He’d said goodbye to stargazing, and then Archer, who vowed to love his son, had come along and had given him a recording. And at first, it sounded like nothing. It was just noise. And then he’d let himself experience it—fully and completely. He let the sounds form shapes that his mind could explore, that could take form in new ways, and suddenly the stars had become his again.
He’d done his best to hold back his emotions at the time, though he could hear it in Julian’s voice that he hadn’t perfected his ability to keep himself together. And even Corinne had held his arm just a little tighter as she walked with him back to the cottage. But she didn’t linger, and when he was alone, with his fingers in Bastian’s fur, he let himself cry.
It wasn’t gut-wrenching sobs, and he didn’t allow himself regret for what he’d lost. But gratitude for what he’d been given made him want to fight until his knuckles bled to make this relationship between that man and his son work.
Fredric returned his attention back to the scotch and realized that Ilan was no longer at his side. He tilted his head, and he heard soft, rumbling baby talk and knew that the younger man was rolling on the floor with his dog.
“You spoil him,” Fredric said, leaning slightly over his knees.
Ilan laughed, and a hand swatted his ankle. “You’re one to talk. How often do you make him a plate of filet mignon?”
“Never,” Fredric said with a small sniff, though he wasn’t about to deny that the dog was spoiled. But he was worth it. He was Fredric’s everything, even if he was getting along in years. “How was your drive in?”
“The usual. Shitty until I saw the coast, then better. I keep telling myself to just pack up and move.” He let out a sigh, and Fredric inched his feet forward until his shoes connected with the hard body lying on the floor. A hand reached out and closed around his ankle, and Fredric felt settled. “How has the week been really?”
“I’m sure Julian’s told you. It’s all pomp and circumstance. Bullshit,” Fredric said with a half-smile, then shook his head. “I think the more they see Julian happy, the crueler they’re trying to be.”
“Is your wife going to be here tonight, because…”
Fredric grunted, and Ilan went silent. “No.” He inched forward again, reaching with his stronger arm to brace himself on cushion behind him, and he slid to the floor, pulling his legs up toward his chest. The ache in his back told him he was probably too old to be sitting like that, but tonight, he decided he wasn’t going to care. He’d face his regret in the morning. “She’s not staying here with me for the rest of the trip.”
“Did you two…” Ilan stopped and cleared his throat. “Are things okay?”
Fredric hesitated, because they weren’t telling people yet. But the truth was clawing at his chest, the way it had been doing for months. The day after Bryce’s wedding was announced—the day after Jacqueline had told him that Julian would attend no matter what, Fredric felt the last, frayed thread of their marriage pull tight. “You can’t be serious. You can’t ask him to go through that.” It was a single, sorry attempt to drag humanity from her. “How can you ask him to go through that?”
Jacqueline’s response was no surprise. “How can I not? Our son is fat, he’s a teacher, he has no backbone. Can you blame Bryce for wanting more? Maybe this will show Julian he needs to work harder if he wants to keep a partner interested.”
And the string snapped. He had his partner draw up the divorce papers and laid them on the living room table. When Jacqueline finally graced him with her presence, he addressed her with the coldness she’d given him for as long as he could remember. “I want out. I won’t make a big scene, but I can’t do this anymore. You can have the house, obviously all of the cars. I won’t make a public statement, but I don’t want to spend another year married to you.”
She hadn’t said much, except to request they wait to tell people until after the holidays. He knew he shouldn’t have given in—if he hadn’t, maybe Julian wouldn’t have sacrificed even more of his dignity to be there watching his ex flaunt his new husband and his access to even more cash. But standing up straight and taking control of his life had been new for Fredric, so he allowed her to win this one, final battle.
He might have tasted bitter regret if he hadn’t heard the sounds of his son falling into real, absolute love.
“Jacqueline and I are getting divorced,” he said after a beat. He heard the rustling sound of Ilan sitting up and the quiet jingle of the tags on Bastian’s collar as he was dislodged. “It’s…we separated a while ago, and the hearing is set for January tenth.”
Ilan made a soft noise, and then he settled next to Fredric with his back to the sofa. “Fuck.”
Fredric couldn’t stop a laugh, and he leaned in toward Ilan. It felt good to talk about it like this—with someone whose life hadn’t been warped and changed by his marriage and the abuse he suffered in it.
“It’s been a long time coming,” Fredric said after a beat.
“Yeah, I know. Have you told Julian and Corinne?”
Fredric squeezed his weaker hand into a fist, then nodded. “I have. They…took it well enough, I suppose. I deserved a lot more anger from Julian than he gave me for taking this long to finally get out.”
“He loves you,” Ilan argued, and Fredric laughed again.
“I know he does. God, I know.” He dragged his hand down his face, then leaned back against the cushion with his eyes wide open toward the ceiling. “I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful for it.”
“If you ever start to wonder where Julian got his self-esteem from,” Ilan began, and though it was meant to be a joke, Fredric felt it like a blow to the sternum.
His breath caught in his chest, and he squeezed his hands again to stop them from shaking.
“Can I ask you something,” Ilan said after a moment, and Fredric waved at him to go on. “What are you going to do?”
Fredric closed his eyes and tilted his head toward Ilan. “I don’t know. I’ve already let my firm know that I’m not coming back. Maybe I’ll take up knitting.” He stopped when he felt warm fingers curl around his wrist.
“That’s not what I mean,” Ilan said, and Fredric sighed, because he knew what Ilan was really asking.
“I don’t know, and I’m terrified,” he admitted. The words were gutting, bitter, and painful as he forced them out, but he hadn’t said any of this to anyone. Ilan’s hand tightened on his, and he let the touch ground him as he reached for emotions he’d been tucking away into dark corners for so long. “Sometimes I don’t know if I can do this without her, but I also know that I’d rather die than stay another day in this marriage. She was my first everything, but I feel like she robbed me of all the joy that could have been, if only I’d had the courage to leave the day I realized I was nothing more than a burden to her.”
“Papa,” Ilan breathed out, and Fredric shook his head, sitting up and dislodging Ilan’s grasp.
“I’m tired of letting fear dictate my future—what little I have left of one.”