past the point of no return-
He managed to put his wine glass down, how he wasn’t quite sure, but there was the rattling clink of it on the side table and his now-empty hand was at her waist, pulling her closer, a knee on each side of his lap. Her wine glass sloshed in her hand, held up and away from them, her mouth soft and tasting of it against his.
Her free hand dropped to the collar of his shirt, slipping inside to press against the warmth of him, but suddenly he felt the chill of her fingers clearly enough to break through the haze and he pulled his head back from her in a panic. Her eyes were wide as they stared at each other, her knees still on either side of his lap. It felt like cold water had been dumped over his head as he heard the bathroom door shut upstairs and remembered that two of her children-
Jace’s children-
Were upstairs.
And he was on the couch with their mother in his lap.
He felt sick.
Baela scrambled off of him, her wine glass slamming down onto the side table hard enough that a crack appeared in the base of it. Her hand flew over her mouth, the other hand on her hip as she half-turned away from him.
“Oh God,” She said, muffled, and Cregan almost repeated it.
“Baela,” He tried to say, but she cut him off.
“I need a minute. Just a minute. Please.”
His throat burned, head racing, heart beating out of his chest, and he couldn’t stop the terrible thought of did we just ruin everything we have?
Jace hadn’t even been in the ground for a year, and this is how Cregan behaved? This is how he betrayed the best man he’d ever known? By sitting on the man’s couch and holding the man’s wife as if he had any right to even look at her-
“It can’t happen again. It can’t.”
Baela’s voice was frantic. It made his heart hurt. He’d done that to her.
“I know,” He said, “and I agree.”
“It really can’t, Cregan.”
“I know it can’t.”
She sounded on the verge of tears and frankly, he felt the same way.
“We were just lonely and tipsy and it was an accident.”
Tipsy, he could laugh. They’d probably taken three sips each. But if she wanted to blame it on that who was he to stop her? Who was he to question that, even as the wine glasses mocked him half a foot away on the side table?
“Just an accident,” He tried to soothe, but his voice could never be considered steady in that moment, “It didn’t mean anything. We don’t need to worry about it.”
“What if one of the girls had seen?”
“They didn’t.” Cregan stood, walking over to her and gently catching her by the elbow, “Hey, look at me. Listen.”
She looked to him with eyes full of tears and he wanted to punch himself in the face.
“We’re good, right? I’m good, you’re good. No one saw. No one knows. We were lonely and drunk and it was an accident and we don’t have to dwell on it.”
“We’re good?”
“We’re good. I promise you. I’m not going anywhere and tomorrow we will be back to normal.”
Another lie, but it was one he had to tell for her sake and for his own. Part of him would never come back from this, but he'd do whatever she asked of him.
“We can’t lose you,” She sobbed into her hand, leaning into his palm on her elbow, “They need you, Cregan.”
“They won’t lose me and neither will you. It was an accident.”
She nodded, sniffling.
“I’m going to go,” Cregan said, feeling sick to his stomach, “and I’m going to get in my car and go home and when I see you next, we will be back to our normal selves.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t,” he begged, “It’s not your fault. You’re okay.”
It took more effort than he thought it would to pull away from her, to turn his back on her and walk through the kitchen and the garage without looking back, to get into his car and pull out of her driveway without stopping himself.
He made it around the street corner before he faltered, pulling over to the side of the road and letting his head fall into his hands.
We’re good, he kept saying to himself, again and again and again, and it was another lie.