“You’re not a failure and I respect you.”
Sophia scoffed and reached for the door handle, but he stopped her.
“Your ex and his mistresses and these local women with loose morals are the ones who have failed and aren’t respected. You can’t allow them to steal your confidence in yourself.” He reached over and gently grasped her chin to turn her face toward him. “You do realize it’s their failures and not yours?”
Sophia averted her eyes, but Wes maneuvered himself around to where he could see her face. Those beautiful blue eyes were glassy and held too much sadness. It wasn’t his place to do it, but his bones ached to banish the hurt from her and Collin’s life.
“More important than what anyone else thinks, you have to respect yourself for Collin’s sake.”
Sophia tsked. “There you go again about my poor parenting skills.”
“Are you kidding me, Sophia Grace?” Wes asked tersely. Tamping it down, he continued, “You and I both know you’re an amazing mom. You’ve shown you’re willing to do whatever is needed for the well-being of your son. . . . Shoot, you put your pride to the side and asked me for a job for his betterment.” He took a deep breath and admitted something else. “I’m honored to call you my friend.”
Sophia wiped underneath her eyes and gave him a fleeting glance. “You consider me your friend?”
“Absolutely. And I hope you feel the same about me.”
She nodded. “Surprisingly, you have become a dear friend, Weston Sawyer. I appreciate you listening and how kind you’ve been to Collin.”
“You two are the first new friends I’ve made in quite a long time . . .” Wes traced the stitching along the steering wheel with the tip of his finger, waiting for Sophia to open her door to end the night, but she made no move to do so. She was normally quicker to flee sensitive talks than he, but she seemed to be mulling over something, so he remained quiet and waited.
Sophia angled in her seat to face him but focused on her hands entwined on her lap. “Wes, may I ask you something personal?”
He considered her request, wondering if it was wiser to agree or to make a run for it. She was being brave enough to stay, so he would give it a go as well. His eyes locked on the door handle, but his lips moved to answer, “Yes.”
“How do you cope with losing your wife and child? I’ve barely managed to overcome the demise of my marriage and career, but the tragedy you’ve endured . . . I can’t even imagine.”
The question hurt like a tender bruise taking another blow. He blinked the sting away from his eyes and cleared his throat to give an answer without divulging too many details. “I’ve had no choice, I suppose.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not, but the Bible is clear on the fact that life is anything but fair. The story of Job is a good example of that.”
“How can you be so understanding?” Sophia asked just above a whisper, her voice breaking.
“I wasn’t at first . . .” He rolled his neck, one side popping in the process. “Throughout my career in Alabama, I witnessed the cruelest unfairness known to the world. A sick child dying in a parent’s arms. I knew the possibility of unfairness could strike anyone at any time. It has no certain preference in victims, but nothing prepared me for what I faced in the aftermath.” He took a jagged breath, feeling like he was inhaling burning shards of glass.
“I . . .” Sophia halted the words, obviously knowing there were none to soothe away the heartache.
He grasped the door handle, but before he could pull, a set of small yet strong arms wrapped around his neck. An exaggerated stretch of uncertainty passed before Wes gave in and embraced her back. The faint scent of peonies and citrus engulfed him, and before he could stop himself, he’d skimmed his nose along her neck to steal more of the appealing fragrance that had been teasing him from afar since she stormed into his life.
The hug lingered, and Wes was ashamed to admit he didn’t want it to end. The feel of a woman’s comforting embrace had become so foreign, having the sudden gift of it now was almost his undoing.
During his years at Regional, Wes did a fair share of research on the correlation between human touch and healing. The subject was quite debatable in the scientific realm, but his office was assembled of men and women who had a strong faith in God, so they all understood life went well beyond controlled aspects.
Plus, he’d witnessed firsthand what human touch could offer a cancer patient. Those patients who had constant contact with loved ones in forms of hugs, hand-holding, etc. thrived on hope and smiled even on the dark days. In contrast, those patients who were treated as though their cancer was contagious or as if they were too fragile to handle even the tiniest form of touch were often those who barely survived. Smiles and any flicker of happiness didn’t exist.
Wes concluded, after years of observing patient after patient, that isolation could become its own form of cancer. It invaded any healthy cell of hope and killed off any faith that life could get better. In that moment, he realized isolation had not given him any reprieve from losing his family. It only helped the grief and hurt to spread. Before moving to Sunset Cove, he was pretty sure he was in the last stages of it. He wondered if this tiny woman’s touch was going to help put him in remission.
Almost four years had passed since Claire had touched him. It was an intimate act that he’d gotten so comfortable in that it was easy to take for granted. A caress, a lingering hand on his back, a brush of her lips to his cheek, his lips . . .
His body tensed and breathing grew into a labored chore as the sensation of a tremor began building along his shoulders. Sophia must have sensed it, because she jumped back to her side of the car and looked as bewildered as he felt.
Neither could do anything but sit uncomfortably and gape straight ahead until they collected their misplaced composure.
“Wes . . .” She cleared her throat and peered at his house, then back at him. “Do you . . . do you need me to go inside and perform a safety sweep of the house for rabid women?” Her sassy jab dissolved the pressure building in his chest, making breathing and living a little more manageable.
“Would you?” he deadpanned, earning him a toothy grin.
“It’s probably wise. Who knows if some shameless chick managed to scale the side of the house and crawl through your bedroom window while we were gone.” Her eyes grew wide in mock indignation.
They chose to laugh off the uncomfortable tension produced by the hug and Wes’s looming meltdown, and that was fine by him. He was beginning to appreciate laughing as a more suitable alternative to crying.
Wes had spent the better part of the last four years crying through the misery, yet it never cleansed the pain of his loss. The grief wouldn’t let go so easily and clung to his soul like a stubborn stain, refusing to at least fade until it was less noticeable. In all that time, he’d never thought to hope for a path to lead him out of the shadow of tragedy and into the light of living a healthy life.
His brother’s words whispered from his memory. “I hope you give this fresh start a real chance. . . . You know it’s time. You deserve to be happy again.”
Happiness, in the form of a spunky brunette and silly little boy, had shown up in the recent weeks, tempting him to join in.