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“Braxton, what’s wrong?” I say, trying to not sound like I just woke up.
“Hey Kylie,” he says. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Kinda.”
“Sorry, it’s nothing. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
“No,” I say quickly, before he can hang up. “No, it’s okay. What’s up?”
He’s silent for a moment, but I can tell he’s still on the other end. “Can I come over?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say.
“Thanks, Ky,” he says. “Be there in a few.”
I drag myself out of bed, pull on some leggings, and throw a long cardigan over my tank top. I put on some hot water for tea, wondering what’s going on with him. Coming over at one in the morning doesn’t mean he wants to hang out. It means something is wrong.
I settle in on the couch with my tea, and it isn’t long before he knocks. He lets himself in with his key. He looks a little rumpled, like he went to bed in his clothes.
He’s still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but let’s not dwell on that.
“Hey,” I say, sitting up as he comes in. “What’s going on?”
He sinks down on the couch next to me. “It’s just been one of those days.”
My chest feels tight. I know he doesn’t mean work was hard, or his car broke down, or even that something happened with his girlfriend. He’s missing his parents.
He stares straight ahead for a while, and I just let him sit. He’ll talk when he’s ready, if he wants to. He’s just as likely to get up and leave without saying anything, and never mention it again. But somehow I can tell it helps him to sit here, whether he wants to talk or not. This isn’t the first time.
“I didn’t want to have to explain it all to her,” he says after a while.
“Who?”
“Aubrey,” he says. “She knows we lost them, but … you know. You were there.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat and bite my lip so my eyes don’t tear up. “Yeah.”
“I don’t know why tonight was shit,” he says, his voice low and quiet. “It’s no one’s birthday, or some fucking holiday. It just hits me sometimes, out of nowhere.”
I so rarely see this side of Braxton. I’m never sure how to handle it when I do. Right now, I want to put my arms around him, hold his head to my chest. But I don’t. I can’t.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Can I just sit with you for a while?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course you can.”
He looks at me, his deep dark eyes so piercing and true. “Thank you, Kylie.”
That lump is back in my throat, and it’s all I can do not to cry. I put my tea down on the coffee table to give myself an excuse to look away. “Anything for you, Braxton.”
Anything.
