Page 116 of Overtime Positions
I nodded steady, “Good, because we’re going to need every ounce of strength we can get.”
Dad clapped me on the shoulder, his eyes hard with the same determination I felt in my gut. “Then it’s settled. Whatever storm’s coming, this family weathers it together.”
I glanced back into the living room, at Toby’s sleeping frame on the couch, echoed by Emmie’s sweet musical playing from her bedroom upstairs, and my throat burned again.
Together.
That was the only way we were going to win this.
The kids were tuckedinto bed, sleeping soundly. We managed to hold them off on yet another request to call Frankie when Eli set their imaginations free as he described how bad her stomach bug was. There was just something about kids and poop, they loved talking about it.
My parents left, lingering as long as possible, making us both promise that they could come back in the morning, maybe even take the kids to their house for the day so we could support Frankie.
I was hesitant to let the kids out of my sight, but I desperately ached to be there for Frankie too. She refused to let us come to her.
And I tried—fuck, I was trying so damn hard—to respect her wishes and let her keep some of her power over the situation, but I was unraveling the longer I didn’t have her in my arms.
Eli wasn’t weathering it any better than I was, and my pressing need to console him, since I couldn’t get to her, was overwhelming me. He sat slumped at the end of the bed in our room, hands fisted in the blankets as he stared off blindly at the fireplace across the room. His broad shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world pressed down on him.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment, the knot in my chest pulled tighter. I was a provider, a protector, and so was he, but right now it was obvious he needed something.
He looked how I felt. Broken. Useless. Adrift.
I crossed the room and dropped down beside him, and for a long stretch of time, we didn’t say a word. We simply satthere, breathing in sync, the quiet was thick with everything we couldn’t fix or change.
Finally, Eli muttered, “She begged me to take care of the kids. Like she thought it was already over.” His voice cracked, raw. “I didn’t know what to say, I still don’t.”
I turned, pressing my shoulder into his until we leaned together, solid and steady, and he leaned back into me. “You said enough by being there. She needs to know we’ll catch her when she falls apart. That’s all she’s asking for.”
His hands scrubbed over his face, “And if she doesn’t come back from this? If they take?—”
“No.” The word came out sharp, and absolute. “We don’t think like that. She’s coming back. And we’ll fight like hell until she does.”
He looked at me then, eyes red-rimmed, and for once there wasn’t anything cocky or bright in him. Just raw, desperate need for comfort.
So, I did the only thing I knew how; I reached over and gripped the back of his neck, grounding him the way I always did, pulling him close until our foreheads touched. “We’ve got her. We’ve got them. And I’ve got you.” I murmured.
His breath shuddered, and his hand came up to grip my wrist, holding on tight like he was afraid to let go. For a moment, there was no noise, no fear, no Danny Masters. Just us. Leaning on each other. Borrowing strength we didn’t have to spare.
And God help me—it was enough to keep me breathing.
Neither of us moved, Eli just breathed hard, like he was drowning, and I was the only solid thing left to grab. I held him there, my hand firm on the back of his neck, my thumb brushing against the tense line of his jaw.
Then he exhaled, sharp and ragged, and it broke something in me. His shoulders sagged, his whole-body folding toward me like he’d been holding it all in for too long.
So, I let him.
I tugged him forward until his face was buried in my neck, his chest shaking against mine, and wrapped my arms around him tight, letting him pour all that hurt out.
“This is killing her,” he muttered, his voice raw. “And I can’t fix it.”
I tightened my grip, my chin resting on the back of his head, “We don’t fix it for her, Eli. We fight beside her. That’s enough.”
His fingers curled into the back of my shirt, knuckles white. He was strong, always so damn strong, running into the scariest situations to save other people, protecting and supporting them on their worst days, but in that moment, he leaned on me like he didn’t know how to stand on his own.
And I realized I didn’t mind carrying him, not for a single second did it feel any different than it did when I supported Frankie.
He lifted his head after a moment, eyes red-rimmed, his mouth locked into a hard line. Our faces were too close, breaths mingling in the quiet. Something flickered between us, fear, need, maybe even hunger. I didn’t overthink it, I just leaned in, slowly, giving him time to pull back, but he didn’t.
