But this, the way Aidan cared for me, it was so foreign to me outside of him, and it was the very best thing that had ever happened to me.
“I know,” he said, understanding what I couldn’t put words to. “You’re a very good boy. You serve me well, and you deserve this.”
“Thank you.” I nodded, unsure if I believed him.
When I looked up, Ian’s eyes were on me with an interest I’d never seen in him before.
“You may stand,” Aidan said.
“Yes, Sir.”
We visited for a little while before David said, “I should head out. Thanks for having me.”
“Thank you for coming,” I told him, and I meant it. He might have only come because he was Aidan’s friend, but I appreciated it.
“Anytime,” David replied. “Do you need a ride home?” he asked Ian.
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
We walked them to the door and said our goodbyes. Ian and I hugged, and then the two of them slipped out the door. The second Aidan had closed and locked it, I looked at him and burst into tears.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Aidan
The moment Finley began to cry, I went to him, wrapped my arms around him, and kissed the top of his head, trying to figure out what happened, where I went wrong. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m here. I have you.”
My words only made him cry harder, so I lifted him, and Finley went easily. He wrapped his arms around my neck, his legs over one arm and his back against the other. If I could, I would carry him upstairs like this, but I knew it wasn’t possible, so I went to the couch and sat down.
“I have you. I’m not going anywhere,” I told him again, playing with his hair because I knew how much my boy loved it. Finley nuzzled into my neck and breathed me in, his body beginning to relax against me. “Communication, remember? If something’s wrong, you need to tell me. I’m just a man. I can’t always figure it out on my own.”
Finley gasped. “What? No. Nothing’s wrong. I’m so sorry. I’m just…” He lowered his voice. “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s ridiculous, really. I’m just so happy. This is the best birthday I’ve had since my mom died.”
Oh, this sweet, precious boy. The things he did to me. My body was sensitive, this sort of softening of walls inside me. I should have thought of that, what this meant to him after losing her. “Tell me about your mother,” I commanded.
“Really?” His eyes were bright, eager, as if my demand had surprised him.
“Yes, of course.”
“I… Okay. Her name was Amanda. I never met her parents, but I know they were wealthy—they came from money—and very religious. Her dad was a minister.”
I listened, petting his hair as he spoke.
“She got pregnant with me when she was sixteen. She kept it from her parents for as long as she could. When they found out, they were incredibly angry with her, but at that point there wasn’t much they could do. They’re from Texas, and I think her mother brought her here so that no one back home would know. When I was born, it was me or them, and she chose me.”
Wow. That was a lot to put on his shoulders. “Tell me you know that’s not your fault,” I urged him. “Because it isn’t.”
“Part of me knows that. I didn’t ask to be born, but her life would have been much better without me.”
I didn’t think anything would be better without him. “You were worth it to her. She loved you, correct?”
“Yes, she was the best.”
“Exactly. Now continue, please.”
“I was born a month early. They didn’t think I would make it. I was very sick, and we were in the hospital for quite a while. It’s why she named me Finley. It means fair-haired warrior. Even though I was early, I was born with a headful of blond hair. She told me the story often, how I was her little warrior because I survived.”
I smiled, kissed his temple. “I like that. It fits. You are a warrior.”
“Thank you. Anyway, her mom had arranged an adoption and tried to take me away when I was born, but she said she changed her mind as soon as she had me. Her mom kept trying to get her to give me up, but she wouldn’t. She spent the whole time we were in the hospital telling me I would be better off somewhere else. In the meantime, she had met a woman—a nurse in the OBGYN center. She and her husband couldn’t have kids. They helped her, gave her a place to stay, and had appointments with CPS and all that. The problem was, eventually she realized they helped her because they wanted me…wanted a child. They basically tried to be my parents. She was young, and they took advantage of that. I was two by the time she ran from them, but at least by then she was eighteen. She bounced around from place to place, doing her best to make ends meet.”
What a tragic beginning for such a sweet boy. It made me want to protect him even more, to take care of him so he never had to worry or struggle.
“Were you born in the hospital where I work?”
He shook his head.
“And when she passed away?”
“They found her parents. I guess they didn’t want me.”
I found myself kissing him again, trying to soothe him. How could anyone not want their family?
“She was the best mom. We never had much, but I always knew she loved me. She liked to sing to me and always laughed. She worked so hard to be able to take care of us, and I remember knowing that what she did, how she took care of me and protected me, was what love meant. Not a day went by that she didn’t tell me she loved me, her little warrior. And I’ll never forget you saved her once.”
“I didn’t save her, precious boy. I may have helped her, but your mother, she saved herself and her son over and over during her life.”
He snuggled closer, his hand tight on my arm as if he was afraid I would walk away.
“Tell me more,” I commanded, and he did. From her favorite song to her favorite movie to her favorite color. I let him talk until there was no talk left in him, and then I held him as he cried. It was clear how much he needed it—to share her and grieve for her. I was angry with myself for not having asked about her earlier.
When he finally stopped crying, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I got your shirt all wet with my tears and snot.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” I adjusted my position, and he gripped me again, making it obvious he still needed me, needed to be cared for. “Come, let’s get you in the bath.” He took them often, and I knew he enjoyed them.
“I don’t want to be away from you.”
“Then I guess you better go with me to your bathroom because that’s where I’m going to be.”
He looked up at me and grinned, and a feeling of calmness filled me. Being what he needed was everything.
Finley stood, and I held his hand as we went upstairs. I drew him a bath, added bubbles, and undressed him. I feared he would ask me to get in with him, but he didn’t. I sat on the toilet lid while he relaxed in the water, his eyes and face red from crying.
He stayed inside until his body was pruned. “Can I get out now, Sir?”
“You may. Let the water out, and I’ll dry you.”