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Throat tight. He took a shot.
“First off, Patrick, I don’t think you’re going to heaven for a long, long time. Just my opinion, of course, but that’s something I want to put out there, okay? And yes, your mom and dad get sad. They get sad because you’re sick. They’re sad that you have to go the hospital and that you missed hockey this season. They know sometimes you feel like crap, and that makes them feel helpless. It makes them sad because they love you.”
“I know.” Patrick picked at the edge of Wyatt’s Henley. “I hate that stuff.”
Wyatt leaned against the dryer and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans as a sudden thought struck him. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“Well.” Patrick looked serious as all get-out. “I was thinking that because you’re famous…”
Okay. This was good. He could do something to make Patrick feel better about things. Maybe take him to the next NASCAR race if he was up to traveling. Even if it meant meeting with Rob Tracy. Agreeing to see the damn shrink. He would do that for his kid.
“I was thinking you could get tickets to one of your brother’s hockey games. Like, maybe my mom and dad could go?”
“My brother. This is about Travis.”
Patrick flashed a half grin. “He’s like the best goalie in the league and plays on my dad’s favorite team. It could make them happy again. I just don’t know how to get tickets. I don’t have one of those cards.”
Wyatt nudged him. “And you don’t like hockey?”
“Yeah, I do. But my mom says it’s not a good thing to be greedy. She says that greedy monsters have sticky fingers and that bad things stick to sticky fingers.”
Wyatt laughed. He remembered something similar coming out of her mouth when she babysat him. “I think your mom might have been talking about sweet and sours. I used to eat them by the bag full and always had a sore stomach.”
Patrick shrugged as if he had no clue what the heck Wyatt was talking about. “Can you ask your brother?”
“I think I can help you out.”
Patrick smiled, obviously relieved. “Could you do it before I go to heaven? Just so that I know they went and had fun and weren’t sad?”
In one moment, all that emotion was back, and Wyatt could do nothing but nod. “Sure. We’ll get it done as soon as we can. I’ll call Travis tonight. Right after his game.”
Patrick seemed to consider his words, but when he spoke, his mind had obviously gone in a different direction.
“How old were you when your mom went to heaven?”
Shit. They were back to this.
“About your age.”
Patrick’s eyes widened, and he was silent for a bit. “You must have been really sad.”
Wyatt nodded. “Yeah. I still am.”
“I bet she was pretty.”
His eyes smarted, and he swiped at the corners. “She was. Just like your mom.”
“Did she smell like vanilla beans? My mom does.”
“No.” Wyatt slowly straightened as a memory washed over him. “She smelled like green grass when it’s just been cut and warm summer breezes off the lake. Sometimes she smelled like honeysuckle. It grew in the garden out back. I remember it crawled along the trellis.”
“I like vanilla beans.” Patrick shuddered and yawned.
“Hey, we should get you to bed.” Wyatt scooped the little guy up and turned to leave the laundry room, only to come face-to-face with Regan. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her bottom lip trembled.
“I…” That husky tone he liked more than most things was there, and she took a step toward them, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “Your mom was looking for you. Time for your medication and bed.” She paused, a soft smile playing around her mouth. “Do you want Bella to spend the night?”
Patrick nodded but didn’t bother to answer. It was as if all his energy had been used up and he had no gas left in the tank.
