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"That," he glances at me, "you are fighting too hard. Putting too much pressure on yourself and her. You’re allowing the past to dictate your future, brother, and that’s only going to lead to misery."
"You have no idea how it feels to find out that your wife is pregnant, that you are going to bring a child into this world. How am I going to protect him or her from the evils out there? How am I going to protect all of them from what I am?"
"Ah," he nods, "I see now."
"See what?" I scowl, "I hate it when you are so cryptic."
"You’re scared,fratellone."
"Me, scared?" I scoff, "What do I have to be scared of?"
"Yourself?"
I laugh, "Now you’re taking the piss, as the Brits say."
"You’re worried that you won’t measure up to the needs of being a husband and a parent. You are unsure if you will be able to meet the demands made of you. You think you are not good enough to be either. You are afraid that—"
"Stop," I growl, "just shut the fuck up, Xander."
He tilts his head, "Hurts to hear the truth, eh?"
I push away from the window and begin to pace. "Why is it that this feels so..difficult…so monumental? Like something that cuts through all the bullshit I have been spewing all this time, something that slices me to the core, and cuts me off at the knees? Something that makes me feel so exposed that I am sure I am going to be sick?"
"Welcome to the human race," he murmurs. "It’s not all fun and games when you begin to experience the emotions, but with great vulnerability, comes the gift of extreme joy."
I wince, "Doesn't sound like my cup of espresso."
"It’s good, what you are going through."
I laugh as I rub at my chest, "If you say so."
"I know so." He walks over to me and grips my shoulder, "This is all good, brother. This, what you are going through, will make you stronger, more powerful, more resilient to face what is to come. Your ability to be a little more sensitive will only make you a more insightful leader."
"When did you become this wise?"
He smirks, "I was born wise, big brother."
I ruffle his hair, "Don’t let my praise go to your head."
"Not likely," he snorts, "considering you are only telling me what I already know."
"Right," I murmur, "so what now?"
"Now you go back and apologize to her."
"Apologize?" I lower my hand, "What do I need to apologize for?"
"For whatever it is you did?"
"Why is it something I did?" I frown.
"It’s always the man in a relationship who is wrong. Time you accept that."
"So, you admit that you are the one who’s in the wrong when it comes to not acknowledging your feelings for Theresa?"
His features tense, then he forces his expression into a semblance of a smile, "You got that right."
"What are you going to do about it?"
