Everything I had

Part 130.

Tom's pov~

The air between Harry and me was taut, strained. I couldn't quite tell how much he knew, but it was clear he knew far more than I would have liked. Still, he had taken to Parker remarkably well — something impossible to overlook.

That evening we settled down to watch a film, Parker curled up in my arms. I could scarcely describe how good it felt to have him back with me. When bedtime finally came, though, he insisted he needed his Woody pyjamas, which were still tumbling in the dryer.

So Harry took him ahead to the bedroom, and I went to fetch them. Their voices faded behind me, growing quieter and quieter until there was nothing at all.

The light from the kitchen spilled faintly across the hall, not merely enough to cast the whole room.

My bedroom door was ajar for tonight, Parker would be sleeping in my bed so Harry could have the guest room. It didn't bother me in the slightest; after three weeks without Parker, I'd have gladly had him sleep on top of my chest if it meant he was close. I could hardly fathom how I'd ever endured six months away while filming. Perhaps it was for the best that I'd been fired then.

So I stepped into bedroom, expecting my little boy— but it was empty.

I looked about, left, right. The bathroom door was wide open, the light off, nothing.

"Parker?" I called, but there was no answer.

Circling around the bed, I thought perhaps he'd hidden himself in the bathroom after all—

"BOHH!"

They leapt from the side of the bed like children conspiring, Parker shrieking with laughter.

But my body did not laugh. It jolted. Locked. The world narrowed to black at the edges as though someone had blown out the lights. My hand shot out before I could think, clutching Harry by the collar, yanking him forward so hard his balance went.

For a split second, the room was silent.

Harry's grin faltered as he saw my face. And Parker— Parker's giggle died in his throat, replaced by a startled blink.

"We're just joking, Dadday!" He tugged at my trousers leg.

I could feel the tremor in my hand, the iron grip I couldn't loosen. Not at first. My chest heaved, breath sharp and shallow. Every nerve screamed as if I were back there again— younger, smaller, heart hammering in my ribs, daring to shout "boo" in the hallway, only to have the palm of a hand crash across my cheek instead of laughter.

And the worst of it— I still remembered the silence after. No apology. Just that look. That warning.

I released Harry abruptly, pushing him back with a jerk, unable to look him in the eye. "Don't—" My voice cracked, raw, caught between fury and something far more fragile. "Don't do that."

Harry straightened, smoothing his shirt, his expression shifting from irritation to something else— wary, maybe even pitying.

Parker clutched the pyjamas I'd dropped, his small voice uncertain: "Dadday?"

I forced myself to breathe, but my throat felt tight, the past pressing hard against the present. "I'm sorry, Dadday."

I crouched to his level, brushing the curls from his forehead with a hand that still trembled. "It's alright, buddy," I whispered, though it sounded more like I was saying it to myself. "Just... don't scare me like that, yeah?"

Parker nodded, eyes wide, and clambered into bed without another word.

I stayed there a moment longer, jaw tight, before standing. Harry watched me carefully, but I didn't explain. I never explained.