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My lip trembles, but I say nothing. I can't look at him.
The next moment he drops his bombshell. “I've left the band.”
“What?” This time he has my attention. Alex has been with the band since he was a kid. Long before he met me. They're his second family.
“I told Stuart I was leaving.” He runs a hand through his hair. His expression twists. “After everything he did, I can't stay. I won't let it tear us apart.”
“But it's all you've ever wanted,” I breathe out. “You're letting go of your dreams.”
Alex glances down at his trainers. There are lines on his face where there used to be smooth skin, thin as thread but they're there. I want to reach out, to smooth them, and make them disappear. The last few months have taken their toll on both of us.
Finally, he looks up. “It was never my dream. Stuart's maybe, but not mine.” Taking a step towards me, he grabs my hand again and wraps it in his palm. “You're my dream. You and Max. I won't be giving up on that one.”
* * *
Life goes on. Max settles back in nursery, I go to work, and I try not to flinch every time he coughs. I don't want to be one of those suffocating mothers who squeal when they see a graze or a scratch. I see them everywhere, fussing and cooing, wrapping their kids in layer after layer, even while the autumn sun still warms the air. I want him to be strong, be free. Grow up to be a man.
It's hard, though. I still jump when my phone rings at work, and shudder when I hear his cries of pain. He's started to pull himself up on everything, and I know it won't be long before he's cruising between furniture.
He's growing up. I love it and I hate it.
One night a couple weeks later, Alex calls me before midnight. I'm wrapped in that cosy blanket between sleep and wakefulness, my voice low and drugged when I answer the phone.
“Hi.” I'm breathy and deep. So relaxed I'm not thinking about the way I come across.
“Babe.” His voice is lower; gravelled and thick. He's winter walks in the wood and smoky bonfires. “Did I wake you?”
“No.” A smile curls into my voice. “I wasn't asleep yet.”
“You in bed, baby?” He sounds like pure seduction. I'm too comfortable to do anything but absorb it.
“Yeah. Under the covers. Nice and snug.”
“Wish I was there with you.”
“I wish you were, too.” I say the first thing that comes to mind, and it's so damn true. I wish a lot of things.
“I want to come home. Look after you.”
I open my eyes. “Alex...”
“I love you, gorgeous. I love our son. Let me come back.” There's the merest of hint of a slur to his voice. The product of no more than a couple of drinks. I can almost smell the beer on his breath, warm and musky. “What's it gonna take?”
It's a fair question. One I've asked myself. Weeks of introspection and I'm still not sure of the answer. I'm the stubborn one, clamming up every time we talk. I know I have to tell him eventually.
“Just give me some time.” It's my familiar refrain. Time and space.
“I will, if you give me a chance.”
A fair exchange? Quite possibly. I can't keep stringing things along, not when there's more than us at stake. It isn't fair on Max to have this indecision over his head. And yet when I squeeze my eyes closed all I can see is that photo. The way his fingers rested on her stomach. Holding her.
Touching her—another woman.
It's like a brick wall between us. One he doesn't even know is there. He's made it clear he wants to be with me, that he wants us back, yet I can't bring myself to wipe the image from my mind. If I was counselling myself I'd look deeper, try to work out the reasons behind my obsession with it. But I'm too tied up with fear, scared to hear the answer. Instead I let it fester like an infected wound.
The more I avoid asking him, the bigger it looms between us. And he doesn't even know.
“I should get some sleep. Good night, Alex.”
