Daddy’s Angel by K.A Knight
Lexi
The next day or so is non-stop. I call into work so I can be by Tyler’s side the entire time. I might not have gotten on with Justin at the end, but part of me does hurt at his death. The other half of me is broken as I watch the man I love deal with all the pressure and pain.
He handles it with grace, never snapping, not stopping, even though I would be a wreck. He keeps moving. I think it’s the only thing preserving his sanity, but he begs me not to leave his side. His hand remains locked in mine, and he cries against my chest at night, the only time he shows the pain of losing his son—apart from when he had to tell Justin’s mum. Then he cried and sobbed after. He only lets it consume him when he takes a moment to breathe.
He’s starting to plan the funeral, and I help when I can, but I feel like I get in the way. He’s getting angrier as the hours pass. Not at me, but at the world…and himself.
He blames himself.
He thinks he could have stopped it if he had just forced him to stay here. Forced him to stop drinking and resolved all the drama between us three. And now he’s racked with guilt and grief, and I’m just waiting for him to explode. He has to at some point, no one can carry on like this. His heart is ripped open, and he’s trying not to feel a thing because it’s easier than the pain.
That night, after we have sorted the funeral, we are lying in bed, neither of us sleeping. Tyler is by my side, but he seems a million miles away, his eyes locked on the ceiling. He pulled away during the day, and I don’t know what to do to bridge that gap.
Does he blame me?
Is he reminded of everything when he looks at me?
The thought sends my heart into panic mode, and tears blur my eyes as I slide my hand across the sheet, searching for his. But when they connect, he yanks his away, jumping like he’s coming out of a deep fog.
“Ty?” I ask, turning to him, but he rolls out of bed. He sits on the edge with his head in his hands. His back is bowed and shaking. Licking my lips nervously, I reach for him again, unable to take the distance. I know he’s hurting, I just want to help, but he’s pushing me away and I don’t know what to do.
“Ty?” I whisper again into the dark, placing my hand on his shoulder, but he shakes it off and I sit back on my heels, staring at him. I’m lost and unsure what to do or how to help. He’s hurting. He’s broken. He lost his son. There is nothing I can say or do to help heal that wound, but I want to be there to support him, to hold his hand as he breaks… Does he not want me to?
Would it help if I gave him space?
I don’t know which is a better option, and I don’t want to break the silence and ask, even though the man I love is cracking right in front of me. “What can I do? Tell me, I’ll do anything,” I beg, wrapping my arms around my middle to hold back my own fears, my own insecurities that are telling me he doesn’t love me anymore, that he hates me.
This isn’t about me, this is about him, and right now, I need to be the bigger person. I need to be whatever he needs me to be, even if it hurts.
“Leave,” he whispers.
“What?” I question, unsure if I heard him right.
“Leave!” he snaps, swinging his head around to meet my eyes. “Get out, it’s over.”
I recoil like he struck me, and my heart stops at the look in his eyes. It’s wild, and there’s nothing of my Tyler left. “You don’t mean that, you’re hurt, you’re angry, I get that—”
He laughs bitterly then. “I mean it, Angel.” The way he says the word sounds like a threat, and I freeze. I’m his angel, surely he can’t mean this?
Tyler Phillips isn’t allowed to break my heart.
But it seems he is. I trusted him, I love him, and I know… I know he’s hurting, he’s scared and lashing out, but that doesn’t stop the pain from flowing through me as I stare at him, unsure what to do.
“Get out!” he roars, his eyes wide and crazed, his chest heaving. “It’s over! What don’t you understand? Go! Get out!”
I grab my bag, phone, and pants and then rush to the door, pressing my head there as I fight back my tears. Before I go, I look at him. “I love you, Tyler. I forgive you, and no matter what, I’ll be here when you need me. Please don’t blame yourself, blame me if you have to,” I whisper, knowing this isn’t about us.
Or even him.
This is Justin. I guess he got his wish after all.
Us, apart.
