Page 96 of Golden Ruin

“Can we sleep in your bed, Daddy?”

“No, Jax. That’s–”

“Of course,” Sterling cuts in, and I blink at him. “Would that make you feel safer?”

Jax nods, a huge grin brightening his face.

“Then go for it.”

At Sterling’s words, Jax tosses the cover off us both, then hops out of bed. He grabs my hand next and starts pulling.

“Come on, Mommy. He said it’s okay.”

Sterling’s been more than welcoming since we came here, but this feels like too much. Too… invasive.

He must see me hesitating, because he lets out a quiet laugh.

“The sheets are clean if that’s what you’re worried about,” he teases.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

I can’t come up with a reason I’m willing to admit out loud, so I accept defeat. Because I’m absolutely not about to tell him I’m afraid sleeping in his bed will feel too intimate. Or that I’m worried sleeping underneath blankets that smell like him will bring back memories.

Jax tugs again, and I know this is a battle I won’t win.

“Okay,” I give in, getting to my feet.

Thunder rumbles above as we make our way down the hallway with Jax clutching a bear in one hand and gripping my fingers with the other. He pushes Sterling’s door open, and I hesitate in the threshold for just a moment. A hint of his cologne lingers in the air, and a t-shirt that didn’t make it to the hamper hangs over the footboard. I was prepared to feel uncomfortable when I stepped in, but I wasn’t expecting the sight of his empty bedroom to make me miss him.

But the tightness in my chest says it all.

“Come on, Mommy.”

Jax bounces onto the mattress, pulling the comforter down with reckless abandon as he climbs right into the middle. He looks so small in such a massive bed, but he’s always comfortable in Sterling’s personal space. Because Sterling’s always made room for him.

Slowly, I climb in beside Jax, wondering which side is Sterling’s. But the second my cheek touches the pillow, I smell him, feel him, and I know this is it.

“Guess what I brought,” Sterling says.

“What?” Jax grins.

I glance toward my phone–which he’s officially stolen–just as Sterling holds up one of Jax’s favorite books.

Jax is beaming, and I’m breathing deeper, watching him receive the kind of love from his dad that I used to crave from my own. It didn’t happen for me, but in so many ways, watching Sterling with our son has healed my own trauma. He’s shown me what that kind of love looks like, and I’m grateful Jax gets to experience it.

I don’t say it out loud, but I’m in awe that, while packing and making sure he had his plane ticket and whatever else he’d need to prepare for his trip, he thought about Jax. About their nighttime routine. About still being his dad even though he’s away.

My chest does that thing again, where it squeezes around my heart, reminding me of the emptiness I feel with him being gone.

Jax props the phone against a pillow. Now it’s like Sterling’s lying with us, keeping us company and distracted from the chaos outside.

“Can you read it now?” Jax asks.

“One sec. Let me set the alarm for you and Mommy, then I’ll dive in.”

A few seconds later, the system panel beside the bedroom door beeps twice as he arms it from his phone. Then, the light on the side switches from green to red. I’m not sure how he does it, makes me feel safe from so many states away, but he does. Even the storm seems quieter, less imposing now that he’s on the line.

I settle in, feeling the tension leave my body as I lie on his pillow, enjoying the story as he reads to Jax. He does all the voices and sound effects, which means we’re laughing as much as we’re listening. But somehow, even with all the giggles and gasping, Jax is starting to doze.