Mason suggested.
“Yeah, I have clothes to put away before bed and really I’m tired.”
***
Ideas for each room raced around in Mikala’s head making it impossible to sleep. Each time she closed her eyes she visualized something else that fit a particular themed room. She tiptoed down the stairs and over to Mason’s desk tipping the lamp down close to the desks surface so she wouldn’t wake him. Searching the desk drawers for a pencil and paper, she slid open the bottom drawer and stared.
A tiny pair of powder blue baby booties rested on the surface of a framed photo. Lifting the booties away she drew in a deep breath as tears pooled in her eyes. There was no smile on his face, but the image of Mason gazing at the tiny baby cradled in his arms like it was gold, like it was the most precious thing in the world, broke her heart all over again, as she remembered that day. She blinked back her tears and noticed something tucked under the photo, she moved the frame to the side and read ‘Daddy’s Little Man’ written on a tiny little onesie. Quietly and with great care to put everything back where she found it, she slid the drawer closed and returned to her bed.
Mason’s eyes settled on the bed up in the hideaway, he could see in the shadows that it was occupied but Mikala’s feet remained tucked under the covers. He crooked his head to listen when he thought he heard a sniffle. He rolled onto his side because she didn’t cry, his mind must have been playing tricks. He heard another sob and a sniffle and before he knew what he was doing, his feet hit the floor and then he was standing beside her bed.
“Sugar, you okay?” he whispered.
She dried her eyes on her pillowcase when she felt the bed dip at her side and rolled over to face Mason. The light was dim, but she could see him squinting before she felt his hand brush across her cheek. “Couldn’t be better, what’s up?” The overly cheery tone in her voice fooled no one but herself.
“You crying, sugar?” Mason asked.
“Don’t be stupid,” she tittered, frozen in place when Mason reached across her and turned on the light. Puffy, red swollen eyes proved her wrong.
Mason chose not to broach the subject although it worried him, he had never seen her give into tears and as emotionally strangled as he felt he had no idea where to start. He knew she was struggling with something weighing heavy on her heart. As much as he wanted to ask, he figured she was in need of warm arms to hold her tight instead.
Her eyes dropped to his naked chest and she gasped. Her fingers reached out and caressed the beautiful tanned flesh at his heart.
“Charlie,” she croaked out, as a flood of tears ran down her temples soaking her hairline.
“Charlie,” Mason affirmed, sliding his body under the sheets and pulling her into his arms.
Mikala’s lips touched the blue ink and her fingertip traced the outline of the two tiny footprints tattooed on his chest.
Something changed between them during the night while Mason held her tight in his arms and allowed her to grieve the way he had avoided when she had needed him most, all those months ago.
He’d never seen her cry before, it tore him to pieces, he gave a silent vow to keep it their private moment and not embarrass her by talking about it.
By allowing her what she needed most he was forced to face the grief he had so carefully pushed aside, the grief he ran from, the grief he fought to ignore each day. Ignoring it kept it screened. Kept it unreal and made it easier not to feel.
Warm tears drenched his skin leaving it cool and damp under Mikala’s cheek. He felt her tuck the corner of the sheet between them and immediately hated the separation it caused. Her hand sat like a shield over the tattoo of Charlie’s tiny feet, it was like they were making a connection between them and their lost child, as if it was reuniting them as a family. A family they never had a chance of being.
Each time he closed
“Yeah, I have clothes to put away before bed and really I’m tired.”
***
Ideas for each room raced around in Mikala’s head making it impossible to sleep. Each time she closed her eyes she visualized something else that fit a particular themed room. She tiptoed down the stairs and over to Mason’s desk tipping the lamp down close to the desks surface so she wouldn’t wake him. Searching the desk drawers for a pencil and paper, she slid open the bottom drawer and stared.
A tiny pair of powder blue baby booties rested on the surface of a framed photo. Lifting the booties away she drew in a deep breath as tears pooled in her eyes. There was no smile on his face, but the image of Mason gazing at the tiny baby cradled in his arms like it was gold, like it was the most precious thing in the world, broke her heart all over again, as she remembered that day. She blinked back her tears and noticed something tucked under the photo, she moved the frame to the side and read ‘Daddy’s Little Man’ written on a tiny little onesie. Quietly and with great care to put everything back where she found it, she slid the drawer closed and returned to her bed.
Mason’s eyes settled on the bed up in the hideaway, he could see in the shadows that it was occupied but Mikala’s feet remained tucked under the covers. He crooked his head to listen when he thought he heard a sniffle. He rolled onto his side because she didn’t cry, his mind must have been playing tricks. He heard another sob and a sniffle and before he knew what he was doing, his feet hit the floor and then he was standing beside her bed.
“Sugar, you okay?” he whispered.
She dried her eyes on her pillowcase when she felt the bed dip at her side and rolled over to face Mason. The light was dim, but she could see him squinting before she felt his hand brush across her cheek. “Couldn’t be better, what’s up?” The overly cheery tone in her voice fooled no one but herself.
“You crying, sugar?” Mason asked.
“Don’t be stupid,” she tittered, frozen in place when Mason reached across her and turned on the light. Puffy, red swollen eyes proved her wrong.
Mason chose not to broach the subject although it worried him, he had never seen her give into tears and as emotionally strangled as he felt he had no idea where to start. He knew she was struggling with something weighing heavy on her heart. As much as he wanted to ask, he figured she was in need of warm arms to hold her tight instead.
Her eyes dropped to his naked chest and she gasped. Her fingers reached out and caressed the beautiful tanned flesh at his heart.
“Charlie,” she croaked out, as a flood of tears ran down her temples soaking her hairline.
“Charlie,” Mason affirmed, sliding his body under the sheets and pulling her into his arms.
Mikala’s lips touched the blue ink and her fingertip traced the outline of the two tiny footprints tattooed on his chest.
Something changed between them during the night while Mason held her tight in his arms and allowed her to grieve the way he had avoided when she had needed him most, all those months ago.
He’d never seen her cry before, it tore him to pieces, he gave a silent vow to keep it their private moment and not embarrass her by talking about it.
By allowing her what she needed most he was forced to face the grief he had so carefully pushed aside, the grief he ran from, the grief he fought to ignore each day. Ignoring it kept it screened. Kept it unreal and made it easier not to feel.
Warm tears drenched his skin leaving it cool and damp under Mikala’s cheek. He felt her tuck the corner of the sheet between them and immediately hated the separation it caused. Her hand sat like a shield over the tattoo of Charlie’s tiny feet, it was like they were making a connection between them and their lost child, as if it was reuniting them as a family. A family they never had a chance of being.
Each time he closed
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