Page 106 of All The Things: The Last Thing He Needs Omnibus

Tom simply rolled his eyes in response as the therapist came back in and settled in her chair across from them.

“Did you get your answers down?” she asked, her tone hovering around the edges of amusement and annoyance—not uncommon for anyone who’d just met Tommy O’Shea.

“Yes,” Bobby said simply.

Tom only offered a curt nod, his entire body tense, irritation radiating off him.

Over the years, Tom had gotten better about talking about his feelings, didn’t need for them to be forced out because they were in crisis or on the precipice of a disaster anymore, but it still wasn’t easy for him. It was still something Bobby had to coax out of him through tenderness and patience and usually a blowjob. Lights low, the two of them huddled together afterward, after their heartbeats slowed, after languid kisses and strong arms wrapped around each other. As if he needed the shadows and shelter of Bobby’s body to let Bobby hear anything real.

“Tommy,” the therapist said, “why don’t you start?”

Tom looked like he wanted to protest, but he didn’t. Instead, he swallowed hard and lifted his notepad. “Five things I love about Bobby and five things I don’t,” he said, as if reading a school report, his body language awkward and his tone quietly annoyed. He paused and glanced at the therapist. “I started with stuff I don’t like because that’s harder, so I wanted to get it out of the way.”

And because you’re hoping I’ll forget that list by the end, Bobby thought, amused.

Tom cleared his throat and said, “I don’t like his job. It sucks, and he could hurt again or whatever, and I hate it.”

Bobby had figured that one would be at the top.

“I don’t like how much he worries.”

He didn’t mean for the snort of incredulous laughter to slip out, but Bobby couldn’t help it. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Did you want me to lie?” Tom asked, snapping his gaze to catch Bobby’s.

“No, sorry,” Bobby said, glancing away to the therapist. “And I won’t interrupt again.”

Tom didn’t respond. Instead, he took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t like that he’s right all the damn time. Not always, but mostly. Or that he leaves his socks all over and forgets to put the toilet paper back on the roll and eats in bed and leaves crumbs.”

Bobby had been counting, and he was slightly irritated that Tom had just rattled off more than five things—one of which wasn’t even true! He always replaced the toilet paper. He wanted to say something, tell Tom his list was too long and to just wait until it was his turn, but Tom’s expression turned pinched, pained, and it clawed inside Bobby, right behind his ribs, nearly to his throat, and all of a sudden all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around Tom and pull him close and safe and promise to quit his job and be wrong all the time and pick up his socks and never do anything Tom didn’t like again.

But he’d promised not to interrupt, so he sat still and quiet and watched Tom chew the inside of his cheek, watched him swallow hard, watched his eyes shine a glassy green as he said, “Sometimes I hate how much the kids love you and come to you for answers because I’m supposed to be their only person. But it seems like sometimes I could disappear and it wouldn’t matter at all because they’ve got you and your mom and they’d be fine without me—hell, maybe even better. And I know it’s stupid and I know it’s selfish because they deserve you and they should have you, should have more than just me, and I want that for them, and I know you love them and I want that for you, but sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself anymore or, like, I don’t know who I am if I’m not their person and their answer and their survival.”

Tom’s words had rushed out of him so quickly, almost a whisper at the end, that he was breathless. Almost as breathless as Bobby. All the air in the room had absorbed into that confession, and Bobby had to squeeze his eyes shut against the blur of tears. He nearly had to sit on his hands to keep from reaching for Tom. He shifted closer, though, letting his leg rest against Tom’s, hoping to offer some support and comfort for both of them. He’d known Tom would jump through this hoop in their efforts to adopt the twins, but he hadn’t known Tom would lay himself bare, flay himself in front of a stranger for it. Tom didn’t know shit because, obviously, Bobby was wrong all the damn time. Of course Tommy would gut himself for the kids. He should’ve known better.

“Before you go on with your list,” the therapist said, her tone suddenly kind, filled with compassion and understanding, “is there anything you’d like to say to that, Bobby?”

Bobby nodded frantically, not even sure if he could find words but desperate to try. He gave up resisting and wrapped his arm around Tom’s shoulder, pressed his forehead to the side of Tom’s face so he could whisper in Tom’s ear, “They might love me and they might respect my advice or like a second opinion, but I could never replace you. If anything ever happened to you, none of us would ever be whole again. They’re fighters. They’d carry on. But they’d never be the same.” He paused and let out a shaky breath before adding, “None of us would.” Because, really, Bobby didn’t know if he’d have any fight left in him if he ever lost Tom.

Tom pressed his lips together in a straight line and only offered another terse nod in response, but he sniffled and swiped angrily at his eyes, just once.

“The shit I love about Bobby,” Tom said, focusing pointedly on the notepad. “The kids love him, and he loves them.” He laughed wetly and shrugged, glancing at Bobby as he finally pulled back. “He’s kind. He’s so goddamned kind, but he’s tough, too, and doesn’t take any of my shit. And he’s solid.”

Tom seemed like he was about to go on, but the therapist interrupted and asked, “Could you expand on that? What do you mean when you say Bobby is solid?”

He let out an exasperated huff. “I don’t know,” Tom said, clearly frustrated. “He’s… there. He’s strong. He’s the one good goddamn thing I know without a doubt that I can always count on. I know he’ll be there, home, always. No matter what life throws at me—at us—he’ll be there. I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve him, and I don’t know why he puts up with me, but I never have to wonder if he will. Doesn’t matter what stupid fights we get into or what day-to-day bullshit we have to deal with or one fucking disaster after another. At the end of the day, he’ll be there. With me.”

He wasn’t wrong. Bobby knew that for certain. They’d had some close calls, no doubt, and probably would again, but sitting on that couch in the shrink’s office, Bobby didn’t have to wonder either. He’d even stopped thinking Tom might just walk out one day and never come back. Getting married, making it official, had helped. But time—years—had proven it more than anything else.

Then Tom squared his shoulders and looked the therapist dead in the eye and said, “He’s also an incredible fuck.”

Bobby wanted to smack him on the back of the head and start apologizing, but the therapist laughed and nodded. “That’s good,” she said. “We should all be so lucky.”

Tom almost laughed too, Bobby could tell, but instead, he offered one quirked lip. “Your turn, copper.”

After all that, Bobby really didn’t want to read his list. He wanted to tear it up and start over, give Tom more of himself, more than the first things that came to mind. He wanted to tell Tom that nothing they said in there meant anything because all that really mattered was that they belonged to each other and always would and that Bobby would walk through hell for him—for their family—and make sure they all came out the other side. H wanted to tell Tom that he was wrong because Bobby knew he was the one who was lucky.

Instead, he looked at his note and said, “I hate how stubborn you are, but I love how strong you are. I hate that you’re an asshole sometimes, but I love that you always tell me the truth. I hate everything you’ve been through, but I love that you can still find it in yourself to trust me. I hate that you hate my job, but I love that you care. And I hate that you act like you don’t need anything, but I love when you tell me you need me.”

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