Chapter 17

DIMITRI

An hour later, I am dragging Blake’s drunk ass inside the apartment.

His clothes are completely disheveled, shabby, and unlike what he left home in. His eyes are droopy and unfocused, his hair is a mess, and he stinks of booze. One arm dangles over my shoulder while the other hangs limply as I help him up the stairs and into his bathroom.

“She left me,” he groans out, more intoxicated than I have ever seen him. “Anya left me. For good this time.”

I try to ignore the colossal burn that claws at my thoughts when her name escapes his lips, instead focusing on shoving his ass into the bathtub. “Shut the fuck up, Blake,” I say between grunts, pushing him into a sitting position.

His head lolls to one side, and he blinks at the ceiling with a maniacal grin on his face. “I feel so stupid. Why did I have to fuck Amelia?” His palms come up to slap both of his cheeks. “I mean, Amelia is hot and all, but Anya…Anya is good. Like, really, really good.”

Gritting my teeth, I grab his shoulders, forcing him to sit straight. Then I lift the hand shower and turn it on to cold. “Get in here!”

Icy water blasts his head, and he yelps. “Cold!” he cries out before trying to jump up, but I keep him seated as I douse him with the water.

“Shut up.”

His struggles quickly fade away, replaced by shivers as he blinks past the droplets that waterfall down his face. His body relaxes, his arms spreading along the sides of the tub, and he seems to come out a little from his drunken stupor.

Inclining his head upward, he watches me through the stream of water. “Dad, will she forgive me?” he asks after a while, staring at me with wide, red eyes. “I feel so bad. I hurt her. She didn’t deserve that.”

I guide the shower to his face, shocking him out of his daze. “She’s gonna kill you for sure,” I murmur and turn the water to its full speed, which makes him cry out again.

“Ah! What the fuck, man!” He tries to shove the spray away, but I keep it on him. His strength is nothing compared to mine; he might as well be trying to shove a wall. “What the fuck are you doing?” His mother’s warm brown eyes blink back at me, this time in annoyance.

A smirk grows on my face. “Language, son,” I tease, feeling somewhat lighter as I wonder when I last bathed him. Probably when he was six or seven.

He was a little slow as a child, and it took some time for him to start doing things independently. Looking back, I now wonder if he wasn’t slow enough, because it feels like ages ago that we had last been like this.

“Fuck off!” he curses, but then he sighs, relaxing against the tub and rubbing the water off his face. “Damn…this is good.”

Just as he starts getting comfortable, I turn the shower off. He doesn’t hide the disappointment that etches its way across his face.

“Every day I think you will change your ways, and you do the opposite.” I grab his collar, dragging him out of the tub. “Get out.”

He slaps my hand away. “You talk like you care.” He clicks his tongue to mock me. “I’m like this because of you, you know?”

I still as his harsh words trap me. Taking a step back from the bathtub, I stare at him. “What did I do?” I ask, my nails digging into my palms.

“You let Mom leave,” he drawls. “If she had stayed, I wouldn’t have been this way.”

His mom is a topic we don’t speak about much. I never told him why Jane left in the first place. He thinks it was because of a fight; that is what Jane told him when he went to visit her for the first time in Colorado, where she lives with her new boyfriend.

“Her decision to leave was her own,” I say grimly. “It was mutual on both sides.”

Blake scoffs. “You spoiled me. You gave me free rein, allowed me to do whatever I wanted, and see now… Where has it gotten me? If she had been here, she would…have taught you to be a better father.”

He stands on wobbly feet, taking hold of me to balance himself, so I guide him to sit on the floor. Grabbing the nearest towel, I dry his hair and leave him to do the rest before walking out.

His wardrobe is a mess of unfolded clothes and stinky underwear. I grab a shirt and pants with a scrunched nose, stalking back into the bathroom. I throw the clothes on his lap and turn my back to him.

“Change into these quickly,” I command in a military-like tone, which earns a chuckle from him in response.

“You’re mean, Professor,” he slurs, his words followed by the click of his belt and the splat of wet clothes landing on the tiles as he gets changed.

“Zip it, Blake.”

Once he is done, he taps me on my shoulder. I turn to face him and grab his hand as he topples forward. Placing his arm over my shoulder and holding it with one hand, I snake the other around his waist before guiding him to his bed.

As soon as we get there, he topples onto the mattress, falling face down on a pillow, grabbing a different one, and hugging it to his chest.

“Go to sleep,” I order, pulling the blanket over his body. “Not a word more.”

A dizzy peal of laughter slips past his lips. “Oookaaayyy… Goodnight, Dad.”

My hands freeze over the blankets as his words caress my ears and bring forth a burst of memories—all of which remind me of what I am to him.

Dad. I am his dad.

And I fucked his ex-girlfriend, a girl half my age who I should have stayed far away from.

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat, mumbling, “Goodnight.”

As I am about to leave, he grabs my hand. His eyes are closed, but his lashes flutter lightly as he fights to keep them open. Drool slips past his lips onto the pillow, and he grasps me tighter.

“Dad?” he whispers. “Can you ask Anya to take me back? She’d listen…to you. She respects you.”

My heart thunders in my chest as I stare at him. Reaching a hand forward, I sift my fingers through his hair.

“Sleep, Blake,” I tell him softly, my voice sounding hollow even to myself.

Blake smiles against his pillow. “Did I ever tell you?” he begins with a murmur. “You…are the best dad…ever.”

Guilt drags its claws through my heart, piercing its depths and spilling blood. My eyes sting, and my throat burns as I touch his cheek. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he mumbles, still not letting go of my hand. “You didn’t leave me alone. You kept me. You aren’t like her. You aren’t like Mom.”

“Sleep, Blake.”

“I fucked up with Anya.” He laughs into his pillow with a surprising burst of energy. “She was the one, you know? She’d have been…your daughter-in-law.”

My vision goes blurry even in the warm light of his room. My throat stings as I try to speak, but I only manage to produce two words. “Sleep, son.”

His hand drops from mine, slipping away from me like his childhood did. “Okay, okay. Don’t leave me alone, okay? I’ll be good, I promise.”

“I’m right here.”

“That’s good.” His voice carries no more energy, his eyelids halt their fluttering, and his countenance settles to a peaceful mask. “Be right here…~always~.”