willing and able ||| | s. crosby
"i'd be willing and able if you're willing, i'm able"
warnings: language.
summary: it'll all work out.
request: yes
song: willing and able - noah kahan
word count: 11.7k
a/n: final part of this one!!! unless.... ;)
previous part | part one
~
Sidney left your parents' house and went straight to his own parents' house because he felt like crying and he felt like he needed to tell someone. Someone who would understand, or at least try to. He needed to tell someone about the fact that he was a father. That he had this little boy named Beau who didn't need him, who'd been doing just fine without him for years, but Sidney needed him. Needed to know him, needed to be part of his life, needed to make up for all the time he'd lost.
It was late. Nearly ten at night, and he'd just been at his parents' house for dinner a few hours ago and now he was back, pulling into the driveway again, and he could see the confusion on his mom's face through the front window as she spotted his car.
She met him at the door before he could even knock. "Sid? Is everything okay?"
His dad appeared behind her. "What's wrong?"
Sidney walked past them into the house, into the living room where he'd grown up, where he'd spent countless hours as a kid dreaming about the NHL. The walls were covered in photos. Him at different ages, holding hockey sticks, wearing team jerseys. Him with his parents, with his sister, with friends. A timeline of his life, carefully documented and displayed but there were four years missing now. Four years of a little boy who was learning to skate and play hockey and grow up without him.
"I need to ask you something," Sidney said, turning to face his parents. His voice was shaking. He couldn't make it stop. "About the draft. The week of the draft. The time between leaving here and going to Ottawa. All of it."
His parents exchanged a glance.
"Okay," his mom said slowly, coming to sit on the couch. "What do you want to know?"
"My phone," Sidney said. "I lost it. In Ottawa, or maybe before. I don't remember exactly when. Do you remember anything about that?"
His dad's jaw tightened just slightly. "You were always losing things back then. Your phone, your wallet, your keys. We had to buy you three new phones that year alone."
"But do you remember that specific time? During the draft?"
"Sidney, what is this about?" his mom asked, and she sounded almost afraid.
"She was pregnant," he said, and his voice didn’t even try to be steady. "During the draft. She texted me to tell me she was pregnant, and someone responded. Someone with my phone told her to get rid of it. Told her I didn't want the baby. I have a son," Sidney continued, and the tears were coming now. "I have a three year old son named Beau, and I only just found out tonight. And she thinks I told her to get rid him. She thinks I abandoned her."
His parents got this guilty look on their faces. Simultaneously, like they'd rehearsed it. And in that moment, Sidney knew. He knew that everyone who was supposed to love him and support him had done the exact opposite.
"Oh my God," he breathed, taking a step back. "You knew."
"Sidney–" his mom started, reaching for him.
"You knew," he said again, louder this time. "You knew she was pregnant and you didn't tell me."
"We were trying to protect you," his dad said, standing up now. "You were eighteen years old. You had your entire future ahead of you."
"Who else?" Sidney demanded, his hands clenching into fists. "Who else knew? Who helped you do this?"
"Do what?" his dad said defensively. "We didn't do anything except make sure you didn't throw your life away for some girl."
"Who. Else." Sidney bit out each word separately, his voice shaking with rage.
His mom's voice was gentle when she answered, which somehow made it worse. "Mario. And Pat."
Sidney felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Mario, the man who'd taken him under his wing and into his family when he'd arrived in Pittsburgh overwhelmed. The man who'd let Sidney live in his house, who'd treated him like family, who'd taught him what it meant to be a professional. And Pat. His agent, the man who was supposed to have Sidney's best interests at heart, who was supposed to advocate for him, protect him. They'd all known.
"I can't believe this," Sidney said, and his voice sounded fake even to his own ears. "I can't fucking believe this."
"We did what we thought was best," his mom said, and she was crying now too. "Sidney, you have to understand. You were so young, and this was such a huge opportunity, and we didn't want you to have regrets."
"Regrets?" Sidney repeated. "You think I'd regret my own child?"
"We thought you'd regret giving up hockey," his dad said firmly. "Giving up everything you'd worked for your entire life. For a girl you'd known for three years."
"A girl?" Sidney's voice rose. "A girl? She's not just a girl. She was everything to me. She IS everything to me."
"You were eighteen," his dad said, his own voice getting louder. "You didn't know what you were saying when you talked about a future with her."
"I knew exactly what I was saying!"
"You were a child!"
"And what was she?" Sidney shot back. "She was eighteen too. Just a kid. But you forced a decision on her. Made her think I didn't want our baby. Made her go through that pregnancy alone. Made her raise our son by herself while I was off playing a stupid fucking kids game."
"We gave you a chance at your dreams," his mom said, her voice pleading now. "Sidney, look at everything you've accomplished. Would you have any of that if you'd stayed here to play house with your high school girlfriend?"
Playing house. Like what you'd gone through, what you'd survived, was some kind of game. Some childish fantasy.
"You don't get it," Sidney said, shaking his head. "You don't understand what you took from me."
"We took nothing from you," his dad said. "We gave you everything. We sacrificed everything so you could have this career. We gave up our lives for your dreams."
"And I never asked you to!" Sidney shouted. "I never asked for any of that!"
"You didn't have to ask. You're our son. We wanted you to have the best."
"The best?" Sidney laughed bitterly. "The best would've been knowing I had a child. The best would've been getting to make my own choices about my own life. The best would've been you trusting me enough to tell me the truth."
"She was a girl you knew for three years," his dad responded, his face red now. "Three years, Sidney. Hockey existed for you before her and it exists after her. She was never really an important factor in your life."
"How can you say that?" Sidney yelled. "How can you possibly think you know what was important to me?"
"Because I know you. You lived and breathed hockey from the time you started walking. You slept with your stick, you practiced until your hands bled, you sacrificed everything for this sport. And we were supposed to let you throw it all away for a high school crush?"
"She wasn't a crush! I loved her!"
"You were eighteen," his dad repeated, like that explained everything. "You don't know the first thing about loving another person."
"And you do?" Sidney shot back. "Is this what love looks like?"
"We made a hard decision," his mom said, stepping between them. "We thought she'd move on, that you'd move on, that it would be better for everyone."
"Better for everyone?" Sidney stared at her in disbelief. "She had to raise our baby alone. Do you have any idea what that must have been like for her? How scared she must have been? How hurt?"
"We didn't know she'd keep it," his mom said quietly. "We thought–"
"You thought she'd get rid of it.”
"Son, you have to understand–"
"No, you have to understand," Sidney pointed at his dad, and his whole body trembling with rage and grief. "I have a three year old son who I know nothing about. I have a lifetime of firsts I'll never get back. I lost everything that mattered."
"You have hockey," his dad said. "You have the Cup. You have everything you ever dreamed of."
"What good is hockey if everything I ever loved was taken from me?" Sidney's voice broke. "What good is winning if I lost her? If I lost him?"
"You're romanticizing it," his dad said dismissively. "The truth is, you would've resented her eventually. Resented being tied down so young, resented missing out on your career. We saved you from making a mistake."
"She wasn't a mistake!" Sidney snapped. "My son isn't a mistake!"
"We didn't want you to risk your future for a girl," his mom said. "We didn't want you to wake up in ten years and hate us for not stopping you."
"How could you be so selfish?" Sidney accused. "How could you make that choice for me?"
"We're your parents," his dad said. "It's our job to protect you. Even from yourself."
"I didn't need protection! I needed support! I needed you to trust that I knew my own heart, my own mind!"
"You were a kid," his dad said again, and it made Sidney wanted to scream. "You didn't know what you wanted."
"I knew I wanted her. I've always known that."
"And look where that got you, standing here four years later, crying over some girl who's clearly moved on with her life. She's doing fine without you Sidney. She's raised that boy on her own. She doesn't need you."
That hurt him more than anything. Because his dad was right, in a way. You had moved on. You had Beau, you had your job, you had your independence. You'd survived something that would have broken most people, and you'd come out stronger.
But that didn't make what they'd done okay.
"It's so convenient, isn't it?" his dad continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "This girl just happens to get pregnant the moment you go first overall in the draft. The moment you're about to sign your first big contract."
"Don't you dare. She loved me. She would never–"
"You don't know what she would or wouldn't do," his dad interrupted. "You were just a kid. You both were. And kids make mistakes."
"I was just a kid," Sidney agreed, his voice shaking. "But so was she. Only she was a kid you manipulated and lied to. And I was a kid you trusted to sign multimillion dollar contracts. You can't have it both ways. Either I was old enough to make my own choices, or I wasn't."
His mom looked overwhelmed. "We were trying to do what was best–"
"For who? Not for me. Not for her. Not for Beau. So who? Who were you really protecting?"
They didn’t answer that question.
"You ruined my life," Sidney said finally. "You took everything from me. My son, the woman I love, four years I can never get back. And I'll never forgive you for that. Never."
"Sidney–" his mom reached for him again, but he stepped back. "We thought you'd thank us one day. We thought you'd understand."
"Understand what? That you cared more about my career than my happiness? That you valued hockey more than you valued me as a person?" Sidney shook his head. "I don't understand that. I never will."
His dad was still standing there, jaw clenched, refusing to back down. Refusing to admit that maybe, just maybe, they'd made a catastrophic mistake.
"You would've thrown everything away for her," his dad said finally. "You would've given up hockey, given up your dreams, stayed in this place. We couldn't let that happen."
"You're right," Sidney said, and his voice was eerily calm now. "I would have thrown away everything for her. My dreams, my career, all of it. I would've thrown it all away in a heartbeat if it meant being with her. If it meant being a father to my son. And you know what? It was the least you could do to let me make that choice. It was my choice to make. Not yours."
"We were your parents," his mom said desperately. "We knew better."
"You knew nothing," Sidney said. "You still know nothing. About me, about her, about what we could have had."
He turned to leave, needing to get out of this house before he said something he really regretted. Before he broke down completely.
"Where are you going?" his mom called after him.
"Away from you," Sidney said without turning around.
"Sidney, please. Can't we just talk about this?"
"There's nothing to talk about. You made your choice four years ago. Now I have to live with it."
He walked out the door, got in his car, and just drove. He had no destination in mind, no plan. He just needed to move, needed to do something with the energy that probably wouldn’t let him sleep.
Nothing had been resolved with his parents. Nothing was fixed, nothing was better. If anything, it was worse, because now he knew. Now he had names. People he'd trusted, people he'd loved, people who were supposed to have his back. And they'd all lied to him.
He wanted to go to you immediately. Wanted to drive straight to your parents' house, bang on the door, explain everything. He could apologize, could promise to spend the rest of his life making it up to you. Could meet his son properly, start building a relationship, start making up for lost time.
But it was late. You'd be asleep, Beau would be asleep, and showing up at your parents' house in the middle of the night would only make things worse. Would make you think he was unstable, dangerous even. So instead, he drove around. Visiting all of your old spots, the places that held memories of when things were good.
He drove past the rink where you'd first met, where you'd watched him practice and waited for him after games. It was dark now, locked up for the night, but he could see it so clearly in his mind. You in the stands cheering louder than anyone else.
He drove past the waterfront where you'd spent that perfect summer day before the draft, lying in the sand and talking about the future. You'd built sandcastles together, splashed in the water like kids, kissed as the sun set and painted the sky orange and pink.
He drove past the spot where you'd had your first date, where he'd been so nervous he'd barely been able to eat. You'd ordered a milkshake and let him have sips of it, and he'd thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.
He drove past your old high school, where he'd walked you to class and carried your books and kissed you against your locker when no one was looking.
Every street, every building, every corner held a memory. And now they all felt tainted, poisoned by the knowledge of what he'd lost. He didn't sleep. He blinked away tears when he thought too hard about something. About Beau's first birthday, which Sidney had missed. About his first Christmas, his first Halloween, his first day of daycare. About you, alone and pregnant and scared.
He got angry. And then he got sad. And then he got angry again. At himself for not trying harder to find you. For accepting your mom's rejection so easily, for moving on when he should have fought. For being so consumed by hockey that he'd convinced himself you'd stopped caring about him. And then sad again. Sad for the boy he'd been at eighteen, who'd loved you so completely and lost you so suddenly. Sad for the man he was now, who'd achieved everything he'd ever dreamed of career-wise and felt emptier than ever.
The cycle repeated, over and over, as the hours passed and the sky started to lighten with the first hints of dawn. By the time the sun came up, Sidney was exhausted.
He knew what he had to do. Because you were worth it. You'd always been worth it. And his son, that beautiful little boy he'd only glimpsed sleeping in the backseat of a car, was worth it too.
~
You didn't know where Sid went after that night.
That was the thing you hated most. Not that he left, because of course he left. He had been leaving in one way or another for almost four years, even when he hadn't known he was doing it. He'd left in Ottawa. He'd left when the texts came through. He'd left when your phone stopped ringing. He'd left in every memory you had of him because every memory now had an ending attached to it. A boy kissing you on your parents' porch, then a man sitting behind the wheel of his car, staring at your son in the rearview mirror like he'd just been shown the inside of his own heart.
But he asked for five minutes. Just five. It shouldn't have mattered. You should've been able to shrug it off, roll your eyes, tell yourself that was Sidney Crosby all over again. Good at saying the right thing. Bad at staying. Except he had looked so destroyed when he'd asked. He had said he needed five minutes. Just five. He had said it like five minutes was all he deserved, like he knew he couldn't ask for a lifetime when he hadn't earned even the smallest piece of your evening.
And then he never came back.
Your dad drove you and Beau back to Halifax the next morning. Your mom sat in the passenger seat, too quiet, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Beau slept for most of the ride. You sat in the back beside him because you couldn't bear the front seat. Because the front seat felt too much like Sid's car. Because if you stared through a windshield for too long, you'd see his hands on the steering wheel again.
Your parents didn't push. Your mom kept glancing at you like she wanted to say something and didn't trust herself not to make it worse. Your dad only asked if you wanted the radio on, and when you shook your head, he didn't ask again.
They knew. Of course they knew. They knew you had wanted him to come back. You hated that they knew it. You hated that your face had probably given you away. You hated that after four years of being strong, four years of building a spine out of anger, one night with Sidney Crosby had turned you back into the girl who used to wait by the phone.
You had waited until midnight before you stopped pretending you weren't waiting. Your parents' house had gone quiet. Beau was tucked up in the little room that used to be yours. Your mom had gone to bed. Your dad had fallen asleep in his recliner with the TV muted. And you had sat at the kitchen table, staring at the front door. You told yourself you weren't waiting for him. You were just awake. You were just thinking. You were just overwhelmed. You were just trying to make sense of a conversation that didn't make any fucking sense.
But every time headlights passed by the window you looked. Every time a car slowed down outside you almost got up. And every time it wasn't him, some humiliating little part of you broke again.
By two in the morning, you went upstairs and got into bed beside Beau because you couldn't stand being alone. He was sprawled out sideways, one sock missing, one hand tucked under his cheek. He smelled like campfire smoke and baby shampoo. You curled around him without waking him, placed your hand lightly on his stomach, and let the weight of him breathing keep you from falling apart completely.
"He didn't come back, baby," you breathed, so quietly that even you barely heard it.
Beau snuffled in his sleep and shifted closer to you.
You closed your eyes.
"Yeah," you said, your throat tight. "I know."
Life went back to normal because it had to. Monday still came. Groceries still needed buying. Laundry still piled up. Beau still needed breakfast, still needed baths, still needed to be reminded not to put crayons in the couch cushions. Rent was still due. Appointments still had to be kept.
You went back to Halifax and tried to make your body understand that nothing had changed. Except everything had. The landline never rang. Your mother never called with news. Your dad didn't show up with that look on his face. No unfamiliar car pulled up outside your apartment. No letter arrived. No message. Nothing.
Sidney vanished again. Only this time you couldn't even hate him properly because there was a terrible, terrible chance he had told the truth. That was what fucked with you most. Not the fact that he might have lied, but the fact that he might not have.
August began letting up into September. The air changed. The mornings grew cooler. The light got softer. The leaves had not quite turned yet, but they were thinking about it. You could feel it in the trees, in the way the wind moved through the street outside your apartment, in the way Beau started asking if he could wear his hoodie to daycare even though he'd get too warm by lunch.
On the first Saturday of September, you woke up at six in the morning for no reason.
You didn't have to work. You had traded shifts with Marcy at the salon because Beau's daycare was closed for some staff training thing, and you had decided that the two of you were going to have a lazy day at home. Pancakes, cartoons, maybe a walk to the park if the weather held. Nothing big. Just you and your boy, the way it had been for years.
You were already awake when the knock came. You froze under the blanket. For a second you thought you imagined it. It was early enough that the whole building still felt asleep, early enough that the hallway outside your apartment was quiet except for the occasional creak of old floors and someone taking their dog out.
Then it came again. Three soft knocks. You sat up slowly, pushing your hair out of your face. You were wearing an old oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, your legs bare, your feet cold against the floor when you slipped out of bed. You moved quietly, because Beau was still asleep and the last thing you wanted was for him to wake up before you knew who was at the door.
Your first thought was your parents.
It always was.
They had a habit of showing up too early with muffins or coffee or some bag of clothes your mom found on sale and couldn't resist buying for Beau. They also had a key, which made the knocking weird. Your parents didn't knock. They might tap once while already turning the lock, calling out your name like the apartment belonged to all of you collectively.
You walked to the living room and peeked through the small gap in the curtain. Your parents’ car was idling on the curb. Their usual spot. You could see two shapes in the front seats. Your mom in the passenger seat. Your dad behind the wheel.
But that made no sense. Why hadn't they just come up? Why knock?
You glanced toward Beau's room, then back at the door.
"Shit," you whispered.
You unlocked the door carefully, chain first, then deadbolt, then the little lock on the knob that always stuck if you turned it too fast.
It wasn't your parents. It was Sidney.
It was a version of Sidney you'd never met. A broken down version of him that should've never even existed.
Neither of you said anything at first. You held the door with one hand. He stood on the other side of it, looking at you like he'd walked through fire and you were the only thing left standing. Your first instinct was anger. He didn't come back. He asked for five minutes and disappeared for weeks. He left you waiting again. Your second instinct was to reach for him.
"Sidney," you said, and his name barely came out. "Are you okay?"
The question left your mouth before you could stop it. You almost wanted to take it back. Because who were you to ask him that now? Who was he to be standing there needing comfort from you after everything? You shouldn't have cared if he was okay. You shouldn't have noticed the way his hands were shaking. You shouldn't have wanted to smooth the frown out of his mouth with your thumb.
"No," he said. His voice was rough. "I'm not."
That was all it took.
You stepped forward and hugged him. There was no thought in it. Your body moved before your pride could stop it, before four years of hurt could stand in the doorway and tell you not to be stupid. You wrapped your arms around him as tightly as you possibly could and pressed your cheek to his chest.
Part of it was for him. Part of it was for you. Because he'd been gone. Because he'd come back. Because he smelled like Sid. Because he felt like Sid too. Because your body remembered him in ways your brain had tried to beat out of itself. Because four years should've changed everything, but somehow, somehow, your hands still knew where to go.
His arms closed around you hard. He held on like something in him had been waiting for permission to collapse and your arms were the only place he could do it. One hand spread wide between your shoulder blades. The other curled at the back of your sweatshirt, fist tight in the fabric. His head dropped until his face was buried near your hair, and then he made this sound.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
You closed your eyes. You didn't respond because he obviously knew something you didn't. Something more than what had been said in the car. Something that had taken him away from you after promising five minutes and brought him back looking like this. You didn't have the heart to ask. Not yet. Asking meant opening the door to answers, and answers changed things.
And you were so tired of things changing. So you just held him. He shook once in your arms and tried to hide it by pulling you closer. You knew that trick. You knew him. Even now, even after all of it, you knew him.
"Sid," you whispered.
He sucked in a breath.
"I tried," he said against your hair. "I tried to come back. I swear I tried. I just couldn't, I couldn't pull myself together. I couldn't be strong for you, and you needed me to be strong, and I couldn't even do that."
You didn't say anything.
Your hand moved on its own, sliding up his back once. Comforting him. You didn't know where you stood. Didn't know if you were allowed to touch him like this. Didn't know if he was allowed to need you like this. Still, when he trembled again, you held on tighter.
"My parents brought you?" you asked quietly.
He nodded, his face still tucked close. "Yeah."
"My mom?"
Sidney hesitated. You pulled back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were wet. He looked away for a second, toward the hallway, toward anywhere that wasn't your face.
"Your dad," he said.
"My dad?"
Sidney nodded again. "He convinced your mom. She didn't want to. I don't blame her. I wouldn't have wanted to either. But he, uh..." Sidney's mouth twitched, not a smile, not even close. "He said if I was gonna show up looking like I crawled out of a ditch, I was gonna do it before Beau woke up and before you had enough time to slam the door in my face."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. It was almost nothing but Sidney heard it. His eyes snapped back to you, and for one second, there he was. Your Sid. The boy who used to act like getting a laugh out of you was better than scoring. The boy who'd grin so big if you gave him even the smallest piece of joy.
Then it vanished. His face fell again.
"I'm sorry," he said, like he couldn't stop saying it now that he'd started. "I know that doesn't mean anything. I know it's not enough. I know I keep saying it, and it's just words, and you deserved more than words. You deserved everything. You deserved me there. Beau deserved me there."
Your throat tightened. The hallway was cold around you. Too exposed. Too early. Too much of this belonged behind a closed door, somewhere private, somewhere your neighbors wouldn't stumble out in slippers and witness the last four years bleeding all over the floor.
"Come in," you said.
Sidney went still and you could see him trying not to look too hopeful.
"Are you sure?"
"No," you said honestly. "But come in."
He nodded once and stepped inside. You closed the door behind him as quietly as you could. The apartment felt different with him in it. Smaller. Or maybe fuller. He stood just inside the entryway, looking around with careful eyes. Just taking it in. The little shoes by the door. Beau's raincoat hanging on a low hook. The toy cars scattered near the couch. The folded blanket over the armchair. The life you'd made without him.
You watched him see it. You watched him hurt over it.
"He's still asleep," you said quietly, nodding toward the hallway.
Sidney looked toward it instantly.
"Beau?" he asked.
You nodded.
He swallowed again. "Okay."
"He usually wakes up around seven."
"Okay," he repeated.
"Do you want coffee?"
The question was absurd. It was so normal it almost made you laugh again. Sidney standing in your apartment after four years of grief, after finding out he had a son, after disappearing for weeks, and you were offering him coffee like he was one of your parents stopping by before work.
"Yeah," he said, voice soft. "Please."
You went to the kitchen because you needed something to do with your hands. Sidney followed only as far as the edge of the living room, like he didn't want to cross too far into your home without permission. That hurt too. His hesitation. The way he seemed to understand that everything here belonged to you and Beau, and he had not earned the right to move through it freely.
You poured him coffee in the only clean mug left in the cabinet, the one with a chipped handle and a faded print of a cartoon whale on it because Beau had picked it out at a thrift store and declared it your fancy cup. You didn't ask how he took it. You just poured it and called it good.
You could feel him watching you.
"You remembered," he said softly.
You didn't turn around.
"Don't make it a thing."
"Okay."
But his voice had cracked on the word. Damn him. Damn him for still being so easy to hurt. You carried the mug to him, and he took it with both hands. His fingers brushed yours. Barely. A ghost of a touch but you still felt it like an electric spark.
"Thank you," he said.
You nodded and wrapped both hands around your own mug. For a minute, neither of you spoke.
The silence was crowded. It had every version of you in it. Fifteen in a rink. Sixteen on your parents' porch. Seventeen in his bed, whispering futures you had no business believing in. Eighteen with a phone in your hand. Nineteen with a baby you didn't know how to love yet. Twenty, packing boxes for Halifax. Twenty one, watching him lift the Cup on television and hating him because it was easier than missing him. Twenty two, standing in your own apartment with Sidney Crosby drinking from your chipped whale mug while your son slept down the hall.
Finally, you said, "Where did you go?"
Sidney closed his eyes.
"I went to my parents' house."
You looked at him but he didn't open his eyes right away.
"That night?" you asked.
"Yeah."
"I thought you said five minutes."
"I did."
"Must've been a long five minutes."
"I know," he said. "I know. I fucked that up too."
"You didn't come back."
"I know."
"You dropped me off and asked me to wait, and then you didn't come back."
"I know."
"I would've waited," you said, and there it was, the thing you hadn't wanted to admit. Your voice went smaller. "That morning I waited."
"I know," he whispered. "That's why I couldn't."
That made you look back.
"What?"
"I knew you'd wait," he said. "I knew if I came back like that, if I showed up at your parents' door completely out of my mind, you'd try to take care of me. And I didn't want that to be the first thing I asked from you again."
Your grip tightened on your mug.
"Again?"
He nodded once.
"I already took so much. Even if I didn't know I was taking it, I did. I took four years by not knowing. I took your belief in me. I took..." He stopped and looked down, jaw clenching hard. "I took the version of us that should've existed. And when I found out, all I wanted was to come back to you and fall apart. I wanted you to make it better, and that's not fair. It wasn't fair to ask you for comfort when you were the one who'd been hurt."
You stared at him. There were things you wanted to say. That he was right. That he was wrong. That you had wanted him to come back anyway. That you hated him for not coming. That you hated how badly you'd wanted to comfort him. That you would've opened the door. That maybe some foolish part of you had been waiting to.
Instead, you said, "So what happened?"
Sidney took a shaky breath.
"My parents knew."
"What?"
"They knew," he said, and his voice went rough again. "My parents knew you were pregnant. They knew about the text. They knew."
"Who?"
Sidney shook his head once, eyes wet. "I don't know who physically typed it. Not for sure. I don't know if it was my dad or Pat or someone else, but they were all part of it. My parents. Mario. Pat. They all knew. They all kept it from me."
His parents, you could understand in a horrible, nightmare kind of way. You had imagined that before. You had imagined some adult stepping in, deciding you were inconvenient. But Mario? Pat? Men you didn’t even know, men who were part of Sidney's future, men who had looked at him and seen a franchise, a career, a machine that couldn't be slowed down by something as human as love.
You leaned back against the back of the sofa.
"Oh my God."
"I went there because I needed to ask about the draft," Sidney said. "About my phone. About what happened. And their faces, baby, they just..."
He stopped.
Baby.
You hadn't been anybody's baby in four years. Not like that. Your parents loved you, Beau loved you, your friends loved you, but nobody had held that word in their mouth with you in mind. Like you were something cherished. Something to come home to.
Sidney heard himself say it and you saw the panic move across his face.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't, I don't have the right to call you that."
He looked wrecked by the mistake. And the worst part was, you wanted him to say it again. You wanted it so badly it made you angry.
"Just keep talking," you said, because that was safer.
Sidney nodded, swallowing hard.
"Their faces gave it away," he continued. "They looked guilty. My mom tried to explain. My dad..." He huffed a bitter laugh and looked away. "My dad kept saying they were trying to protect me. That I was eighteen. That I had my whole future ahead of me. That they couldn't let me throw my life away for some girl."
Some girl. You had been reduced to that so many times in your own head but hearing it from him was different. Some girl. As if you hadn't loved him with everything your teenage heart had. As if you hadn't carried his child. As if you hadn't built a life out of what they left behind.
"I lost it," he said. "I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever been more angry in my life you know? I yelled at them. I said things..." He stopped, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I don't regret most of it."
"What did they say?"
He breathed out slowly.
"They said they thought you'd move on. They said they didn't know you'd keep the baby. They said they thought I'd thank them someday.”
"They thought I'd get rid of him?"
Sidney's face crumpled.
"Yeah," he whispered. "I think they did."
You remembered being eighteen in your bedroom, sitting on the floor with your back against the bed, one hand on your stomach because you didn't know what else to do with it. You remembered reading those words over and over until they stopped being sentences and became something carved into your bones. Take care of it. Don't contact me. We're done.
You remembered thinking Sidney hated you. You remembered thinking you had been stupid enough to love a boy who saw you as a problem. You remembered wanting your mother and not wanting your mother because she kept insisting it had to be a misunderstanding, and you couldn't survive believing that. You needed him to be cruel because cruelty meant you could hate him and keep moving.
But if it was a lie? If he hadn't known? If he would've come? What were you supposed to do with all those years?
Sidney set the mug down on your little table, untouched except for one sip.
"I don't expect you to believe me," he said.
His voice was so defeated that it pulled you back into the room. He stood there with his shoulders slightly hunched, hands empty now, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides like he needed something to hold and didn't dare reach for you.
"I wouldn't believe me," he said. "If I were you. I wouldn't. I know how convenient it sounds. I know it sounds like I'm trying to save my own ass. Like I'm blaming everyone else so you don't hate me anymore."
You didn't speak.
"But I didn't know," he said, and tears slid down his face again. "I swear I didn't know. I never got your text. I never told you to get rid of him. I never would've told you not to contact me. I never would've left you alone like that if I'd known."
He took one small step toward you and stopped himself almost immediately.
"I would've been there," he said. "You need to know that. Even if you never forgive me, even if you never want me in your life the way I want to be, you need to know I would've been there."
You looked down at the floor.
"I would've chosen you."
You closed your eyes.
"And I would've chosen Beau," he said. "I would've chosen both of you. Every time. I don't care what anyone says. I don't care what my dad thinks I would've done or what my agent thought was best for my career. You were always what was important. You were never some girl to me. You were never a distraction. You were..." He stopped, pressing the heel of his hand to his chest like his heart was actually breaking. "You were my whole fucking life. You still are, and I know I don't get to say that. I know that's not fair to you. But it's true."
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You wiped it quickly, angry with yourself. Sidney noticed anyway. He always noticed. His face twisted like your tears hurt him more than his own.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again.
You laughed shakily, wiping at your face. "You say that a lot now."
"I know."
"It's annoying."
"I know."
"And it makes me want to punch you a little."
"That's fair."
You looked at him. The tired eyes. That frown. The boy inside the man, still standing in front of you asking for something he didn't think he deserved. You searched his face for a lie. You wanted to find one. Part of you needed to find one because if he was lying, then nothing had to change.
But you knew him. Damn it, you knew him. You knew how he lied, which wasn't well. You knew how guilt sat on him. You knew how shame looked in his eyes. This wasn't that. This was grief. This was a man who had found out his life had been stolen from him and didn't know how to get it back without you.
"I hated you," you said.
"I know."
"No, you don't," you said, and now your tears were coming faster, too many to wipe away without looking pathetic. "You don't know what that felt like. You don't know what it was like to love you and hate you at the same time. To have your baby and see your face every time I looked at him. To sit there while he learned how to smile and think wow he smiles like Sidney. To watch him pick up a hockey stick before he could even say full sentences and think, of course of course he loves the one thing that took you from me."
Sidney's face crumbled. He took another step forward, then stopped again.
"You don't know how lonely I was," you said, voice shaking hard now. "You don't know how embarrassed I was. How stupid I felt. How everyone got to be proud of you while I was in hiding. You were on TV, and people were cheering for you, and I was trying to learn how to be a mother when I still wanted my mom every fucking day."
"I know," he whispered, then immediately shook his head. "No. I don't know. You're right. I don't know."
"I didn't love him right away," you said, and the confession tore out of you before you could stop it.
You covered your mouth for a second, horrified at yourself, but it was already out. The ugliest truth. The one you punished yourself for even now, even though Beau had no memory of those first months when you had moved through motherhood like a ghost.
"I mean, I took care of him," you said quickly, crying now. "I fed him. I changed him. I held him when he cried. I did everything I was supposed to do. But I was so angry, Sid. I was so angry and sad and tired and he was just this baby who needed me all the time and I couldn't stop thinking that I had ruined my life. And then I'd look at him and feel like the worst person alive because none of it was his fault."
You couldn't look at him, so you looked at the table, at the whale mug, at the tiny scratch in the wood where Beau had once tried to "fix" it with a toy screwdriver.
"It took me a year," you whispered. "It took me a year to feel like his mom and I have spent every day since then trying to make up for that first year. Every single day."
You wished you could take it back, and at the same time you felt lighter than you had in years. Sidney moved then. He came closer slowly, giving you every chance to step away. When you didn't, he stopped in front of you with barely any space between your bodies.
"I am so proud of you," he said.
"No."
"Yes."
"Don't."
"I am," he said, voice firm even through his tears. "I'm so fucking proud of you."
That made you cry harder.
"No, you don't get to say that."
"I know I don't," he said. "I'm saying it anyway because it's true. You were a kid. You were alone. You were hurt worse than you ever deserved and you still raised him. You became his whole world. You did that without me. You did that when you thought I didn't want either of you."
You shook your head, but he kept going.
"And maybe you didn't feel it right away. Maybe it took time. But you're his mom. You're his mama. I saw it that night in the car, the second he made a sound, your whole face changed. You love him so much it's like the world moves around it."
You covered your face with both hands and still a sob slipped out from your lips.
"Can I?" he asked.
You didn't answer because you knew you didn't have to. He just stepped in and wrapped his arms around you again. This time, you broke. You broke the way you should've broken four years ago, but couldn't because there had been too much to do and too many people watching and a baby who needed you to survive. You sobbed into his hoodie with your hands fisted against his chest, and Sidney held you like he wished he could crawl between you and every single thing that had ever hurt you.
"I'm sorry," he kept saying. "I'm sorry, baby. I would've been there. I swear I would've been there. You weren't alone because I wanted you alone. You weren't. You weren't."
You hated how much you needed to hear it from him. You hated that it helped. You hated that it didn't fix anything and still stitched something tiny together inside you.
"You didn't call," you cried.
"I tried."
"My mom told you not to."
"I know."
"And you stopped."
"I know," he said, voice breaking. "I know I should've tried harder. I should've driven home. I should've written. I should've asked more questions. I was hurt and so so so stupid an-and I thought you didn't want me but I should've fought for you anyway. I know that now."
You pressed your forehead harder into him.
"I thought you hated me."
"I never hated you."
"I thought you looked at my text and decided I wasn't worth it."
"No," he said fiercely. "No. Never."
"I would've never forced you to choose," you said, pulling back just enough to look at him. "You know that right? I would've been scared. I would've cried. I would've probably yelled at you and told you I couldn't do it alone. But I wouldn't have forced you to give anything up. I wouldn't have made you choose between hockey and us."
"I know."
"Do you? Because I really loved you, Sid. I loved you so much and I knew what hockey meant to you."
"I know."
"I would've figured it out with you," you said. "Whatever that looked like. Pittsburgh, Halifax, your parents, my parents, I don't know. We were kids, and it would've been hard and maybe we would've fucked it up a hundred different ways, but I wouldn't have trapped you. I wasn't trying to ruin you."
His eyes squeezed shut.
"I know," he said. "I know you weren't. You would've given me the choice even if it broke your heart and they couldn't even give you the chance."
You stared at him through tears.
"I wish you had the chance to ask me," he said. "I wish you had the chance to yell at me for real. I wish you had the chance to throw the test at my head and tell me to figure my shit out. I wish I had the chance to be scared with you. I wish I had been there for the appointments and the cravings and the mornings you felt sick. I wish I had been there when he was born."
His voice broke completely. You reached for him again, your hand coming up to his cheek. He froze under your touch. You nearly pulled away, but he turned his face into your palm so tenderly.
"I wish I saw him," he admitted. "When he was tiny. I wish I knew what he sounded like when he cried. I wish I knew how he slept. I wish I knew if he liked being rocked or if he hated it. I wish I knew his first word. I wish I knew what he looked like on Christmas morning. I wish I knew everything."
"He hated being swaddled," you said before you could think better of it.
Sidney opened his eyes.
You looked down at your hand on his face, then back at him.
"He'd scream," you said, voice thick. "Like, full red faced kinda thing. My mom kept saying babies liked being wrapped up, and Beau absolutely did not."
A laugh broke out of Sidney.
"He liked sleeping on my dad's chest," you said. "Only my dad's for a while. Which was annoying because my dad would get this smug little look on his face like he was the favorite."
Sidney smiled through tears.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Your mouth trembled. "His first word was mama. Kind of. He babbled it before, but on his birthday, he meant it."
Sidney's eyes filled again. You brushed a tear off his cheek with your thumb before you remembered you maybe shouldn't but neither of you moved away.
"He loves gummy bears," you said. "And he thinks thunder is clouds bowling. He calls graham crackers cracker things even though he knows the word graham now. He has this little blue blanket he says is magic, but only when he doesn't want to go to bed. He hates peas. He loves hockey, which is rude as hell of him."
Sidney laughed again, and this one sounded more real. You smiled at him.
"He uses anything as a stick," you continued. "Brooms. Wooden spoons. Wrapping paper tubes. My hairbrush once. I had to take that away because he was trying to shoot a sock into the laundry basket and almost took out a lamp."
"He sounds perfect.”
"He is," you said. "He's also a menace."
"That tracks."
You gave him a look.
He lifted one shoulder weakly. "What? I was a menace."
"You still are."
A small silence followed. Sidney's eyes moved over your face like he was trying to memorize the person you’d become.
"You look tired," he said.
You laughed under your breath. "Yeah, well."
"I hate that."
"I have a three year old. Tired is part of the job."
"I still hate it."
You looked at him and he looked back. There it was again. The way you could stand this close and not need to fill every second. The way his eyes still knew how to soften on you. The way your body still wanted to lean. It should've felt wrong after four years. It should've felt like touching a stranger. It didn't.
Sidney lifted his hand, then stopped himself halfway. You saw the hesitation. He wanted to touch your face. You knew he did. You knew because he used to do it all the time. Used to cup your jaw before kissing you. Used to tuck hair behind your ear when you were ranting. Used to brush his thumb over your cheek if you were crying, even when you claimed you weren't.
Now he didn't know if he was allowed. You hated that. You hated that he had to wonder. You hated that he was probably right to wonder.
"Sid," you said softly.
His hand dropped.
"Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize for every breath."
"Kind of feels like I do."
"That's exhausting."
"Yeah," he said, trying for a smile and failing. "It is."
You looked down at the front of his hoodie where your tears had darkened the fabric.
"You look like shit," you said.
"Thanks."
"No, I mean, genuinely. You look awful."
"I haven't slept much."
"Recently or ever?"
His mouth twitched. "Recently."
"Weeks?"
His face changed. Right. There was more. You stepped back slightly, not out of his reach, but enough to breathe.
"What happened after that night?"
Sidney rubbed both hands over his face and exhaled.
"A lot. Nothing. I don't know." He leaned back against the edge of the table, careful not to knock into Beau's coloring books. "I went to my parents' house. We fought. I left. I drove around all night."
"All night?"
"Yeah."
"Sidney."
"I know."
"That's stupid."
"I know."
"You could've gotten yourself killed."
His eyes softened at your tone, at the worry you couldn't quite hide.
"I didn't," he said gently.
"Not the point."
"I know."
You crossed your arms over your chest because your hands didn't know what to do without touching him.
"I thought I could come back in the morning," he said. "After I found out. I thought I could show up and tell you everything, and maybe..." He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe I thought if I had the truth, I'd know what to do with it. But I didn't. I got to your parents' street, and I just sat there. I couldn't get out of the car."
You stared at him.
"You were there?"
He nodded.
"When?"
"Early. Before your dad drove you back."
"I didn't know."
"I know."
"Why didn't you come out?"
His jaw worked.
"Because I saw your dad loading the truck. I saw Beau in the backseat. I saw you come out and you looked..." He swallowed. "You looked like you'd survived me again. And I couldn't walk up to you and ask for more."
"So you just left?"
"Yeah."
"Then what?"
"I went back to Pittsburgh for a bit. Not really back. I don't know. I wasn't really anywhere. I didn't talk to my parents," he said. "My mom called. My dad called. I didn't answer. Mario called. Pat called. I didn't answer them either. Then I tried to talk to Mike."
"Mike?"
He nodded.
"What happened with Mike?"
Sidney rubbed a hand over his mouth. "He was pissed at me."
"Why?"
"Because he thought I knew and didn't care," Sidney said. "He didn't say anything to me at first because he was angry. He said he couldn't even look at me. And then after... after I found out, I went to him because I had no one left."
There was something so lonely in the way he said it. No one left. The town hero. The golden boy. The kid everyone wanted a piece of. And somehow, at twenty-two, he looked like an abandoned little boy in your apartment.
"I didn't mean to drag him into it."
"You didn't," Sidney said. "None of this is your fault."
He kept going, his voice quieter now.
"I told him I didn't know. He didn't believe me at first. I don't blame him. I barely sounded believable to myself. But I told him everything. The phone. Your mom's calls. My parents. The fight. And then I just..." He laughed weakly, embarrassed. "I broke down. Like, fully. On his couch. Which was humiliating."
"Sid."
"I know. Mike was good. He was mad, but he was good. He let me be a mess. Then he told me if I loved you, I had to stop thinking this could be fixed by one big speech."
You looked at Sidney, surprised.
He nodded, like he agreed.
"He said you weren't a game I could win. Beau wasn't something I could just show up and claim. He said I needed to understand that you had a life, and if I came into it, I had to come in on your terms. Not mine."
"Mike said that?"
"With more swearing."
"Yeah, that sounds right."
"He said I should go to your parents if I wanted any chance at seeing you without making you feel cornered. Because they knew your life. They knew Beau. They knew whether I should stay away."
"So you went?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"This morning."
You stared at him.
"My mom agreed to this?"
Sidney looked down.
"Not at first."
You imagined your mother, soft hearted but protective. Your mom who had cried with you. Your mom who had watched you disappear inside yourself during pregnancy. Your mom who had held Beau when you couldn't. Your mom who probably still had anger tucked away in places even she didn't like to visit.
"She told me I had no right," Sidney said. "She said I didn't get to blow back into your life because I was sad now. She said you were finally happy, and she wouldn't let me ruin it for you again."
Your eyes stung.
"Sounds like her."
"I told her she was right," he said. "Because she was."
"And my dad?"
"Your dad didn't say much at first. He just stared at me. I think he was trying to decide if he could hit me without upsetting your mom."
Despite everything, you laughed.
"He asked me one thing," he said.
"What?"
"He asked if I would've stayed."
"What did you say?"
Sidney's eyes held yours.
"I said yes."
Your lips parted.
"I said I would've stayed if you asked me to. I would've gone if you asked me to. I would've done whatever you and Beau needed. But if it had been up to me, I would've been wherever you were."
You looked away, blinking hard.
"He believed you?"
Sidney nodded slowly.
"I don't know why."
"I do," you whispered.
You cleared your throat, looking at your coffee mug because his eyes were too much.
"My dad's good at knowing when people are full of shit."
Sidney gave a broken little laugh.
"Yeah. He told me if I hurt you again, he'd make sure I regretted it for the rest of my life."
"That sounds like him too."
"He also told me I looked like hell and needed to stop standing on the porch before the neighbors saw."
You shook your head, but you were smiling through tears now.
"God."
"He convinced your mom to bring me," Sidney said. "Just this once. Those were his words. He said they'd drive me here, wait outside, and if you told me to leave, I'd leave and not show up again unless you asked."
You looked toward the window.
Your parents' car still lingered on the curb outside. Your dad was probably pretending not to stare at the building. Your mom was probably crying. Or furious. Or both.
"They're still outside?"
"Yeah."
"Did my dad tell you not to make this take all day?"
"He said I had until Beau woke up, then he was coming up himself."
You laughed again, a real laugh this time, even if it was soaked in tears. Sidney watched you with soft eyes.
"What?" you asked.
"Nothing."
"No, what?"
He shook his head. "I missed your laugh."
Your smile faded into something sadder.
"I missed yours too," you admitted.
Sidney looked down like he couldn't hold that and look at you at the same time
You rubbed your palms over your sweatshirt sleeves.
"What now?" you asked.
Sidney looked at you.
He didn't answer right away, and you appreciated that. You didn't want a perfect answer. Perfect answers were lies, most of the time. You wanted something honest. Something he had to think about.
"I don't know," he said finally.
You nodded, hating and loving that response.
"But I know what I want," he added.
"What do you want?"
His eyes stayed on yours.
"You," he said. "And Beau. I want to know him. I want him to know me. However slow you need. However small it has to start. Five minutes at a time if that's all you can give me."
Five minutes. But different now. Maybe different.
"And me?" you asked.
Sidney looked almost startled. Like he hadn't expected you to ask. Like wanting you was so obvious inside him that he forgot he needed to include you in it too.
"I want you every way I'm allowed to," he said.
His face flushed slightly, but he kept going.
"I love you. I never stopped. I tried. I tried so hard to make it quieter, to make it something I could live with, but it never went away. And I know that doesn't mean you owe me anything. I know loving you doesn't fix what happened. I know it doesn't change what you went through. But I do. I love you. I'm still in love with you, and I don't know what to do except tell you the truth."
"Sidney."
"I know," he said quickly. "I know. It's too much."
"It is."
"I know."
"It's not fair."
"I know."
"You don't get to just say that and make me feel things."
"I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Stop saying sorry."
"Okay."
You covered your eyes with one hand.
"I hate this."
"I know."
"I lived my life thinking you left."
"I know."
"And now you're here."
"I'm here."
"And I still love you," you said, and the second the words left your mouth, you started crying again. “I still love you, and I'm so mad about it. I should be smarter than this. I should know better. I should protect myself better. But I saw you in that stupid car, and even when I wanted to kill you, I wanted to touch your face. And when you dropped me off, I waited. I waited like an idiot because some part of me is still that girl on the porch waiting for you to come back."
Sidney closed the space between you and this time, he did touch your face. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, thumbs hovering at first, then settling when you didn't pull away. His palms were warm.
"You're not an idiot," he said. "Don't call yourself that."
You laughed through tears. "That's what you focus on?"
"Yeah," he said. "Because you're not."
"You can't just defend me from myself."
"I can try."
"Still stubborn."
"Still you."
Your hands came up to his wrists you should've moved them away. You didn't.
"I don't know how to do this," you whispered.
"Me neither."
"I don't know how to let you in without being terrified."
"Then be terrified," he said. "I'll wait."
You searched his face. "Will you?"
"Yes."
"You didn't before."
"No," he said. "I didn't. And I'll spend the rest of my life wishing I had."
Your fingers tightened around his wrists.
"I don't want you making promises because you feel guilty."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm guilty," he said. "Of course I am. I feel guilty about things I didn't even know were happening because I still wasn't there. But that's not why I'm here."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I love you," he said. "Because I have a son. Because somebody else made a choice for us, and maybe we don't get those four years back, but we get to choose now. You get to choose. And if your choice is that I only know Beau from a distance for a while, then that's what I'll do. If your choice is that we go slow then I'll do that. If your choice is that you need to yell at me every day for the next year, I'll stand there and take it."
"I don't have that much free time."
"I'll work around your schedule."
"Idiot."
"Yeah," he whispered, and his thumb moved lightly over your cheek. "Your idiot, if you'll let me be."
You looked down, but he didn't let your face go.
"Sid."
"I know," he said. "Too much."
"No," you whispered. “I want things to work.”
Sidney's eyes widened slightly.
"I don't know what that means yet," you added quickly. "I don't know what we are. I don't know how this works with Beau, or your life, or my life, or your parents, or anything. I don't know."
"Okay."
"But I want it," you said. "I want to try. I hate that I want to try, but I do."
"Okay.”
"And you don't get to disappear again."
"Never."
"I mean it."
"I know."
"No, Sid, I mean it. If you freak out, you call. If you're scared, you say you're scared. If you don't know what to do, you say that. You don't drive around all night and vanish for weeks."
He nodded quickly, tears spilling again.
"I won't. I swear."
"You have to let me be mad."
"Yes."
"And sad."
"Yes."
"And weird."
That surprised a laugh out of him. "Weird?"
"Yes, weird. I'm probably gonna be weird as hell about this."
"Okay."
"And you have to be patient with Beau. He doesn't know you. He doesn't need some big emotional adult mess dropped on him."
"I know," Sidney said immediately. "I know. I want to do it right. Whatever right is."
"He has a good life. I know it's not the life he could've had, and I know you missed so much, but he is loved. He's happy. He's safe. I won't let anyone make him feel like he wasn't enough as he was."
"I would never," he said.
"I know."
And you did.
"You've done such a good job.”
Your eyes burned again.
"Don't make me cry more, Crosby. I'm tired."
His thumb brushed under your eye.
"Sorry."
You gave him a look. He pressed his lips together.
"Right. Not saying that."
You laughed softly. Sid's eyes dropped to your mouth. You saw it. You felt it.
The years between you seemed to pull taut, thinning until it was almost nothing. You remembered his first kiss. The nervousness of it. The way he'd missed slightly and bumped your nose and apologized three times while you laughed into his mouth. You remembered every goodbye kiss after games, every secret kiss in hallways, every lazy, half asleep kiss.
His gaze lifted back to your eyes. He didn't move. Didn't ask. Didn't take. Just waited. Your heart pounded.
"This is probably a bad idea," you whispered.
His voice was just as quiet. "Probably."
"We're emotional."
"Very."
"And sleep deprived."
"Me especially."
"And this doesn't fix anything."
"No."
"And if you kiss me and then everything hurts worse, I'm gonna be pissed."
A little smile touched his mouth.
"I can live with that."
You stared at him for one more second then you lifted onto your toes and kissed him. It was soft. Not hungry, not desperate, not the kind of kiss that tried to make four years disappear. It didn't erase anything. It didn't solve anything. It was just Sidney's mouth on yours.
He made a sound against your lips like he couldn't help it, and one of his hands slid from your cheek into your hair. Your fingers curled into his hoodie. He kissed you like you were something he thought he'd never be allowed to touch again. Like he was afraid of wanting too much. Like he loved you so much it scared him.
You pulled back first, barely. His forehead rested against yours. Both of you were breathing like you'd run somewhere.
"Hi," he said stupidly.
You laughed.
"Hi."
His thumb moved over your cheek.
"I missed you," he said.
You closed your eyes.
"I missed you too."
He exhaled shakily.
"Baby," he murmured, so quiet it was almost not sound at all.
Your eyes opened. He looked immediately terrified.
"I know," he said. "I know I shouldn't."
You shook your head. You didn't even know what you were saying no to. No, don't apologize. No, don't take it back. No, don't look at me like I'm made of glass. No, don't stop being the boy who loved me before the world got its hands on us.
"Say it again," you breathed.
He pulled you into him, one arm around your back, the other hand cradling the back of your head. His mouth pressed to your temple, lingering there.
"Baby," he said again, voice wrecked. "My girl. I should've been there. I should've been there to take care of you."
You buried your face in his chest, and for once, you let yourself be held like someone who didn't have to be strong every second.
"I haven’t been anybody’s baby in four years," you mumbled.
Sidney's arms tightened around you so hard you could barely breathe, but you didn't care.
"I know," he said. "I know. Never again, if you'll have me. You can be tired. You can be mad. You can fall apart. I've got you. I know I don't deserve to say that, but I've got you now."
You let the words move through you not believing them all the way yet but wanting to.
The two of you stood like that for a long time. Long enough for the coffee to go cold. Long enough for the early light to turn from gray to pale gold. Long enough for the ache to settle into something that wasn't peace exactly, but could maybe become it someday.
Sidney didn't push. You didn't pull away.
At some point, your breathing evened. At some point, his hand began moving slowly over your back, the way it used to when he was trying to calm you down. At some point, you realized you were doing the same to him, your fingers smoothing the fabric of his hoodie near his ribs.
Still knowing each other.
~-
