“Don’t,” I whispered.
“She didn’t deserve that,” he whispered back.
“No,” I agreed.
“She didn’t deserve that,” he repeated and my head came up.
“No, honey, she didn’t.”
“My sister,” he whispered and I watched his head drop like he couldn’t hold it up anymore.
My arms went around him and I hugged him from behind. His hand left the railing and found mine at his belly, his fingers lacing through and he held on.
So did I.
And we did this until I felt his body tighten.
“They’re here,” he stated, let my hand go, I let him go and stepped away.
I stood by him and Tate joined us when Stella’s car pulled into the drive.
When Tate and I were working, or I was working and Tate was hunting, the deal was that Stella or Pop picked Jonas up from school and he hung with one or the other of them at the office at the garage until Tate or I could come and get him.
Today was no different.
Tate, Wood and I watched, our bodies turning slowly as the car made its way up the drive, Pop sitting up front by Stella who was at the wheel, Jonas in the back.
“I’ll finish coffee,” I muttered and quickly went into the house.
They didn’t need me there, not now. There was a time when I’d be needed, but it wasn’t now.
I went to the cupboard, pulled down mugs, went to the fridge, got the milk, slid the sugar across the counter away from the wall.
Then I heard it and I stopped. My hands pressed into the counter, my teeth clenched and my eyes closed tight.
It kept coming at me and the sound was so monstrous it felt like it was tearing away my flesh. If I felt like that, removed, how did Tate feel, being right there while Jonas was making that hideous noise?
The door slid open and I whirled around, opening my eyes and I watched Jonas dash through. He kept going but caught sight of me and skidded to a halt.
I stared at him, his face red, his eyes and cheeks wet, his breath coming fast and uneven and I didn’t know what to do. He stared right back at me but I couldn’t read anything in his eyes, nothing but pain.
Finally, I could take no more and I whispered, “Baby,” and the minute I did, he moved, straight at me. His head down, he crashed into me, forcing my breath out and pain in. I went back with Jonas propelling me until I hit the counter, the small of my back slamming into it, throbbing pain radiating instantly out.
I thought, at first, he meant to hurt me, to take his pain out on me then I felt his hands grabbing at my clothes, tugging at my t-shirt, his face still buried in my ribcage.
“Laurie,” he groaned as his legs gave out and I felt him falling, his hands grasping my shirt and I went down with him, to my knees, Jonas to his and I wrapped him tight in my arms. His face was in my chest and he was burrowing there, like a kitten into his mother, shoving his face this way and that as he kept grabbing at my clothes.
“Baby, I’m right here,” I whispered, holding him tighter, my hand coming up to grasp his head and press his cheek into my chest.
“Laurie.” His voice was a croak.
“I’m right here,” I whispered.
“Laurie,” he repeated, his hands twisting in my shirt, holding on.
I bent and rested my cheek against his head. “Right here, Bub,” I murmured and started rocking him. “Right here, baby. Hold on.”
“Laurie,” I could hear his tears and mine came too, my breath hitching with them so violently, my body shuddered.
“Hold on, baby.”
He held on, his fists still twisted in my shirt and I gently moved to my behind, pulling him down with me so he was mostly in my lap and I kept rocking him like a baby as Jonas and I sat on the floor and both of us sobbed.
This went on for awhile, how long, I didn’t know, but it went on until I felt Tate get close. I lifted my cheek from Jonas’s thick, soft hair and looked through my wet eyes at Jonas’s father crouched beside us.
“Let go of Laurie, Bub,” Tate said softly.
Jonas didn’t move.
“Let go, Bub,” Tate repeated.
Jonas sucked in a broken breath and looked up at his Dad. Then he let go, Tate’s hands went to his son and he lifted up, swinging Jonas’s body in front of him. Jonas circled Tate’s hips with his legs, his shoulders with his arms and Tate, his son in his arms, walked out of the room and down the hall toward the mudroom.
I sat on the floor and watched the space I last saw them in.
Then a hand filled my vision, I looked up and it was attached to an arm attached to Wood.
“Let’s get you up, baby,” he said gently, then squatted, grabbed my hand, his other arm going around my waist and he pulled me up to my feet.
He kept my hand in his and his arm around me as I wiped my cheeks.
“Do you…” I said to him then my eyes went through Stella and Pop, Stella looking shell-shocked, Pop’s eyes rimmed with red and my gaze went back to Wood. “Do you want coffee?”
“Yeah, baby, coffee’d be good,” Wood said in his gentle voice.