Page 65 of Tight Spot

My phone rang on the counter, and I ignored it. At least, until my dad’s phone rang immediately after. He didn’t ignore his but pulled it out of his pocket.

Dawson’s flesh was burning beneath my touch.

“Yeah, should have listened. I’m headed back soon…”

“Dawson,” I whispered, and his chest shuddered with the weight of his breath. “Calm, honey. It’s okay, breathe.”

I inhaled a deep breath, and waited for him to follow, but he did, so I did it again, and by the time Dad ended the phone call with my mom, Dawson’s hands were loosely resting on my hips, and the cloud coloring his past was fading from his steely gaze.

He settled me at his side, and my hand went to his lower back, my other to his stomach.

He was still breathing like a bull in a china shop, but it was better. Not as scary.

Dad slipped his phone back into his pocket, barely glanced at me, before he said, “That wasn’t on you. Your dad never should have put you in that position.”

“Didn’t realize he had until I just said it out loud.”

Oh. My heart. It squeezed so tight I feared it would shatter.

“Right,” my dad muttered. “First, I want you to know what you said here today won’t be repeated. And you’re right, I crossed some boundaries today, which I’ll try not to do in the future.” He glanced down and winked. “Your mom and I have had a time since everything with Darrick, wondering if you were okay, and how you’ve really been. But it wasn’t my place to handle it this way today, but well, with everything Charlie went through, and we couldn’t help him, we just…we worry.”

Charlie fought depression for a long while after he came out as gay. Or maybe he became depressed and anxious because he was gay and then was able to seek help once he came out. I wasn’t really sure considering I was ten when it happened, but it’d been hard on them for a long time.

“You don’t have to worry about me, not like that,” I told him. “And I don’t even think of Darrick anymore. What happened happened and it’s done. I’m moving on.”

“Yeah.” A soft, warm smile stretched his lips. The kind my dad was famous for. “I can see that.”

“My apologies again, Dawson,” he said to him. My dad stepped closer, and I went to step back, but Dawson squeezed me tight to his side. “This won’t happen again, and my wife Sue said she’d love to have you for dinner sometime.”

“Dad—”

“When you’re ready. Whenever that may be.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Ken, Dawson. That’ll be good for now.”

Dawson dipped his chin. My dad leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Sorry, baby girl. Won’t happen again.”

“Love you, Dad.”

“All my heart, precious. You know you have it.”

Dawson didn’t let me go until the front door closed and even then he only did it to bury his face in my hair.

“What do you need?”

“This.”

I gave it to him. Stood there and let him squeeze me tight and breathe in my hair and I let him do it for as long as he needed, rubbing my hand up his back every time he shuddered.

* * *

“So what happened after?”

Sloane was helping me in my shop, and by helping me, it meant she was picking up every tool and brush I owned, fiddling with them, and setting them back down in spots I’d never find them again. We’d only been able to connect via texts for the last couple of weeks, so she declared she was helping me today since she didn’t have a shift at the hospital and then we were going out tonight for a couple of drinks.

We had the doors opened because I was painting a dresser. A dusty, smoky blue color I adored. Eventually I’d add gold handles. It was a small, six-drawer side-by-side dresser that could also be used in a large entryway or as a buffet side table in a dining room.

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