Hold on a little tighter. Just hold on. Sometimes, that’s all we can do. The world is impossible because we make it so, and the only way to see the other side is to hold on until the hard parts are over.

“It’s one day,” I said.

The new car had finally arrived. I thought a test drive would be fun, considering River had gotten us a nice truck. I told him nothing fancy or expensive, but of course, my brother ignored me and got us one of the hottest models from the lot. With its candy red paint and big wheels, we had traded up. I almost felt like an asshole being seen in it, but the truck was nice. However, Nick was down, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“It’s OK,” He said, looking out the window.

“You’ll be there next time,” I said.

“Tom, it’s fine.”

“I don’t want you to think you’re any less important.”

He wouldn’t look at me. Nick wouldn’t so much as glance in my direction after I broke the news. I told him Cindy and I were taking Malcolm to school alone. I did my best to convince him it wouldn’t matter, but it was a lie. No matter how much I downplayed the decision, it was made with my boyfriend outside of the room again.

“It’s for the best,” He said and kept saying, each time less convincing than the last.

“Would you stop already? Nick, come on.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. It’s her decision.”

I reached across the car to take his hand, but he snatched it away, telling me, “Don’t.”

“Nick...”

The sky was gray that afternoon, but the rain hadn’t started falling. The sun could come back. Clouds could part if given enough time.

“Remember when I told you if you ever fucked up, I’d forgive you? I said I’d give you a pass. This is that pass. Whenever she kicks me out of the room or says something behind my back, I let it go because I promised. You fucked up, and it was a mistake. I forgive you. But I need a line. I tried to keep my distance. I tried to let you two be the parents, but that would never last. I care about Malcolm. I see him every day. He’s your son. You think you weren’t ready? I don’t know up from down anymore. Malcolm calls me Dad one day, and his mom treats me like a stranger the next. Do you want me in his life or not? Tell me where the line is before.”

Nick stopped near the end of his thought.

Had he choked up, or was he saving me from his thoughts?

“Before what, Nick?”

“It’s late. I have a page review tomorrow. You have Malcolm’s first day.”

“Before what, Nick?” I repeated.

We were at a stop sign with cars behind us. I wasn’t about to go.

“Before I have to rethink things.”

There it was. Like the floor had been pulled out from under me. He finally said it. Nick had lasted longer than I or anyone else expected, but he had to break, eventually.

“It’s hard enough. I never signed up to be a parent. I’m tired of fighting every time I try to be what you ask of me,” he added, without allowing me a chance to apologize.

What could I apologize for? The list was long, but I was too stupid to think straight, especially with the horns. Too many horns. How many of them honked at us before I finally took my foot off the break?

“You’re not his dad, but you're my ...you’re mine. I know it’s confusing,” I tried to keep my thoughts straight, but immediately, I began to panic.

“Do you, though? Tom, you got a girl pregnant. You owe her and your son before me. I’m just some guy,” he argued.

“You are never just some guy,” I said.

“She doesn’t want me involved, but I couldn’t be more so.”

What could I focus on to keep myself together? Leather seats, the radio, that new car smell. Nick’s smell. I always smelled like beef grease, but he was like ink and chocolate. What wouldn’t I have given to reach across the car and pull him closer just to rest my nose in his hair?

“Cindy isn’t you! She will never be you!”

“You mean I’ll never be her. Maybe it’s a good thing,” he went on.

Nothing was enough anymore. I had the same feelings for him as always, but they weren’t enough. Sometimes love wasn’t enough.

I drove too fast for the neighborhood, but I had to get us home. Had I stayed behind the wheel any longer, I would have hit something or someone.

“Nick,” I pleaded.

“I was always just a rebound.”

“Nick.”

On his face, I expected a frown or distress, but he was grinning, smiling. Nick was relieved. How long had he been waiting to clear his chest? How much easier was it to let us go than to hold on through the shit?

“Marry me,” I said.

Nick went on for a while, self-deprecating like only he could and making a case for why we were better off ending things. But he heard me. Eventually, he heard me.

It was a late reaction when he muttered, “What?”

I repeated myself, more sure than before, “Marry me.”

A few homes down from our house, I stopped the truck and took the keys out of the ignition. Rain began to fall softly but grew into a storm.

“You know we can’t,” Nick said.

“I don’t care, and neither should you.”

If we made all the bad parts, sometimes we had to make the good. Sometimes, the only way to abandon the hurt was to run somewhere safe. But in the silence of the storm, just as I thought I had found a way through, he answered me, “No.”