Chapter 16

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ADAM

ADAM WOKE to silence and stillness, all mixed with a fleeting sense that something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He rubbed his eyes and turned over. The other side of the bed had the sheets neatly folded back while the pillow bore an indent from being slept on.

John .

Adam slowly sat up as his heart began to beat a little faster. John had stayed the night. Had slept in his bed! The man had even said goodnight to Adam's dad. Twice! Both when they'd lain down for a nap and when they'd gone to bed for the night. Adam winced. He'd heard the tension in John's voice. The raw pain underlying those few words.

But John had still said it. Had still stayed.

Adam frowned as he scanned his bedroom. The apartment was too quiet. Was John still there? Was Haven still asleep?

What time is it, anyway?

He rubbed his eyes as he looked around for his phone. It lay on the nightstand closest to him, but Adam didn't remember putting it there. John must have done so. Adam tapped on it to wake up the lockscreen. The time flashed and then faded.

Adam gasped. He tapped on it again, staring as the numbers reappeared.

"Holy shit," he whispered. Adam swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away from the black screen. It was after eleven in the morning, which meant two things. One, Haven was already at work, which explained why the apartment was so silent.

And, two, he'd slept right through his dad's time-of-death.

Adam swung his legs over the side of the bed, bracing himself, waiting for his stomach to react. He sat there for several long minutes, but nothing happened. No racing heart. No shaking hands. No urge to vomit or cry or anything.

Yet he didn't feel numb. If anything, he felt…

Calm.

A clink sounded from somewhere outside his bedroom. Adam got up and went to use the toilet and wash his hands before he went to investigate. He found John in the kitchen, still in his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, cradling a mug of coffee in both hands.

Adam stared. John wasn't dressed and busy doing something already? That was enough to stop Adam right in his tracks.

John spotted him, giving him a wary smile over the top of his mug. "Hey," he murmured. "You're up." John paused, studying Adam's face. "How are you feeling?"

Adam had to think about it. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Hungover at all?"

Adam shook his head. John had done a good job of sobering him up and getting him hydrated after his nap yesterday, even though Adam pretty much hadn't left his bed. He'd been too weighed down, between feeling groggy and being full of grief and guilt. And a whole host of other feelings that were only just now starting to make sense in his head.

John set his mug aside and gestured at the coffee machine. "I just made another pot." He paused. "Haven's already gone to work."

"Yeah, I figured." Adam crossed the kitchen and took a clean mug that John handed him. "I can't believe you let me sleep in so late."

John shrugged. "Figured you could use it, considering…"

Adam poured himself some coffee, and after a brief hesitation, added cream and sugar to make it the way he liked it. He took a sip, then shook his head. "I slept right through…" Adam swallowed hard and shook his head again. "Dad died an hour ago, nine years ago today."

John slowly nodded, his body tensing, like he was bracing himself for another one of Adam's emotional outbursts. He opened his mouth to say something, but Adam beat him to it.

"You're here," Adam said.

John frowned, looking confused. "Yeah."

Adam set down his mug and crossed his arms, almost hugging himself. "You actually stayed the night."

"I did," John murmured.

Adam studied him for a moment. "You didn't sleep well, though, did you?"

John hesitated, looking like he was going to hedge his answer, then sighed heavily and shook his head. "No. No, I didn't." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "It was hard, lying there beside you, feeling like that urn was staring at me all night long." John took a deep breath and straightened up, forcibly squaring his shoulders. "But it doesn't matter. If you need me here, I'll be here. Every night, if I have to."

"John–"

John took his hands. "This is my fault. I should have done something about this six months ago, but we were so happy, so lost in our joy of finally being together that I thought, hey, it can wait. Maybe it would all work out on its own. But deep down, I knew better. I just wasn't ready to face it." He squeezed Adam's fingers. "But we are going to get through this. Whatever it takes."

Adam slowly nodded as some of those strange feelings began to take clear shape in his head. "Then I need you to do something for me."

"Anything," John swore after the tiniest hesitation. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he looked alert and attentive and ready to do whatever Adam asked of him.

So Adam took a deep breath and admitted, "I need you to make me." When John frowned in confusion again, Adam added, "You know, get rid of Dad's stuff." He paused. "Call a surgeon. I need you to make me get over it." Adam tightened his grip on John's hands. "Yesterday, when you had me strip and get in the shower, I felt so embarrassed and humiliated and afraid of you seeing me, but I realize now that I also felt so fucking grateful. Because you took all the decisions out of my hands and made me do what I needed to do. I knew I needed that shower and that I needed to sober up, but I would never have been able to do it on my own. And I think, between that and the fact that you're here—that you actually stayed, even knowing how hard that was for you—I think that's why I feel so at peace right now when I should be falling completely apart. Even more so than yesterday."

"You did it on your own before. Packing up the house. Uprooting your life–"

Adam barked a laugh. "Oh, hell, no. I pretty much did whatever my dad's lawyer told me to do. That's the only way I got through it back then. But you? You're a thousand times better at it. Your–" He let go with one hand and waved it around while he tried to find the right words. "Your…whole… you . Shit. I don't even know. Your voice or stance or whatever the hell it is that gets right under my skin and makes me hungry to obey. I need that. I need you ."

John pulled him into his arms. "You've got me, baby. Da–" John coughed. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere"

Adam winced, clinging to John. A part of him wanted to say that he needed John to make him use the D -word, too, but he wasn't ready for that. Such a small thing, but it would still be too much.

Especially today.

But the rest? He knew it was time to start letting things go. Past time. So long as it was John telling him to haul all his dad's stuff out to the curb, Adam knew he could survive it.

John bent down and gave him a kiss, then said, "First things first." He pushed Adam's coffee mug back into his hands. "Coffee. And breakfast. Then we'll do the dishes. Then we can make a plan."

Adam nodded obediently, feeling that calm sensation creeping out to his fingertips, like tension was slowly leaving his body, allowing the peacefulness to radiate outward from his core. He sat down and drank his coffee, then ate the breakfast that John put in front of him. When they were done, he immediately got up and started on the dishes. With John there, both helping and watching, it was so easy for Adam to scrutinize the space, making sure he didn't miss anything. To focus on that one task to the exclusion of all else.

When they were done, John took Adam's hand and led him to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Adam stood in the doorway for a long while, staring at all of his dad's things. There was more in his own bedroom, of course. And the living room. And the kitchen. Hell . Dad's stuff was all over the apartment. But this was the bulk of it, all sitting there, hidden away for years. The stuff he didn't know what to do with.

There was his dad's old record player. And the easy chair. Boxes full of his dad's books, which Adam had always found boring as hell. While Adam had been reading romance novels as a teenager, Dad collected whole shelves full of books on business, marketing, economics, history, and all the other bland subjects that Adam happily left behind when he finished high school. But he loved the memories of his dad sitting in that easy chair, listening to a record on that record player, reading one of those books while sipping his nightly scotch.

"Shit," Adam gasped. He backed up, running right into John. "I don't know if I can do this."

He waited, fully expecting John to bite off an order. To make him start throwing things out. Instead, John grabbed him gently by the shoulders and turned him away from the room, pulling the door shut behind them to block out the sight of all that mess.

"Then we'll start the way I did," John said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world. He steered Adam towards the middle of the apartment and let go. "Pick something of your own first."

Adam whirled around as a puzzled frown took over his face. "Huh?"

"When I was clearing out my folks' house after they died," John explained, "I had a hard time letting go of their stuff at first, too. But I knew it needed to be done if I was ever going to sell the house. It was too much house for me, and Pete already had a place that he and his wife loved," he went on, naming his younger brother. "I had no choice but to downsize. So I started with my own stuff. Got rid of anything I didn't need or want, and once I got into that rhythm, it made it easier to assess my folks' things and let them go."

Adam scanned apartment. "How?"

John wrapped his arms around Adam from behind and rested his chin on Adam's shoulder as he slowly turned them in a circle. "Start small. Pick one drawer or one cupboard. Just one. Then look through all the things in that spot. If there's anything in there that you haven't used in, let's say, six months or a year, and that doesn't have any sentimental value attached to it, set it on the counter there." John pointed to the peninsula in the kitchen.

Adam blew out a breath. "Okay." He looked around, then decided to head for the kitchen first. John followed him but stood back as Adam picked a drawer at random and yanked it open.

Or tried to do so. Adam laughed as he struggled to get the drawer to pull all the way out, the sheer mass of stuff crammed in there making it catch and stick. He finally maneuvered the contents enough and began to dig through them, shaking his head.

"Shit," he whispered, holding up three sets of measuring spoons. "Pretty sure I've got another one of these somewhere else."

John walked over to another drawer, opened it, and pulled something out. "These?"

Adam laughed. "Yeah." He quickly glanced at all four sets, then took the three in his hands and tossed them onto the peninsula counter. Adam blinked. Huh. That was easy . He went back to the drawer and grabbed something else. Adam laughed again. "I don't even know why I bought this. I've literally never used it." He tossed it beside the measuring spoons.

He reached back into the drawer and pulled out an old spatula. There were probably a dozen more scattered about the kitchen—in fact, he was sure of it—but this one made him suck in a breath when he considered parting with it.

John strode right over and gently pressed down on his hand. "Put it back," he murmured.

Adam slowly shook his head, trying to make himself let it go. "It's just a spatula."

"Clearly not," John said gently. "What does it mean to you?"

Adam swallowed hard. "It was Dad's favorite. He used this when he made me pancakes when I was a little kid. I still use it when I make breakfast on my days off." Adam rolled his eyes. "When I had days off. Shit. Guess all my days will be off now, huh?"

John gave him a wry smile, then pushed on his hand again, making Adam put the spatula back in the drawer before resting a hand on Adam's belly. "That gut-punch you felt? When you thought about parting with it? Remember that. As you're going through things, if you feel that, put the thing back. You can always change your mind later. But if you get rid of it now, there's no getting it back. But if you pick something up and don't feel that sensation, then you'll know it's safe to let it go." John paused. "Provided it's a thing you don't actually use. I wouldn't recommend getting rid of all the silverware just because it has no sentimental value."

Adam laughed again, feeling a knot loosen inside his chest. "Okay." He went back to the drawer, working around Dad's spatula as he sorted through the rest of the items. By the time he was finished, the drawer had been emptied by half.

And Adam felt ten pounds lighter.

"Shit," he gasped. "I wish I'd done this years ago. And that was just one drawer."

John smiled. "Just wait until you get through the rest of it. But you don't have to do it all in one day. In fact, it's better if you don't. Start slowly, one space at a time, and build up from there."

Adam nodded, trusting John's word. Especially since he already felt the itch to do more. He even thought of a few things in that third bedroom that he was ready to part with, knowing they wouldn't give him that gut-wrenching sensation like the spatula had done. All the boxes of Dad's business records, for starters. Adam had zero use for those, and nine years was well past the threshold for keeping records for tax purposes. Then there were the boxes of Dad's clothes. The thought of that one stung a little, but when Adam really considered it, there was no point in keeping them anymore. He couldn't wear them, and what use were they, sitting in boxes all this time when they could go to a donation center instead?

Still, John was right. He'd have to take this whole process one box or drawer at a time.

"Maybe just the kitchen today?" he asked, following John's order to start with his own things first.

John gave him a squeeze. "You've got it."

Adam grinned and opened another drawer.