Not the man I’ve fallen in love with these last few weeks.
“Maybe from the start,” I offer, wanting him to lay it all out for me. Is this something that happens all the time? Is it a one-off? So many questions fill my head, but I keep them to myself and wait for him to share.
“My father died three years ago.” He takes a breath. Moving his hands from his lap, he rubs his palm over his mouth. “He shot himself in front of me.” His voice cracks for a second, but he holds himself together long enough to clear it.
“I’m so sorry, Hetch.” I tell him the same thing I told Kota when she filled me in. And just like with Kota, I sound awkward and unsure. I mean, what do you say to someone who’s lived through that? I can’t imagine what they’ve been going through, or the emotions they may have harbored.
“I always thought I was coping, you know?” he continues, gaining more conviction along the away. “Dealing with things in my own way. I mean, most days it doesn’t hit me. Sure, I think about it. But I do my job. I live my life.” He pauses and I count the beats between. “Then the look on that kid’s face today.” He drops his gaze to his lap. “It all came back. I was that kid. I was screaming for my dad again.” He falls silent, his body trembling in silent sobs.
“Hey.” I slide closer, unsure if I should touch him. I’ve never seen a man cry before. Never seen anyone so utterly defeated, so cut down and broken that my stomach aches for them.
“I fucked up, sweetheart.” He looks up. “I fucked up so bad.” He reaches for me, and this time, I don’t pull away. Instead, I welcome his embrace.
“No, you didn’t.” I pull him in closer, needing him to know I’m okay. We’re okay.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what anyone wants from me anymore. I just don’t know.”
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” My eyes burn, and my face heats, as a tear escapes my eye. First one and then two, and before I know it, they are falling rapidly. I cry along with him. For him. For his loss. For the screaming kid inside of him.
“It’s not okay, Liberty. I’m not okay.” He pulls back, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“I know, but it’s okay to hurt, Hetch. It’s okay not to be okay.”
“But don’t you see? I don’t want to be not okay, Liberty. I don’t want to have to be fixed or changed. I just want you. I need you.” The sentiment should warm me and give me some kind of sign he cares for me like I care for him, but it doesn’t. I can’t become his crutch. He needs to address the issues with his father. To finally release the hurt and the anger he’s been holding on to for so long.
“You have me, honey,” I tell him what he needs to hear. The man doesn't need to be told he’s hit rock bottom. He needs someone to help him climb back up.
“I think I’m falling in love with you, Liberty.” He holds my face between his hands. So gentle. So tender. “I’m not saying this because I was an asshole earlier.”
“I know, Hetch.” My hands cover his as his lips caress mine. I don’t tell him I feel the same way, or the fact I’m already in love with him. It’s not the time or the place. Tonight is about him opening up to me, accepting whatever it is he needs to accept. And letting him know I’m here for him.
“I’m so tired, B. I’m so tired of all of this.” He rests his forehead on mine, exhaustion seeping from the both of us.
“I know you are, honey.” I take his hand and stand. “You have to be so tired. Come with me,” I urge and he stands without hesitation, following me into the bathroom.
“Are we having shower sex?” He cocks a brow while I reach in and turn the shower faucet on.
“No.” I smirk at his ability to lighten the mood. “You’re going to have a shower while I go and get you a change of clean clothes. Then we’re going to bed.” I help him out of his shirt and make quick work of his jeans. He helps me along, kicking off his boots, and stepping out of his jeans and boxers.
When he’s finally naked, and the water is ready, I motion him into the shower, hoping he’s lucid enough to stay standing while I grab him clean clothes.
“You gonna be okay for a minute?” I ask, closing the glass door. He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are closing as he steps under the spray of the water. “Hetch?” I step forward, unsure if I should leave him.
This is more than I can handle, him standing in front of me. I know I haven’t even caught a glimpse of the broken man fighting his way out.
“I’m good,” he finally speaks.
“Okay, I’ll be back.” I hang around for a few beats, before leaving and heading over to his apartment.
It only takes two minutes to grab a pair of boxer briefs, an old SWAT shirt, and a pair of loose-fitting black pants.
But those short two minutes in the shower are all it takes for his defenses to wash away.