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Patrick made a face. “My dad never hangs out in the laundry room.”
Wyatt grinned. “Neither do I, but that doesn’t mean we can’t.”
He guided the kid back inside, and the two of them kept on down the hall until they reached the laundry room.
“So what’s this all about?”
Patrick was still shivering, and Wyatt pulled off his thermal Henley, placing it over the boy’s head and tugging on it until it was down past his knees.
“Looks like my nana’s muumuu,” Patrick said, holding his arms wide with a grin.
“Yeah, but it will keep you warm.” Wyatt picked him up and set him down on the dryer.
“Whoa. Cool tattoo. What is that?”
Wyatt glanced down at his right arm. Wrapped around his bicep was the only ink he had. It had been there since the day he turned eighteen and had caused one hell of a fight between him and his father. John Blackwell had been of the opinion that tattoos were only for certain types of folks, and the Blackwells weren’t in that particular group.
Wyatt wondered what John thought of Hudson’s tats. Hell, the man’s entire right arm was filled with ink. He trailed his fingers over his own, suddenly somber.
“I got it for my mom. See here?” He pointed. “If you look real close, you can see a lion.” Wyatt moved a bit so the kid could have a better look. “And here? That’s the word Leo. It was my mother’s astrological sign.”
“I see it,” Patrick breathed, reaching for the artwork. Wyatt moved a bit more so Patrick could touch it. “It so cool.” He grinned, those big eyes of his flashing. “Does your mom like it?”
Wyatt couldn’t take his eyes from the tattoo. Weird. It had been there for years, but he hadn’t actually paid attention to it in ages. Looking at it now through the eyes of a young boy made him feel a lot of things. Most of which he didn’t want to deal with. Things he wanted to forget.
At least, right now.
“I ah… My mom never saw it.” He cleared his throat and glanced up, more than a little unnerved by the look in Patrick’s eyes. There was knowledge there. A maturity that a kid his age shouldn’t have. Patrick held his gaze for a couple of heartbeats.
“Did your mom get sick?”
Wyatt shook his head. “No.”
“But she’s in heaven?” Those little hands were on him now, and, dammit, Wyatt had to clear his throat again before he could answer.
“Yeah, Bud. She’s in heaven.”
Patrick traced the outline of the lion, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m going to heaven too.”
“Hey.” Wyatt frowned, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. “Let’s not talk silly.”
Patrick nailed him with a look that said cut the bull. “I am
.” He shrugged. “It’s okay. Father O’Reilly says heaven is really cool and I won’t be sick up there. And our dog Molly went to heaven last year, so…”
Choked up, Wyatt had a hard time replying to that, so he did what most men would do in that situation. He waited a few moments for the emotion to clear and tried to change the subject.
“Patrick, what did you want to talk about?”
That little hand fell away from his tattoo, and a shiver rolled through Wyatt. He’d known this boy for barely a week, and in that short span of time, Patrick had managed to worm his way into the one place Wyatt kept guard over. The one place he allowed no one to enter.
His heart.
“Well…” Patrick ran his hands through his unruly hair. Wyatt heard the strain in his voice and knew the kid’s strength was waning. He needed to get him back inside the family room, bundled up and warm with his parents.
“My mom and Dad are sad a lot.” He looked up at Wyatt, and there went his heart again, tumbling through his body and hitting the floor with a thud. “Because of me. They’re sad because I’m going to heaven and they don’t want me to.”
Wyatt could do one of two things right now. He could dismiss everything this kid was saying. Gloss over it as if it didn’t matter and try to make Patrick forget the shit deal he’d been dealt. Or he could let Patrick say what it was he needed to say, because obviously, something was on his mind. And if Wyatt could help ease his burden, he’d damn well try.
