Chapter 167

I thought we'd be family together

His shoulders ached and his mouth hung open in a desperate attempt to suck in more air and send it to his fatigue muscles. His black wifebeater was soaked through and clung to him like a second skin. Despite the sting from the perspiration dripping into his eyes he continued to drive punch after punch into the heavy bag. He was incapable of thought nor was he picturing anything in particular on the bag as it absorbed one blow after another; he was almost in a trance as he hammered the large, black bag. He would keep punching until the physical pain screamed louder than the emotional.

It had been three days since he arrived in the Hamptons and despite his belief that all he needed was a little thinking time to get some perspective, he found perspective to completely out of reach. It was proving nearly impossible for him to rationalize the abrupt end to the relationship that mattered most to him in the world. He had pulled the plug on it thinking if he freed himself then he could just move on but it was a lie; he knew it then and he knew it now. There was no way to free himself or move on – he was hopelessly and inextricably tangled up in Robin.

I can't trust you

Those words cut through him in a way few things could. It wasn't even the first time she had said that to him. The accusation had been hurled when he discovered her protocol had changed and she finally told him that he had left her when he was sick. Rebuilding trust was not something he was familiar with – he had, after all, managed to cut those people who had violated his trust from his life. Maybe that was what Robin was trying to do – maybe she didn't know how to tell him that there was no rebuilding the broken trust between them and so she continued to put up hurdles to them being together. It was enough to make his head spin.

He ploughed his fists into the bag in a final, frustrated flurry before finally sinking to his knees exhausted.

Peeling off the gloves, he tossed them to the side and slowly rose on his shaky knees. He trudged to the shower and stood under the spray for what felt like an eternity, hoping the heat would take away the ache – all of it.

Emerging from the shower, he changed into his jeans and an old faded t-shirt and headed to the kitchen. Retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge, he sank into a chair at the kitchen table and carefully unfolded the letter; he had read it so many times he had practically memorized it but he kept re-reading it in hopes it would provide some clue or clarity that he had not seen.

This is an incredibly wonderful time in your life. It will mark the end of the selfish life we all lead and the beginning of the selfless one that parenthood requires. It will tough, challenging, rewarding, mystifying and astonishing. It will be worth every sacrifice. And if you're having a moment where you are unsure, where you doubt that you can do this, close your eyes, take a deep breath and know that while love may not solve every problem, every worthwhile solution begins with it.

He wasn't so sure his mother was right about this one.

"So this is where you're hiding out."

The sound of his father's voice echoing in the kitchen made him jump. Turning around, he shot his father an angry look. "Trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Not at all," Noah replied, taking the seat across from him. "I've been calling your name for about two minutes but you were pretty lost in thought."

His cheeks flushed slightly and he gave him a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"What happened with Robin?" he asked, diving straight to the heart of the matter.

Patrick arched his eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"Why else would you be here without her?"

"How did you know I was here?" he amended his question tightly.

"I was in the caf at the hospital and I saw Robin and Barbara – no wait, Brandy?"

"Brenda?"

"Right," he nodded. "Brenda. Robin introduced her as her best friend and then asked me if I had spoken with you lately. I'm an actual neurosurgeon," he teased lightly, "it didn't take me long to put the pieces together."

Draining his water bottle, Patrick shrugged. "We're over," he said simply.

"Because of the house?"

He rolled his eyes. "People don't break up over a house Dad. They break up because they don't trust each other or because they don't have the guts to say what they want."

His brow knit together in confusion. "You don't trust Robin?"

With an exasperated sigh, he shook his head. "She doesn't trust me. Can't trust me, were her words."

"Because you left?"

"Because everyone in her life has left and I'm one more name for the list. Because I'm not worth being forgiven, because I'm not worth the effort, because I simply don't matter enough."

Noah's hazel eyes misted over as he heard the pain in every word his son spoke. "You do matter enough" he told him quietly.

"And exactly what evidence are you basing that on?" he asked bitterly. "All those times you were drunk and left me to grieve alone? Or every obstacle that Robin put in our way? Which one of those is the part that tells me I matter?"

Noah said nothing in response. Watching as Patrick pushed back the chair and got to his feet, he knew he was ramping up to unload some of the toxicity he had been carrying with him for so long and he needed to let him do so without interference, no matter how much it pained him.

Patrick started to pace as his stomach twisted itself into a decade old formation of knots once more. "What was the point of me even taking a risk? I didn't want to fall in love, I didn't want a commitment because I knew I would screw it up – which I did – but that didn't even matter because I was never going to come first. I'm not worth letting go of old demons for. You know, Robin once told me that when her parents would be out on missions she would try and get good grades or be a good girl so it would mean they would come home safely. I used to think that if I finished first in my class at medical school, or was the best surgeon that someone would finally think that I had something – something that would make them say 'he is who I want – I'm going to put this person first.'"

Leaning against the kitchen counter, he folded his arms across his chest and took one shuddering breath after another. "What is it about me that is not worthy of being first?" he asked. "When I needed you most, you chose the cold comfort of a bottle over me."

Noah nodded slowly. "I know I how badly I hurt you Patrick but it was never about choosing between you or the bottle. It was about choosing between feeling and not feeling."

"That's not what it looked like to me" he told him. "To me it was like Mom died and I wasn't reason enough for you to go on. I know…I know in that letter I wrote that I told you I forgive you and I do but I still don't understand it – I don't understand what's wrong with me."

"There is nothing wrong with you."

"Then why can't she forgive me? I…I was wrong to leave but I came back. I came back" he repeated. "But I guess it's not enough and I don't know how to be more than what I am."

Noah resisted the urge to spring from his chair and hug the stuffing out of his son. He needed to be mindful of the boundaries and the minefields. They had made amazing progress at re-establishing their relationship but he knew better than most that forgiveness is the beginning of healing, not the end of it.

"She will forgive you Patrick" he said carefully. "She loves you"

"When? When will she forgive me? Before our child is born? After? When our kid goes to school? I tell you what though, I'm going to make damn sure my kid knows their value. I don't ever want a child of mine to feel like this."

"You're going to be a great father and your child will be lucky to have both of you as parents."

"I thought I had finally found a family" he said as he walked to the table and scooped up the letter. "But I guess I was mistaken."

Running his hand over his heart where his t-shirt covered his tattoo he quietly exited the kitchen and headed out the door.