Page 5 of Asher's Answer
Don’t rush this, I remind myself.The poor kid will need you to go slow.
Josh said Asher was shaken and flighty - apparently terrified of admitting he indulged in little play for comfort.
Considering Josh’s observations, Asher’s breakdown in my kitchen should not have surprised me, but his cries twist something inside me. I’m a Daddy through and through. Holding him through his sobs is heart wrenching even though it feels so good to step back into this role. This does nothing to help my resolve to hold back and pace myself with this boy, not when I can see how desperately he needs someone to care for him.
When he finally exhausts himself and I get him to drink from the cup that seemed to set this whole thing off, he sags against me and that fills me with so much warmth that it takes me a moment to get my bearings.
“Okay, baby,” I murmur and can’t resist dusting my lips over the top of his head. The endearment comes naturally around him -he’s so much softer and fragile than a simple ‘boy’- but he hasn’t protested my use of the word the few times it has slipped out already. I need to rein my enthusiasm in, but rational thought is failing me.
Instead, Asher sighs and snuggles into my chest and I’m officially a goner. Five fucking minutes alone with this kid, and I’m wrapped around his little finger. I can’t even pretend that it’s not happening.
Josh will be insanely proud of himself when he checks in later: he would have taken one look at Ash and pegged him as my type. He knows me too well.
Rubbing my hand over Ash’s back, I can’t even bring myself to be bothered by that. In fact, I want to thank my brother.
God, I’m such a sap.
“Come on,” I urge the boy in my arms gently, “Let’s clean up your face and get comfy, okay?”
He’s pliant now. I want to praise him for being so brave and for knowing that, usually, being led into a stranger’s house can be unsafe…but now’s not the time for that conversation. No, he’s too far gone, too wrung out and lost in his head, and I’m going to care for him until he’s big again. And then -and only then- will we talk about the bigger issues at hand.
I lead him back through the living area and up the stairs that start near the foyer. Up here, there are three bedrooms and two bathrooms: the main and the ensuite attached to the master bedroom. At the top of the stairs, I head straight for the main bathroom and sit him gently on the edge of the tub. His eyes scan the space and he blinks when he notices the basket of bath toys, but he doesn’t say a word. I’m sure he’s worked out that I’m a Daddy by now.
I pull a bright blue washcloth from the cupboard beneath the sink and run the faucet until the water is warm. Then I wet the cloth, wring it out, and wipe over Asher’s face, clearing it of the dried tears and snot.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, so quietly that I almost miss it.
“My pleasure, baby,” I tell him, then take his hand and head back out into the small living area that connects all the rooms. “I’ve gotta change my shirt,” I explain, leading him towards the couch, “but I’ll be right back.”
There’s a small TV up here, and I consider offering to put on some cartoons, but I am only going to be a minute or two at most, and he’s not exactly in the right mind frame to focus on anything. What he needs is a nap, and I hesitate, wanting to ask him if he needs to be diapered beforehand, but I can tell that to ask as much would tip him over the edge again. If seeing a sippy cup was enough to break him, I’m certain a diaper would be too much to handle right now.
I make quick work of changing off my uniform shirt for a soft green T-shirt, and I return to the boy on my couch with haste.
“Okay, bud. Nap time.”
He blinks up at me owlishly, as though trying to process the words.
“You’re drained,” I tell him, dropping to a crouch in front of him, “you’ve had a big day. A nap will help you feel better.”
“Yeah…” he agrees with a slow nod. He’s not quite in little space, but he’s certainly not with me as an adult, either.
“Do you need to potty first?”
The question snaps him to attention and his cheeks flush. “Uh…yeah.”
“Do you need help?”
Asher shakes his head quickly, the blush in his cheeks deepening. “No.” But there’ssomethingin his gaze that tells me this isn’t a hard limit for him. Almost like embarrassment and curiosity melding together: a simmering enthusiasm he can’t quite stifle in time.
Interesting.
“Okay,” I say, not pushing the issue. I lead him back to the main bathroom. “Do your thing, wash your hands, and then I’ll show you your room.”
“My room?” he echoes, hovering in the threshold of the bathroom.
I nod and can’t resist swatting at his cute little ass. “Potty first. Scoot.” I only just remember to grab his blankie from his hand before he carries it in there with him.
Asher has the presence of mind to close the door and it’s not long before I hear the toilet flush and the faucet run. Then he’s opening the door, his eyes much sharper than they were before he headed into the bathroom. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. “And I’m sorry to have put you through,” he makes a vague hand gesture between us as his cheeks turn adorably pink again, “everything.”
