Page 120 of This Wild Heart

The first time I showed up at Dr. Alex’s door—four days after Anya went back to Seattle—I couldn’t bring myself to knock for a solid five minutes.

It wasn’t like he would say anything I didn’t already know.

I was too hard on myself.No shit.

Everyone made mistakes.Fucking got it.

Failure was the greatest teacher.Yeah, so I’ve heard. Couldn’t we find a different one?

Same old shit I’d seen on locker room posters my entire life.

I pinched my eyes shut, thinking about unburdening myself. About asking for help in this. About why I’d felt the need to lie, why that was easier than opening up to my family. About why it was so hard to wake up and know she was gone.

Why the house felt so empty without her there.

Most days, it felt like I’d barricaded myself behind a brick wall, and it wasn’t until Anya, until Leo, that those bricks started crumbling. I’d put them there. Each one set in a thick sludge that bound them together, the culmination of all my choices day in and day out for almost two years.

It was easier, sometimes, to stay in the dark behind that wall. Easier than trying to explain it, at least.

I’d halfway talked myself out of going when he opened it himself and peered out at me with an understanding expression on his face.

“You gonna come in at some point?”

My jaw tightened. “Not sure.”

He studied my face, then nodded. “Okay.”

Then he disappeared.

After another few minutes, I thought about what I’d told Anya. That Leo would learn from watching me.

I swiped a hand over my face, pushed off the wall, and walked into the office.

Leo was pissed at life.

He didn’t want his toys. Didn’t want his pacifier. He’d just been fed, and he wasn’t ready for sleep.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” Louise asked, hovering by the front door.

“I can handle it,” I told her. “Thank you, though.”

She gave me a small smile as his cries ratcheted up. “Good luck.”

Blowing out a slow breath, I tried bouncing him in my arms, making the little clicking sounds he liked, and that did nothing except make him hit a pitch that the dogs two streets over could probably hear.

“Okay, never mind,” I said.

I tried singing to him, and he briefly stopped, hiccuping around his tears as I gently rocked him back and forth. But the moment the song was over, the crying began again.

I shifted him up to my shoulder and rubbed soothing circles on his back while I made quiet shushing sounds. That didn’t help either.

Eventually, he tired himself out, his fist laying on my chest and his forehead pressed against the side of my neck. Every once in a while, he’d sniffle a little, like he’d forgotten that he was mad about something. That there was something he wanted that I couldn’t give him.

I could understand that.

Each night, I lay in bed and wondered if that was the day I’d stop feeling her absence. Each night, I was proved wrong.

“I know, buddy,” I said quietly, kissing him on the side of the head. “I miss her too.”

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