The early morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the bedroom. Erin stirs from her sleep, her eyes fluttering open. She glances at the clock on the wall, noting the early hour. Beside her, Jay is still fast asleep, his head still resting on her chest.
Erin gently extricates herself from the tangle of limbs and sheets, trying not to disturb her sleeping husband. She climbs out of bed, the floor cool beneath her bare feet as she pads quietly to the attached bathroom.
After a quick shower, she returns to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around her body. She rummages through her drawers, pulling out a soft pair of maternity jeans and a loose blouse, clothes more suited to her growing baby bump.
Dressed and presentable, she turns her attention back to the still-sleeping figure of her husband. She approaches the bed, smiling at the peaceful look on his face. She can't help but admire his rugged features, his usually tense expression softened in sleep.
As Erin steps out of the bedroom, she notices Layla, her two-year-old daughter, exiting her own room at the end of the hallway. The little girl is rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her hair a wild tangle around her head.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Erin greets her daughter with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"
Layla nods, her eyes still heavy with sleep as she shuffles towards her mother. She lifts her arms up, silently requesting to be picked up.
Erin obliges, hoisting her daughter up into her arms. She gives her a tight squeeze, inhaling the sweet scent of baby shampoo and sleep that clings to her hair.
"You're getting so heavy," Erin pretends to huff, playfully exaggerating the effort it takes to carry her. She drops a kiss onto the top of Layla's head, receiving a sleepy giggle in response.
Layla rests her head on Erin's shoulder, her small hands grabbing fistfuls of her mother's shirt. She lets out a soft sigh, her eyes drifting closed again as if contemplating going back to sleep.
Smiling, Erin heads towards the kitchen, carrying Layla with her. "Let's see if we can find you something to eat," she says gently, feeling the comforting weight of her daughter in her arms.
Erin settles Layla into her high chair and goes about fixing breakfast. She pours some cereal into a bowl and sets it on the little tray, along with a small cup of milk. Layla's eyes light up when she sees the food, her sleepy expression instantly replaced by excitement.
While Layla munches on her breakfast, Erin makes some coffee for herself and starts tidying the kitchen a bit. Her mind drifts to her husband, still fast asleep in the bedroom, and a pang of worry tugs at her heart.
As Layla finishes her breakfast, Erin stands beside the high chair, wiping the little girl's mouth with a napkin. "You know," she says, her voice gentle. "You're gonna be seeing your granddad soon."
The phrase "granddad" seems to capture Layla's attention. She looks up at Erin, her eyes wide and curious. "Granddad?" she repeats, her babyish lisp making her word sound like "gwandad."
Erin stifles a laugh, finding her daughter's pronunciation adorable. "Yeah," she confirms. "Your granddad. He wants to see you."
Layla's face brightens at the thought. "Granddad come here?" she asks, her small hands reaching out, gesturing around the room as if expecting him to appear out of thin air.
Erin shakes her head, a sad smile on her face. "No, sweetheart," she says, her voice soft. "Granddad's not here right now. We'll go visit him. How does that sound?"
Layla seems disappointed for a moment, but the mention of visiting seems to soothe her. "Go see Gwandad," she repeats, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout.
"That's right," Erin agrees, reaching out to tousle her daughter's hair affectionately. "We're going to go see Granddad today."
As Jay descends the stairs, still looking a little bleary-eyed, Layla spots him and her face lights up with excitement. "Dada!" she exclaims, her small arms reaching out towards him.
Jay immediately warms at the sight of his daughter, his fatigue all but forgotten. He crosses the room and scoops her out of the high chair, holding her against him. She clings to him like a monkey, her small arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
Layla, her face buried in her father's neck, pulls away just far enough to speak. "Mama says see Granddad," she says, her words slightly muffled against his collar.
Jay's eyes meet Erin's from across the room, a mix of emotions on his face. "She mentioned that, did she?" he asks, his voice a bit tight.
Erin nods, her hand rubbing nervously against the counter. "I thought it'd be a good idea. Layla deserves to get to know her grandfather, don't you think?" There's something pleading in her tone, an appeal for understanding.
Jay's jaw clenches, his expression conflicted. He holds Layla tighter, a protective reflex. "I'm not sure about that," he mutters, his voice reluctant.
Erin steps closer, her eyes locked with his.
"Jay," she says softly, gently resting her hand on his arm. "I know you have your reservations, and you have every right to. But he's her grandfather."
Jay lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. "I know," he mutters, his gaze moving to Layla who's still clinging to him like a koala. "It's just...I don't trust him, Erin. And I don't want Layla to get hurt like I did."
Erin's eyes soften understanding. "I get that," she responds, her thumb tracing soothing circles on his arm. "But we'll be there too, okay? We'll keep her safe. And maybe...maybe he's changed."
Jay lets out a humorless scoff, the doubt evident in his eyes. "Changed?" he repeats, his voice bitter. "People like him don't change, Erin. They just get better at hiding who they really are."
Erin steps closer, her hand moving to cup his cheek. She can feel the tension coursing through him, the war between his heart and his mind. "Give him a chance, Jay," she urges, her tone soft but firm. "For Layla's sake."
The small, cozy diner is bustling with patrons, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cooking food mingling in the air. Will spots them as they enter, his face lighting up into a smile. He crosses the room towards them, his greeting friendly but also a bit cautious.
"Hey, there." He directs a warm smile at Layla who is still clinging to Jay.
"Hey, Will," Jay responds, a tinge of reluctance in his voice. His body is stiff, his protective hold on Layla becoming almost imperceptibly tighter.
Will gestures towards a booth in the corner where a man is sitting alone, the man they've come to see. "He's over there," Will explains, offering them a reassuring smile.
Jay follows the direction of Will's gaze, his eyes falling on the figure sitting in the corner booth. His shoulders tense up even more, his jaw clenching visibly.
Erin, sensing the tension emanating from Jay, shoots him a gentle but firm look. She takes Layla from his arms, turning the little girl around in her arms so they're both facing the booth.
"Come on," she murmurs to Layla. "Let's go say hello, hmm?"
Layla, blissfully unaware of the tension, squirms in excitement as they begin walking towards the booth. Her eyes land on the man sitting there, her babyish voice filling the air.
"Who dat?" she asks, her small finger pointing towards the man.
The man looks up as they approach, his eyes locking onto Layla. Despite the gruffness of his facial features, his gaze softens at the sight of the little girl.
"That," the man responds gruffly, his voice rough with age and emotion, "Is your grandpa."
Layla's eyes widen slightly at his response, her small mouth forming a surprised 'O'. She looks up at the man, seemingly unperturbed by his less-than-warm demeanor for now.
Jay stands off to the side, watching the interaction between Layla and her grandfather with a guarded expression. He can't help but feel a pang of anxiety, his eyes darting between the two of them, ready to step in at any moment.
The man, noticing Jay's hovering, glances over at him. "You can relax, son," he says gruffly. "I ain't gonna bite the little one."
Jay swallows back the reflexive response that's poised on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't trust this man, not by a long shot. But he knows there's no point in picking a fight in the middle of a crowded diner, with Layla present.
"Just don't hurt her," he mutters, his voice low and tight.
The man gives a curt nod, seemingly understanding the undercurrent of Jay's words. His eyes move back to Layla, who is now attempting to clamber up onto the booth seat by herself.
"Here, let me help you with that." The man moves to assist the little girl, lifting her up and seating her comfortably on the cushioned seat.
Will, sensing the tension in the air, steps forward, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
"Why don't I go get us some menus?" he suggests, looking at Jay and Erin. "We can decide what we're having."
Will, sensing the tension in the air, steps forward, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
Erin nods, sending Will a grateful look. "That sounds good, thanks," she responds. She lowers herself into the booth beside Layla, her hand reaching out to keep her from crawling off the seat.
Jay remains standing, his gaze still fixed on Layla and her grandfather, his expression guarded.
The man, noticing Jay's continued unease, looks up at him with a slightly bemused expression. "You gonna hover there all afternoon?" he asks gruffly. "You can sit down, you know."
Jay hesitates for a moment, the words seemingly sticking in his throat. He glances at Erin, who gives him a slight nudge with her eyes. Sighing internally, he reluctantly takes a seat across from the man.
As Jay sits, his eyes don't leave the pair for a second. His gaze, watchful yet uneasy, keeps bouncing between Layla and her grandfather, like a lion ready to pounce at the slightest sign of trouble.
The man seems somewhat amused by Jay's protective stance, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You know, you don't have to be so on edge," he remarks. "I'm not gonna snatch the little one and run for the hills."
Jay clenches his jaw, his fingers digging into the edge of the table. He wants to snap back about how he can't be too careful, how he has every reason to distrust this man, but he holds his tongue. He's trying for Layla's sake, for Erin's sake.
The man's gaze remains locked with Jay's, a standoff of sorts. But then Layla, seemingly oblivious to the underlying tension, breaks the silence with a loud, demanding exclamation.
"Want pancakes!"
The man chuckles, his smile growing as he turns his attention to Layla. "Pancakes, you say?" He reaches out a hand to ruffle her hair affectionately.
Erin, seizing the moment to diffuse the situation, chimes in with a light laugh. "She loves pancakes."
"Seems like a bit of a tomboy, this one," the man comments, his eyes still trained on Layla who is now trying to make herself heard over her parents. "Doesn't have any dolls or such that she plays with?"
Erin shares a look with Jay, knowing the can of worms this line of questioning could open. Layla is the quintessential tom-boy, preferring football and dirt to dolls and dresses.
Jay clears his throat, his tone a bit defensive. "She likes what she likes," he responds curtly.
The man raises a brow at Jay's reaction, but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Just wondering," he says simply, leaning back in his seat.
Will, reappearing with some menus, chooses that moment to rejoin the group. He hands out the menus, casting a subtle knowing glance at Jay as he does so.
Jay reaches for the menu, grateful for the distraction. He skims through it without really reading, his thoughts racing.
As they all eat, the mood around the table continues to teeter on the edge of civility. The silence is only broken occasionally by Layla's high-pitched giggles or the clinking of cutlery against plates. Finally, the man, a hint of irritation in his tone, broaches a topic that sparks an instant reaction in Jay.
"How's work these days, son?" he asks, his gaze fixed on Jay.
Jay's shoulders visibly stiffen at the question, his muscles tensing under his shirt. "Fine," he mutters tersely, his tone sharp and defensive. He pushes a piece of pancake around his plate, not meeting the man's gaze.
The man isn't deterred by Jay's cold response. He leans back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Still on the police force, yeah?" he presses.
Jay clenches his jaw, his knuckles whitening against the edge of the table. "Yeah," he responds after a long pause, his voice filled with a bitter edge.
Will, sensing the brewing storm, tries to steer the conversation in another direction. "Oh, come on, Dad," he interjects, injecting a lightness into his tone that doesn't quite fit the mood. "No shop talk at the dinner table."
The man ignores Will, his eyes still on Jay. "What type of cases you dealing with these days?" he asks, a hint of mockery in his voice.
Jay's jaw clenches tighter, his nostrils flaring with barely suppressed anger. He can feel Erin's eyes on him, can see the concern in her expression. But the man's continued digging at his career, at his chosen path, is pushing him closer to the edge.
"Why do you care all of a sudden?" Jay retorts, his voice a low growl.
The man chuckles dryly at Jay's response. "Vague but informative, I see," he comments, his gaze still locked on Jay as if testing his boundaries.
Meanwhile, Erin is shooting worried glances between the two men, knowing that one wrong word could send things spiraling out of control.
Jay grits his teeth, his control slipping with every jab the man takes at him. "Maybe I don't feel like discussing work. Is that alright with you?" he replies, sarcasm laced in his tone.
The man raises an eyebrow, a sly smile on his face. "Touched a nerve, did I? Still sensitive about your job?"
Jay's hands curl into fists, his body tensed to fight. Erin's hand sneaks beneath the table, gripping his thigh in a silent warning. He forces himself to take a breath, to reign in his flaring temper.
The man continues speaking, seemingly oblivious or simply uncaring of the effect his words are having on Jay. "You know, sometimes I wonder..." he pauses, a smirk on his face as if he's about to reveal something amusing.
Jay stares daggers at him, his fingers pressing into the tabletop so hard it might break. Erin's hand clenches tighter around his thigh, the silent message clear: Don't take the bait.
The man drags out the silence, his smirk growing wider. Eventually, he leans forward, his voice dropping to a quieter, more conspiratorial volume.
"I wonder if you're cut out for that kind of work, son. I mean, dealing with criminals day in and day out, risking your neck...is that really what you were meant to do?"
Jay's patience snaps like a taut rubber band. With a low, guttural growl, he pushes the chair back from the table with a scraping sound. His eyes blaze with anger as he leaps to his feet.
"You don't get to question what I'm cut out for," he seethes, his voice shaking as he tries to control his fury. "You don't get to judge what I do, what I've sacrificed, what I've seen."
The man looks up at Jay, an unaffected smile on his face. "Just trying to have a conversation," he says innocently, his casual tone in stark contrast to the tension in the air.
Will steps in at this point, placing a restraining hand on Jay's arm. "Come on, Jay. Take a breath," he says, his voice filled with caution and concern.
As Jay's voice raises, Layla, who's been sitting quietly throughout the exchange, squeaks in surprise. Her small face scrunches up in fear at the sudden raised voices. She tugs on Erin's sleeve, her eyes wide and tear-filled. "Mama... loud," she whimpers.
Erin wraps her arm around Layla, drawing the little girl closer to her. Her heart aches to see her daughter so frightened. "It's okay, sweetie," she reassures, her voice soft. "Daddy's just a bit upset."
Layla's lower lip trembles, her tear-filled eyes still fixed on her father. She's never seen her dad so angry before, and it's obviously scaring her. She clings to Erin, burying her face in her mother's shoulder, her small body shaking slightly.
Jay, hearing Layla's distressed squeak, suddenly realizes what he's doing. His eyes flick towards his daughter who's cowering into Erin's embrace. The sight of her small form shaking with fright because of him pierces through his anger, sobering him like a bucket of cold water.
He runs a hand over his face, the fight draining out of him. He's immediately filled with shame and guilt at the distress he's caused Layla. Without another word, he turns and heads outside, needing some air to clear his head.
Erin watches him go, torn between following him and staying to soothe Layla. She rubs a soothing hand down Layla's back, murmuring soft reassurances in her ear.
At the table, the man watches the scene unfold with an almost bored look. "You know, he's got some anger management issues," he comments nonchalantly.
Will lets out a huff of breath, rolling his eyes. "Well, duh! It's called PTSD, Dad. He served in the army, for crying out loud! And seeing the kind of things he sees on the job? Anyone would have a hard time keeping a stable temper."
The man snorts at Will's retort, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee. "Excuses," he mutters, his gaze drifting to Layla, who's now sniffing softly into Erin's shirt, still scared and upset.
Will bristles at the dismissiveness in his father's tone. "PTSD isn't an excuse, Dad! It's a real issue. And Jay deals with it the best he can. Hell, he even goes to therapy for it!"
The man shrugs nonchalantly. "That sounds like coddling to me. Back in my day, we didn't talk about our feelings," he says, a hint of derision in his voice. "We toughened up and dealt with it, the way men are supposed to."
Will glares at his father, irritation clear in his expression. "Yeah, well 'your day' wasn't exactly a great time for mental health, was it? At least Jay's trying to deal with his issues instead of just bottling them up and popping antacids like they're candy."
The man grunts, looking down at his coffee cup. "Still, no need to make such a scene in public," he grumbles, dodging the dig at his own coping methods. "Not in front of the little one, at least."
Will shakes his head in frustration. "He's clearly on edge, Dad. We all are. You poking at him with your passive-aggressive comments isn't making things easier, you know?"
The man raises a brow at the accusation. "I was just having a friendly conversation. It's not my fault the boy's so sensitive," he retorts, the nonchalant smirk returning to his face.
Will grits his teeth, fighting the urge to yell. "Friendly? You were basically accusing him of being unfit for his job, Dad! How do you think that was going to go over?"
The man shrugs again, a smirk playing on his lips. "I was being honest. He seems touchy. Thought he could stand up for himself," he replies, taking another sip of his coffee.
Layla, having quieted down, suddenly pipes up from Erin's lap, her small voice still shaky from the earlier fright. "What's... PTSD mean?"
Erin looks down at Layla, her heart aching at the innocence in her daughter's question. She debates how to explain this, but before she can, the man cuts in.
The man turns his gaze to Layla. "It's something soldiers get after they come back after fighting," he explains, his tone matter-of-fact. "But it's just an excuse if you ask me."
Will shoots a warning glare at his father, silently pleading with him to shut up. Erin, not wanting to get into a deeper discussion about PTSD with Layla, quickly steps in. "It's a type of illness, darling," she says, her voice gentle. "It makes some people feel sad or angry sometimes."
Will, seizing this opportunity, interjects, "Yeah, but it's treatable, Layla. And your dad's doing his best to get better."
Layla, her big, dark eyes wide, mulls over this information. Her small fingers trace the rim of a cereal-encrusted plate absentmindedly as she processes.
The man scoffs at Will's comment, unable to let it go. "Does he now? Going to some shrink and talking about feelings doesn't sound like the behavior of a man, to me."
Will opens his mouth to shoot back a rebuttal, but Erin beats him to it. "That's because you're narrow-minded and outdated," she says tartly, a rare flash of anger in her voice. "Men are allowed to talk about their feelings. It's called being healthy."
Will's irritation turns to full-blown anger. He can't believe his dad's sheer ignorance and stubbornness. "That attitude you have right there? That's exactly why so many vets don't seek help, Dad," he snaps. "You think they're weak for seeking therapy, for addressing their issues instead of suppressing them. You're part of the problem."
The man looks back at Will, a hint of challenge in his eyes. "I'm just saying it how I see it, son. In my day, we didn't have all this new-fangled therapy mumbo jumbo. We dealt with our problems by facing them head-on, not by talking about them."
Will throws up his hands in frustration. "Yeah, and your generation also had some of the highest suicide rates and domestic abuse incidents because your only solution to all problems was to 'toughen up' or get drunk!"
The man's expression hardens at Will's jab. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he retorts gruffly. "You didn't live through the times I did. You grew up with a phone stuck to your hand and a therapist on speed dial."
Will lets out a humorless laugh. "Oh, right. I forget, we should all be thankful for the wonderful world you've left us with – wars and economic collapses and climate disasters. We have to deal with all that and more, and we're weak for trying to cope with it our own way, huh?"
The man glares at Will, his jaw set in a firm line. "You don't know what it's like to serve your country, boy. You never saw combat, never had to make the tough decisions we did... Don't you dare lecture me on what it means to be a man."
The man's face reddens with fury at Will's words. "I still did my duty, boy! And I came back home to start a family, raise you and your brother without complaint! That's more than I can say for your generation."
Will rolls his eyes, unable to suppress his irritation. "Congratulations. You did the bare minimum required of a parent. Do you want a medal? And as for this generation, we're trying to fix the mess you left behind, unlike you who just sit back and criticize our methods."
The man's eyes flash with anger. "I did more than the minimum! I raised you and your brother, kept a roof over your heads, food on your plate! I was a damn good father!"
Will scoffs. "Yeah, sure. A damn good father who was always too busy with work to actually pay attention to us. Who was never there for us emotionally. Who thought buying us stuff was a substitute for actual love and affection."
The man's jaw clenches, his anger evident in the vein pulsing on his forehead. "I was providing for you! Putting food on the table! I show my love by giving you a good life, not by cuddling you every time you stub your toe!"
Will shakes his head, his own anger escalating. "You call that love? Showing up to our ball games just to criticize every play we make? Or how about the times we got As on tests, but you barely even looked up from the newspaper to acknowledge it?"
The man's nostrils flare with anger. "I expected excellence from you! Is that such a crime? I wanted you to be the best, be successful. I was tough on you because I cared!"
Will's laughter is harsh and mirthless. "No, Dad. You weren't tough on us because you cared. You were tough on us because you wanted us to be your versions of perfect, and that's not what parenting is about. Parenting is about supporting your kids, not pushing them until they crack under the pressure."
The man's hands clench into fists, his eyes gleaming with anger. "I was shaping you into strong, capable men! I was teaching you the value of hard work and resilience. Something you clearly lack!"
Will's face twists with anger. "Value of hard work and resilience? You mean the lessons you drilled into us from the moment we could walk? The ones that left us constantly feeling like we weren't enough, like we were never good enough in your eyes?"
The man's eyes flash, his voice rising in volume. "You're damn right! You needed discipline, needed to learn to handle failure and disappointment, to grow a thick skin. If I hadn't taught you those lessons, you wouldn't have made it this far."
Will scoffs at his father's logic. "No, Dad. You taught us to be afraid of failure, to always strive for impossible standards, to never be satisfied. That's not discipline, that's perfectionism, and it's toxic as hell."
The man's face darkens with anger. "I expect excellence, not perfection! That's what makes a man successful! If you can't handle a little bit of pressure, then you're nothing more than a disappointment."
Will's fists are clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white. "A disappointment? Is that what we are to you? Just disappointments because we don't meet your unreachable standards? We're not robots, Dad. We're human beings, with feelings and emotions. Something you clearly never understood."
The man's lips curl into a sneer. "Emotions are for the weak. If you want to make it in this world, you gotta push those aside and focus on the task at hand. You gotta be tough, be a real man."
Will's patience snaps like a frayed rope. "That's bullshit, and you know it! You can't just shut off emotions like flipping a switch. They're part of being human. Being tough doesn't mean being emotionless. It means facing your feelings head-on and dealing with them in a healthy way, not burying them and pretending they don't exist!"
The man slams his fist on the table, making the cutlery rattle. "You're too soft! You and your brother both! That's why you could never make it in the military. You'd never survive a single day there, with your touchy-feely attitude and your refusal to deal with the cold realities of life!"
Will's entire body is taut with anger. "You think serving in the military is the only way to be a real man? That's it's all about physical strength and toughness? You know how many soldiers come back from war with PTSD, depression, and a long list of mental health issues that they struggle with every damn day?"
The man lets out a derisive snort. "They're weak. They're not real men if they can't handle the pressures of war. That's what bootcamp is supposed to do, break you down and build you up again. If they can't handle that, then they shouldn't have signed up in the first place."
As the argument escalates, Will and Erin share a concerned look, watching as Jay's hands clench into fists. Layla, who was playing with some nearby toys, looks up at the loud voices with wide, fearful eyes.
Erin scoops up Layla, holding her close, trying to shield her from the sight of her father so angry. Will steps forward, trying to intervene. "Jay, man, calm down. You're scaring Layla."
Jay's voice is sharp as he responds. "Don't tell me to calm down. This is not about Layla. This is about dad being a complete jackass."
The old man, riled up from the argument, takes a step closer to Jay, his own anger boiling over. "You want to throw down, boy? I'll take you on any day."
To everyone's shock, Jay grins viciously, his eyes glittering with challenge. "Bring it on, old man. I've been waiting for this moment for years."
Erin's and Will's eyes widen in shock. They can't believe what they're hearing. The old man, realizing that Jay is serious, lets out a bark of laughter. "You wanna get your ass kicked by an old man, son? Good luck with that. You'll be eating through a straw when I'm done with you."
Jay's grin widens, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Oh, I'm counting on it. Let's see if you can still throw a punch in your old age, or if I'll have to help you to the nearest retirement home after this is over."
The old man pauses, his eyes flickering to Layla. The sight of her standing nearby, scared and clutching onto her mother, causes him to hesitate. But Jay isn't letting up. "What's the matter, Dad? Afraid to take a swing with an audience?"
The old man's face contorted in anger, but he still hesitates, torn between his anger and his pride. Will, stepping up, tries to play peacemaker. "Dad, don't do this. This isn't the time or the place for a damn fistfight."
Jay doesn't give his brother a chance to finish, pushing him aside. "Stay out of it, Will. This is between Dad and me. He started this, and I'm finishing it."
The old man, his temper getting the best of him, throws caution to the wind and takes a swing at Jay. Before anyone can intervene, Jay dodges the punch, the movement fluid and practiced.
Will and Erin look on in shock, while Layla lets out a frightened squeak.
The old man, off balance from the missed swing, stumbles a little, his eyes narrowing with anger. "You're quick, I'll give you that," he growls. "Can you handle a real fight, though?"
Jay smirks, his eyes locked on his father. "Oh, I can handle anything you throw at me. Let's see what else you've got, old timer."
The old man swings again, aiming a wild haymaker at Jay. But Jay, his military training etched into his movements, ducks under the punch and lands a stinging jab to his father's ribs.
Jay's eyes are still fixed on his father, his breath coming in short gasps. But at Erin's words, he slowly turns to her. "What did you say?"
Erin stands her ground, her expression firm. "I said we're going home. This has gone too far. Layla doesn't need to see this."
Jay glances at Layla, her small form huddling against Erin's side, her eyes wide and frightened. The sight of his daughter instantly sobers him up. He lets out a sigh, his anger replaced with frustration. "You're right. Let's go."
Will nods in agreement, ushering them towards the door. As they make their way out, Jay turns back to his father, his voice laced with anger but also a hint of pain. "Looks like you're not as tough as you thought, Dad. Maybe next time rethink picking a fight you can't win, especially in front of your granddaughter."
The old man, his pride wounded, glares at Jay, his jaw set. "You're lucky I didn't lay you out, boy. Don't think I won't get you next time."
Jay barks out a cold laugh. "Oh, you'll try, but I've been trained to handle worse than you, old timer. I'll be ready next time, so be prepared for the ass-kicking of a lifetime."
Once they're outside, Erin turns to Jay, her voice firm. "Hand over the keys. You're too riled up to drive. I'll do it."
Jay opens his mouth to protest but looks into Erin's firm gaze. Seeing that she's not backing down, he sighs and fishes the keys out of his pocket. He plunks them into her hand with a reluctant surrender.
Will hangs back for a moment, looking at Jay with concern. "You okay, man?" he asks quietly.
Jay lets out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'm fine," he mutters. "It's just... he hasn't changed, has he? Still the same old hot-tempered bastard."
Will grimaces sympathetically. "He's set in his ways, bro. You can't expect him to change overnight, especially not when it comes to stuff like this. But still, it's... difficult to watch."
Jay scoffs in agreement. "Difficult doesn't even begin to describe it. It's like he's stuck in the past, reliving some old glory days that just don't exist anymore."
Will nods, a somber look in his eyes. "He wants you to be the son he wished he had, the kind of son he thought could've followed in his footsteps. But you're your own person, Jay. You've made your own path, and that's something he just can't seem to accept."
Jay grits his teeth, frustration etched on his face. "I've proven myself time and time again. But nothing's ever enough for him. He just keeps finding new things to criticize or pick on. It's exhausting."
Will pats him on the back, a gesture of sympathy and solidarity. "I know. He was the same with me. Always riding my ass about something or the other. It's like he's incapable of understanding that we're human, not some perfect caricatures of his ideal son."
Jay lets out a weary sigh, his eyes drifting towards the car where Erin is strapping Layla into her car seat. He turns back to Will. "Guess I should head home. I need to cool off."
Will nods, his expression understanding. "Yeah, you need some space. Don't do anything stupid, though. I don't want to have to come bail you out of jail."
Jay manages a snort, a hint of his usual humor glimmering in his eyes. "Me, stupid? Never. What could possibly go wrong?"
Will smirks, shaking his head. "Famous last words, bro. Just... take it easy, okay? We'll talk tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah," Jay grumbles, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'll be alright. See ya, man."
Will gives him a quick hug, a final show of support. "Later, man."
Jay turns and heads towards the car, the weight of the argument still hanging heavily on his shoulders.
As the car smoothly glides along the deserted motorway, the silence in the vehicle is tense. Erin glances over at Jay from the driver's seat, noticing the subtle signs of his distress. He's staring out the window, his head turned slightly away from her, his shoulders slumped and his chin quivering ever so slightly.
She knows Jay well. She can tell he's trying to hold back his emotions, his body language betraying him. His eyes are downcast, his expression stoic, but Erin can see the glisten of unshed tears.
The silence continues, the hum of the engine and the soft drone of the tires on the road becoming the background music to their emotional turmoil. Erin steals another glance at Jay, her heart aching for him. She knows he's battling his own demons from his confrontation with his father.
Every so often, she hears a soft sniffle coming from his side of the car, as if he's trying to discreetly wipe away tears that are threatening to fall. Erin wants to say something, to offer him comfort, but she also knows that sometimes just being present is what he needs the most right now.
As they arrive back at their apartment, Layla is tired and grumpy, her small face scrunched up in exhaustion. She immediately latches onto Erin, burying her face in her mother's chest. "I wanna watch Paw Patrol," she whines, her voice muffled.
Erin rubs her back soothingly, her own weariness evident. "I know, baby, but it's late. Dada's not in the mood to watch cartoons right now."
Layla pouts, but her eyes widen when she hears Erin's last statement. She looks up, her attention fixated on Jay, who is standing a short distance away, his eyes still red and a bit watery.
"Why? Why Dada not want to watch Paw Patrol?"
Jay looks down at Layla, his chest tightening as he sees her questioning expression. He swallows, forcing a small smile on his face. "I just need some time alone, princess. But I promise I'll watch it with you tomorrow, okay?"
"Why Dada need alone time?" Layla asks, not understanding the complexity of the situation. Her big eyes are on Jay, filled with confusion and a hint of hurt. "Dada don't want watch with me and Mamá?"
Jay can't take it anymore. The weight of Layla's sad and questioning gaze coupled with the stress of the fight with his father is too much for him. He feels his emotions bubbling to the surface, threatening to spill over.
He quickly stands up, turning away from Layla and Erin. Covering his mouth with his hand, he bolts upstairs, seeking the solitude of his bedroom.
As he closes the door behind him, the dam breaks. Tears stream down his face, the sound of his suppressed sobs muffled by the door. He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders shaking as he lets his emotions run their course.
As he reaches the top of the stairs, he makes a beeline for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning heavily against it. The tears finally fall, silent but heavy, streaming down his face and collecting in the palm of his hand that's still trying to muffle the sound of his sobs.
Erin tucks Layla into bed, adjusting the duvet and smoothing down her small locks of hair. Layla's eyes are still searching for Jay, her small voice filled with disappointment. "Where Dada?" she asks, her lower lip quivering.
Erin sighs, her heart breaking for her daughter's confusion. "Dada is feeling sad and tired right now, sweetheart. He needs some time alone."
Layla's eyes fill with tears, her small face crumpling in disappointment. "But, I want Dada. I want him to say goodnight." She clutches the stuffed toy in her arms tighter, her childish understanding of the situation limited.
Erin's heart clenches as she sees the tears in Layla's eyes. She sits on the edge of the bed, gently stroking her daughter's head. "I know, baby. But sometimes grown-ups, especially dads, need a little time for themselves. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you, okay?"
Layla's chin trembles, her grip on the toy tightening. "Is Dada mad at me?" she asks, her voice tiny and scared. The thought of her father being angry with her is too much for her little heart to handle.
Erin's heart breaks all over again. She pulls Layla close, hugging her tightly. "No, no, sweetheart. Your Dada could never be mad at you. He's just sad, not angry, okay? He loves you so, so much, and he'll be feeling better soon."
Layla's tears start to subside, her little body relaxing in her mother's embrace. She still looks unsure, but the reassurance from Erin is helping to soften the blow a bit.
"He promise to come say goodnight?"
Erin bites her lip, not wanting to make promises she can't keep. She can hear Jay's muffled sobs from behind the bathroom door, the sound sending a pang of pain through her heart.
"He's not feeling well, baby. But I promise, he'll come say goodnight as soon as he can."
Layla nods, her eyelids getting heavy. The exhaustion and the comfort of her mother's presence finally lulling her to sleep. "Love Dada," she mumbles, her small hand clutching Erin's shirt.
Erin feels a lump form in her throat at Layla's words. "I know, baby," she whispers, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "And Dada loves you too. So, so much."
Erin stays there, holding Layla until her breathing evens out, a sign that she's finally asleep. Once she's sure Layla is fast asleep, she slowly extracts herself, tucking the coverlet around her small frame, and quietly exits the room.
Once outside Layla's room, Erin leans against the door, her own exhaustion catching up to her. She can still hear the faint sound of Jay's sobs coming from the bathroom, and her heart clenches in her chest. She wants so badly to go to him, to comfort him, but she knows he needs this moment alone.
But it kills her, knowing that he is hurting and she can't do anything about it. She stands there for a few more seconds, debating with herself, before finally making a decision. She's not going to let him suffer alone.
She takes a deep breath and heads towards the bathroom, each step heavier than the last. She hesitates a moment, her hand hovering above the doorknob, before quietly turning it and entering the small bathroom.
The sight that greets her is one of heartbreak. Jay is sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, his face buried in his hands. His body is shaking with silent sobs, the sound muffled by his palms.
As soon as he hears the door open, he quickly turns his head away, trying to regain some composure.
"Erin," he says, his voice thick and hoarse. "I thought you were putting Layla to bed."
Erin shuts the door behind her and walks over to him, sinking down onto the floor beside him. "She's asleep," she replies quietly. "And you're sobbing your heart out in our bathroom."
The bluntness in her voice surprises him and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I'm fine," he mutters, looking anywhere but at her.
Erin scoffs, shaking her head. "No, you're not. Don't give me that crap, Jay. I know you well enough to know you're not fine. You're hurting, and you're trying to hide it again, just like you always do."
Jay lets out a frustrated breath, his shoulders slumping. "And what am I supposed to do, huh? Cry into your arms and talk about my feelings like some damsel in distress?"
"Yes," Erin retorts, her tone firm but gentle. "That's exactly what you're supposed to do. Let me be there for you, for once. Stop trying to shoulder everything on your own."
Jay looks up at her, a flash of anger in his eyes as if he's about to lash out. But the moment he looks at her, sees the genuine concern and love in her eyes, the dam breaks once again.
He tries to form words, to continue his defiant stance, but the effort is pointless. All that comes out is a choked sob, and suddenly he's crying, deep, wrenching sobs that shake his entire body.
As he lets go, all the pent-up anger, frustration, and pain from his fight with his father flows out in a flood of tears. He covers his face with his hands, his shoulders heaving with the force of his sobs.
Erin scoots closer to him, her heart breaking at the sight of him in such overwhelming pain. She pulls his hands away from his face so she can see him, and wraps her arms around him, pulling him close.
He crumbles into her embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His tears soak her shirt, but she doesn't care. She holds him, rubs soothing circles on his back, whispers words of comfort into his ear.
"Let it out," she murmurs, her voice soft and gentle. "Let it all out. I'm here. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
Through his tears, Jay whispers, his voice rough and choked. "Why can't I ever be good enough? Why can't I ever make him proud?"
The words pour out now, years of frustration and hurt coming to the surface. "I try, Erin. I try so hard. But nothing I do is ever enough. I'm a good cop, I'm a good husband, I'm good to Layla... but it's never enough."
He pulls back slightly, meeting her eyes, his own filled with anguish and confusion. "What does he want from me? Why can't he just... accept me for who I am?"
You are more than good enough," Erin says firmly, her gaze sharp. "You're the best damn detective in the unit. You're a loving husband, an amazing father. You have nothing to prove to anyone."
Jay lets out a bitter laugh, his face twisted into a grimace. "It doesn't matter, does it? In his eyes, I'll always be the stupid kid who failed at everything." His voice wavers, a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall.
"No," Erin argues, her voice taking on a stubborn edge. "You're not that kid anymore. You've grown, you've learned, you've changed. You've made a life for yourself, a good one. Why can't he see that?"
Jay slumps against her, his body sagging with exhaustion and emotional depletion. "I don't know," he admits, his voice low and weary. "I just... I wish I could make him proud of me, you know? I wish I could prove to him that I'm not the screw-up he sees me as."
"You don't need to prove anything to him," Erin says firmly, pulling back slightly to look at him. "You've proven yourself time and time again. If he can't see that, then that's his problem, not yours."
Jay sighs, but he doesn't respond. He knows she's right, on some level. But the part of him that craves his father's approval, the part of him that's been seeking it his whole life, doesn't want to admit it.
They sit there in silence for a moment, the only sound Jay's ragged breathing and the occasional sniffle.
Once Jay is finally asleep, his body slumping against hers, Erin carefully extricates herself from the cramped confines of the bathroom floor. Her back and legs are aching, but the sight of Jay's tear-streaked face and weary form keeps her from complaining.
As she tiptoes out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her, she leans against it, closing her eyes for a moment. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. Then, making her way to the living room, she retrieves her phone and dials Voight's number.
After a few rings, Voight picks up, his voice gruff and tired.
"Lindsay, is everything okay?"
He knows Erin wouldn't call him at this late hour unless something was wrong.
Erin's voice is shaky and strained when she speaks. "No, Hank," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's Jay. He..." She takes a deep breath, trying to keep it together, but the tears start to flow again. "He had a fight with his dad, and it... it really messed him up."
There is a brief silence on the other end, broken only by the soft exhale of Voight's breath. He knows the history between Jay and his father, and he can imagine the toll it must have taken on his detective.
"How is he now?" he asks, his voice softer than usual.
Erin takes another deep breath, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. "He's asleep. But it was... God, Hank, it was bad. I've never seen him so broken up before."
Voight doesn't say anything at first, but Erin can almost hear the wheels in his head turning, assessing the situation. Finally, he speaks again, his tone one of stubbornness.
"I'm coming over," he says, no room for argument in his voice. "I'll be there in twenty."
Erin can almost see his face, his jaw set, his eyes hard. She nods, even though he can't see her, and manages a small, teary-eyed smile. "Okay," she says, her voice regaining a bit of strength. "See you soon, Hank."
The line goes dead, and Erin lowers the phone, resting her forehead against the wall. The exhaustion and the aftermath of the emotional upheaval are starting to kick in, and all she wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep for a week. But she squares her shoulders, steeling herself for when Voight arrives.
Twenty minutes later, there is a firm knock on the door. Erin, who had been anxiously pacing around the living room waiting, quickly makes her way to the door and swings it open.
Voight stands there, a stoic figure in the doorway. His eyes quickly scan the living room, taking in the quiet surroundings, before settling on Erin.
"He's asleep," Erin says quietly, stepping back to let Voight enter. She closes the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment before leading him into the house.
Voight glances around as he follows her, taking in the stillness of the apartment. "How long has he been asleep?" he asks, his brow slightly furrowed.
"About an hour, maybe a bit more," Erin replies, her voice still raw. She rubs her weary face, trying to compose herself. "He... he's really shaken up, Hank. I've never seen him like this before."
Voight nods, his face etched with concern. "I'll go check on him," he says, already heading towards the bedroom door.
Erin nods, watching as he gently pushes open the bedroom door and enters. She takes a deep breath, bracing herself for what's to come.
Inside the bedroom, Voight finds Jay passed out on the bed, his body sprawled out on top of the covers. His face is peaceful in sleep, but the traces of dried tears can still be seen on his cheeks.
Voight carefully sits down on the edge of the bed, running a gentle hand over Jay's shoulder.
Jay stirs at the contact, opening his eyes groggily. He blinks blearily, confused for a moment, before his mind catches up and he turns his head to see Voight sitting beside him.
"Hey, kid," Voight says, his voice soft but firm. "You okay?"
Jay rubs his eyes, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "Yeah," he mutters, but the hoarseness in his voice betrays him. "I'm fine."
Voight gives him a pointed look, clearly not believing him. "Cut the bullshit, Jay," he says bluntly. "I know you don't do 'fine'. Not when your dad is involved. What happened?"
Jay looks away, avoiding Voight's gaze. He's not in the mood to talk, to rehash the events of the night. But he knows Voight won't let it go that easily. "It was nothing," he mutters grudgingly. "Just a typical argument. You know how it is."
Voight lets out a huff of breath, his patience wearing thin. "No, I don't," he says, his voice rising slightly. "Because I've never had to deal with an abusive bastard like your father. So don't give me that "typical argument" crap. What did he say to you?"
Jay swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the blankets twisted in his laps. "It's not what he said, it's what he didn't say," he mutters finally. "Same crap, different day. I'm not good enough, I'm not living up to his expectations, I'm a disappointment, I'm a screw-up..."
His voice wavers, his hands clenching into fists on the bed. "Take your pick. It's all the same bullshit."
Voight's jaw clenches, anger flaring in his eyes. He wants to reach across and shake Jay, to knock some sense into him, but he knows it wouldn't do any good. Instead, he takes a deep breath, trying to keep his own temper in check.
"You're not a screw-up, Jay," he says, his voice steely. "You're a damn good detective. You're a good husband, a good father. You've accomplished more than most men twice your age."
Jay scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "And yet, it's never enough," he mutters, his eyes trained on the floor. "Nothing I do is ever enough for him. I've given him everything, done everything he's ever asked of me, and it's never. Enough."
Voight sighs, his heart aching for the young man he considers a son. "Your father's a fool," he says gruffly. "Always has been, always will be. And you don't need his approval to know your own worth."
Jay rubs a hand over his face, exhaustion and frustration etched into every line of his body. "I know that," he says quietly. "Or at least, I know it logically. But it's like there's this part of me that still wants his approval, that still craves it. After all these years, and all the pain he's caused me, I still..." His voice trails off, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
Voight shifts on the bed, fixing Jay with a stern but compassionate gaze. "Pack a bag, kid," he says adamantly. "You're gonna stay with me and Trudy for a while."
Jay looks at Voight, his fatigue-lined face showing surprise at the unexpected offer.
"What?" he asks, his voice rough and disbelieving.
"You heard me," Voight insists, leaving no room for argument. "You're a mess, and you need to get away from here. You need some time to clear your head, and my place is the best place for that. You're not staying here, and that's final."
Jay hesitates, his mind searching for reasons to argue. "But Erin's pregnant," he protests, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "And Layla's here. I can't just... leave them."
Voight's expression softens slightly at the mention of Will. "I've already talked to Will," he says, his voice gentling slightly. "He's going to take care of Erin and Layla. They'll be fine without you for a few days, trust me."
Jay looks like he wants to argue, his jaw tightening slightly. But in the end, he simply nods, the fight draining out of him. He knows there's no point in fighting against Voight when he's made up his mind.
"Okay," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll pack a bag."
Voight nods, satisfied. "Good," he says, rising from the bed. "I'll wait for you by the front door. Don't take too long." With that, he strides out of the room, leaving Jay alone with his thoughts.
Jay watches him go, his mind a swirling mess of emotions and doubts. He knows Voight is doing this out of love and concern for him, but he can't help the uneasy feeling that gnaws at his gut. Packing his bag feels like abandoning his wife and daughter, even if it's only temporary.
Nevertheless, he obeys Voight's instructions, sluggishly pulling himself out of bed and making his way to the closet. He grabs a duffel bag from under a pile of clothes and starts shoving random items into it - a few changes of clothes, his toothbrush, his wallet, his badge. It's a haphazard packing job, but it's all he can manage in his current state.
As Jay continues to pack, he hears a soft knocking at the door. He glances over, and his heart melts as he sees Layla standing there, her small face peering through the gap in the door.
"Daddy!" she giggles, her eyes sparkling. "Peek a boo!"
Despite his exhaustion and his heavy heart, a small smile tugs at the corners of Jay's mouth. He crosses the room, scooping Layla up into his arms.
"Hey, kiddo," he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You can't let me pack in peace, huh?"
Layla giggles again, wrapping her small arms around his neck. "No!" she exclaims, her voice full of happiness. "I want to play with you!"
Jay chuckled, his heart clenching at her innocence. "I'm sorry, sweetie," he says, his voice quiet. "I can't play right now. I have to pack, because I'm gonna be away for a few days."
Layla's face falls, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout. "You're leaving?" she asks, her voice a heartbreaking mix of confusion and sadness.
Jay nods, his heart in his throat. "Just for a little bit," he says, desperately trying to keep the quiver from his voice. "I'm going to stay with Uncle Voight for a while, okay?"
Layla's eyes widen. "You're staying with Uncle Hank?" she asks, her sadness giving way to excitement. "Can I come too?"
Jay shakes his head, regret heavy on his heart. "Not this time, sweetheart," he says gently. "This is just for grown-ups, okay?"
Layla's pout returns, disappointment etched on her tiny features. "But I don't want you to go," she whines, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I'll miss you."
Jay's heart aches as he holds his daughter tightly. "I know, baby," he whispers, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Believe me, I don't want to go either. But I have to, okay? Just for a few days. And then I'll be back, and we can play as much as you want. I promise."
Layla pulls back slightly, pouting up at him. "Promise?" she asks, her big blue eyes searching his face.
Jay nods, his expression sincere. "I promise," he says, his voice firm and sure. "No matter what happens, I will always come back to you. I'm never leaving you, princess. Not ever."
Layla seems somewhat mollified by his words, her pout less pronounced. "Okay," she mumbles, her tiny fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "But you better keep your promise. Or I'll be mad at you."
Jay chuckles, pulling her closer and pressing another kiss to her forehead. "I'll keep my promise," he swears, a determined look in his eyes. "I always do."
With that, he sets her down on the bed, gently ruffling her hair. "Be good for mommy while I'm gone, okay?"
"Okay," Layla says, her bottom lip still stuck out in a tiny pout. She watches as Jay picks up his bag and heads towards the door, her little heart breaking at the thought of him leaving. "Daddy, wait!" she calls out suddenly, her voice small but urgent.
Jay pauses, turning to look back at his daughter. "Yes, sweetie?" he asks, his heart clenching at the look on her face.
"Can I have a goodbye hug?" Layla asks, her tiny arms stretched out towards him.
Jay's heart melts, and he quickly covers the distance between them, scooping Layla up into a tight embrace. "Of course, baby," he croons, burying his face in her soft hair. "As many hugs as you want."
As Jay and Layla descend the stairs, Jay is greeted by the sight of Erin standing there, her eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears, her hands protectively resting on her growing baby bump. Will is standing nearby, his expression a mix of concern and affection.
Voight stands a few feet away, his gaze moving between the four of them, his face stoic yet compassionate.
Jay takes in the sight of Erin's tears, his heart twisting in anguish. He immediately crosses the distance between them, pulling her into a tight embrace, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other gently cups the side of her face. "Hey," he says softly, his voice gentle. "Don't cry, babe."
Erin clings to him, burying her face in his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm just going to miss you so much, Jay."
Jay kisses the top of her head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "I know," he says, his voice heavy. "I'm going to miss you too. But it's just for a little while, okay? And Will is gonna take good care of you, I know he is."
Will, who had been quietly observing until now, steps forward then. "You know I will," he says, his voice firm and reassuring. "Both Erin and your baby are in good hands, Jay. Don't worry about us."
Jay tries to make a joke, fighting back the lump in his throat. "Yeah, don't get handsy with my wife while I'm gone," he says, half-laughing, half-serious. "I know how charming you can be, Will."
Will barks out a laugh, his eyes creasing at the corners. "Don't worry, brother," he says, a lopsided grin on his face. "I'll keep my hands to myself."
"You better," Jay say gruffly, his tone mostly playful, but with a hint of protectiveness underneath. He looks back at Erin, his expression softening. "I'll call you every day, okay?"
Erin nods, her eyes still watery but a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You better," she says, parroting his words. "Or I'll come after you, Halstead."
Jay chuckles, his heart swelling with love for this woman who knows him all too well. "I have no doubt you would," he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And I'd probably deserve it, too."
Just then, there's the sound of the apartment door opening, and all heads turn to see Voight standing there, his expression expectant. "Jay, let's go," he calls out gruffly, a clear sign that it's time to get moving.
Jay sighs, reluctant to pull away from his wife but knowing he has to go. He gives Erin one last tight hug, placing a gentle kiss on her stomach before turning to Will. "Take care of them," he says, his eyes imploring.
Will nods, a solemn expression on his face. "You have my word," he says firmly. "They'll be safe. You just worry about taking care of yourself, alright?"
Jay nods, his eyes moving to Layla who has been silently watching the whole exchange. He crouches down in front of her, a sad smile on his face. "I have to go now, sweetie," he says quietly, his heart clenching at the sight of her tiny, pouting face.
Layla's bottom lip trembles, and she looks like she's about to cry. "You're going away?" she asks, her voice small and dejected.
Jay nods, his own heart breaking at the look on her face. "Just for a little while," he says, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I'll be back before you know it. I promise."
As Jay's about to leave, Erin suddenly turns and runs upstairs, slamming their bedroom door behind her. The sound of her footsteps fading away echoes loudly in the otherwise quiet apartment.
Jay lets out a heavy exhale, his shoulders slumping. He hesitates for a moment, the sound of Erin's door slamming still ringing in his ears. But he doesn't have time to dwell on it. With one last glance at Layla's sad face, he turns and briskly walks out the front door.
As soon as the front door closes behind Jay, he leans back against it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The last thing he wants is to leave, especially like this, with Erin upset and his daughter on the verge of tears. But he has no choice. Voight is waiting, and he knows it won't do any good to disobey.
Voight, having been the silent observer for most of the emotional farewell, comes up beside Jay and claps him firmly on the shoulder.
"C'mon, kid," he says gruffly, guiding Jay towards the truck.
Jay nods, the weight of the situation clearly visible on his face. Once he's in the passenger seat, Voight closes the door and walks around to the driver's side, climbing in and starting the engine.
As Voight and Jay step inside the apartment, they're met by the sight of Trudy, her arms crossed and her expression serious.
"Everything okay?" she asks, her sharp eyes moving between the two men.
Trudy's stern veneer softens as she takes in the sight of Jay, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Her whole demeanor changes in an instant, her expression turning tender and motherly.
"Oh, Jay," she says, her voice filled with compassion as she steps forward and places a hand on his back. "What happened, hon?"
Jay can't speak, his emotions overwhelming him. He tries to form words but all that comes out is a strangled gasp.
Trudy's eyes flick towards Voight, an unspoken question hanging in the air. Voight shakes his head slightly, a silent signal to let it go for now.
Trudy nods, taking the hint. Instead, she puts an arm around Jay's shoulders and guides him towards the couch. "Come on, sit down," she murmurs, rubbing soothing circles on his back.
Jay collapses onto the couch, his body practically melting into the cushions. His head is lowered, his arms resting on his knees as he tries to gather his bearings.
Trudy takes a seat next to him, her hand still resting on his back. She doesn't say anything, just lets him catch his breath and collect his thoughts.
After a few minutes of silence, Jay finally lifts his head, but his eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. He looks at Trudy and manages to croak out a question. "Got...any sleep aid?"
Trudy's expression softens further, her heart going out to this young man who's clearly at the end of his rope. "Yeah, I think I have something in the first aid kit," she says quietly.
She stands and walks over to a nearby cabinet, rummaging through a drawer before finding a small bottle of sleeping pills.
Trudy returns to the couch and holds out the bottle to Jay. "Here you go," she says gently. "Take two of these. They should help you sleep."
Jay accepts the bottle with a shaky hand. He stares at it for a moment, his thumb running over the label. Then, almost mechanically, he pops the cap open and shakes out two pills, swallowing them dry.
Trudy watches him, her expression somber. "That's it, hon," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "Just relax now. Those things should take effect soon."
Jay nods, his eyelids already starting to feel heavy. He leans back against the couch, his body going slack. The weariness of the day finally catching up to him.
"There you go," Trudy murmurs, patting his leg gently. "Just close your eyes and let the sleep take over."
Jay nods again, his eyes fluttering shut. Exhaustion washes over him like a wave, and within minutes, he's asleep, his breath coming in slow, rhythmic puffs.
Trudy watches him for a moment, her expression filled with compassion. She turns to look at Voight, who has been observing silently.
"He'll be out for the night," she says quietly.
Voight nods, his gaze never leaving Jay'ssleeping form. "I figured as much," he says gruffly. "Poor kid's been through hell."
Trudy sighs, her eyes returning to Jay. "He needs rest, that's for sure," she says. "How's Erin."
Voight shakes his head, his usually stoic facade faltering for a brief moment. "She's a wreck," he says, his voice unusually soft. "I've never seen her like this."
Voight's expression hardens a bit at the mention of Erin, but he manages to keep his tone neutral. "She's doing about as well as you can expect," he says gruffly. "Crying herself to sleep in the other room."
Trudy's expression falls. "That poor girl," she murmurs, sympathy etched on her face. "She needs someone to hold her right now."
"Yeah," Voight agrees, running a hand over his weathered face. "But she refused to go into the bedroom where Jay left some of his clothes. Said she couldn't stand the sight of them right now."
Trudy can't help but chuckle despite the situation. "Yeah, she definitely gets that from you, Hank," she teases gently.
Voight lets out a gruff chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Yeah, I suppose I can't argue with that," he says, shaking his head. "She's too smart for her own good sometimes."
Trudy and Voight exchange a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They nod in unison, both understanding that there's nothing else they can do tonight.
"We should get some rest," Trudy says quietly. "Things will look different in the morning."
Voight nods again, his eyes shifting towards Jay's sleeping form once more. "Yeah," he grunts, a hint of melancholy in his voice. "I'll take the couch."
Trudy shakes her head. "No, you're sleeping in a real bed," she says firmly. "You need the rest just as much as Jay does."
Voight opens his mouth to protest, but Trudy cuts him off with a glare that brooks no argument. "Don't fight me on this, Hank," she says, her voice leaving no room for debate.
Voight sighs, a resigned expression on his face. He knows better than to argue with Trudy, especially when she's got that look in her eye. "Fine," he mutters, getting to his feet.
Trudy nods, satisfied. "Good," she says, walking over to the couch and gently pulling a throw blanket over Jay. "Now get some rest, both of you."
Voight nods, a flicker of tiredness in his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, but there's a hint of affection in his voice.
Trudy pats his shoulder, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Sleep well, Hank," she says, heading towards the bedroom.
Voight watches her go, a soft spot in his heart for the tough-as-nails woman. Then, he glances towards the couch where Jay is asleep, a pang of guilt in his chest. He'll be lucky to get a wink of sleep tonight.
OMG!
This made me cry so much! I really hope you like this chapter! It's gonna get serious with Jay staying with Voight and Trudy!