I was exhausted. Feeling as though I'd just been plowed down by an opponent trying to sneak the puck passed me, when really, Bowen had simply tired me out. Or maybe it hadn't been Bowen. I'd babysat plenty of times in the last six years when I visited Neptune Bay, and while he was certainly a bundle of energy, I'd never felt this run down after putting him to bed.

The fatigue was more internal. As though the stress of taking care of Bowen, the grief I had for my brother, and the adrenaline getting me through each day were getting tired of coexisting in my head. Instead, they were fighting one another, and I was feeling the consequences. My limbs felt twice the weight they normally did. My chest stung with residual heartbreak. A pounding pulse had manifested between my temples. It was slowly building towards a point of being too much.

After all, it was barely nine and I was ready to follow in Bowen's footsteps and climb into bed, but I restrained myself. Instead, I found myself slumped on the sofa in front of the television, beer in hand, with a baseball game at low volume. An effort to drown everything else out.

Sports had always done that for me. From a young age, if an object could be kicked, thrown, or hit, it stood no chance against me. I came alive in a team setting, whether that be tee ball, soccer, football, or hockey, but as I grew up, my focus began centering around the latter. I worked out my body and mind, training hard off and on the ice, and being a goalie in the NHL meant becoming hyper focused on the puck as well as the players in front of you. Your teammates and opponents. It meant leaving every other worry that ever popped into my head in the locker room, starting a blank canvas each time I stepped foot on the ice.

Except the nearest ice rink was towns away—I knew, because my parents had made the drive five times a week with me once I made the AAA team—so watching the slower paced baseball game would have to do.

The game itself was a good one—tied 5-5 at the bottom of the seventh—and normally, I would've been enthralled by the action on the screen. The expert pitches, the fake runs, the impossible bats and nearly as impossible catches. But with my beer drained, I began to feel the tiredness sink into my bones. Nearly lulling me to sleep as my eyes began to droop.

Until I heard a loud cry from upstairs.

Bolting up off the sofa, I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding as barks of worry joined into the sounds coming from Bowen's room.

Pushing open the door with enough force that it thudded loudly off the wall, I was met with a scene that tore my heart in two. Bowen was sat up in bed, clutching at his stuffed penguin tightly as tears streamed down his face and wails of distress left his mouth.

Scout, who'd hopped up onto the bed next to him, looked at me with a frantic face as I burst into the room, waiting for me to do something.

Walking over to the bed, I sank down next to my nephew. "What's wrong, Bowen?" I asked, wrapping one arm around him as I smoothed my free hand over his hair. "Did you have a nightmare?"

He sniffled as he nodded. "I-I was a-all alone and a m-monster s-showed up. M-mommy and d-daddy couldn't s-save m-me."

Damn. That was definitely a nightmare for a kid his age, and it took me a moment to rack my brain for the right thing to say. "It'll be okay, buddy," I said, trying to make my voice as soothing as possible. "Monsters aren't real, so they can't hurt you."

"B-but mom and dad are gone. A-and they're n-not coming b-back," he said, tears welling more with each word he spoke.

The truth of his words felt like a punch to the gut—even more so as his cries once again became audible, hammering against my heartstrings. I was clueless and had no idea what to do in this situation. Hell, I didn't think there was a right way to handle this.

Because what could you do to comfort a kid whose parents had passed?

Not much but be there for them.

"Shh," I whispered, ducking his head into my chest. "It'll be okay. It'll all be okay. I'm here."

"I miss them," he cried into my shirt.

Another dagger to the chest.

"I miss them, too."

Rubbing his back, I held on tighter, wishing I had the power to absorb the immense pain in his tiny body. But I didn't. All I could do was continue to sit there, consoling him and attempting to shield him further from the harsh reality of the world.

It was nearly half an hour later when he eventually calmed down to the point that I could hear his breathing even out and tiny snores erupt from his sleeping body. Gently easing myself off the bed, I pulled his blanket back up under his chin to tuck him in. Looking at Scout, who lay awake and alert on Bowen's other side, I whispered, "Keep him safe, buddy."

As my dog dropped his head to rest softly on Bowen's chest, I could tell he understood the message, and slowly began to back out of the room.

Once the door closed, I rested my back against it and clenched my eyes shut. This type of situation was so far out of my wheelhouse—so immensely overwhelming—and the one person I could think of who could offer advice was no longer here.

Sighing dejectedly, I shuffled back down the stairs, but instead of heading for the sofa, I walked towards the back of the house and slipped out on the back deck. Where Liam and I had shared many beers and late-night chats over the years. Where I'd told him I got the starting goalie gig in Boston. Where he'd told me Thea was pregnant, and consequently, just a few weeks before Bowen's arrival, how scared he was about becoming a dad.

Where I'd told him not to worry, because the number one most important thing was that he make sure to show his child he loved them. Everything else was unavoidable. He'd mess up—everyone did. There'd be tough times to get through. But in the end, if he made his son happy, the bad times would pale in comparison to the good times.

And here I was, years later, suddenly needing to take my own advice, yet not quite so sure how to do so.

I swallowed, throat tight, and lifted my gaze to the sky. At this time of night, the combination of stars amidst the darkness and the sound of rolling waves echoing through the air was a source of peace.

"You guys," I started, hoping somewhere up there, Liam and Thea could hear me, "I'm trying. I really am. I just hope I'm not letting you both down." My breathing hitched. "You had each other to lean on, and I think that's what's getting to me. I don't have either of you as a source of support because you're both gone, and there's nobody to fill the hole you left."

"I love Bowen so, so much and I'd never abandon him. You guys trusted me with him. But it's so hard right now." An overwhelming feeling of doubt washed over me. "So, so hard."

***

The next morning, despite Bowen bouncing happily around the house with Scout, I didn't exactly know how to act. I was on edge, wondering if he was one second away from another meltdown, and had texted my mom for advice.

While I got no response, the doorbell sounded not even twenty minutes later, and when I opened the door, it was my mom standing there, looking like a woman on a mission.

The corner of my mouth lifted as I stepped aside and waved her in. "You know you didn't have to rush over here, right? Everything's fine."

She turned to me, and while I still could see the sadness etched into the tired lines of her face, there was also a determination burning in her eyes. "Everything's fine my ass, Ryan," she said, causing my eyes to widen in surprise. She dropped her purse in the entryway and reached up with both hands, cupping my cheeks. "You're under a lot of stress right now, and nobody is expecting you to jump into this guardian role alone. When you need a hand, reach out, because somebody will be there to help. Today, that just so happens to be me."

I didn't know how much I needed to hear those words until that moment.

Wrapping my arms around her, I rested my head on top of hers and said, "Thanks, mom."

When she pulled back, there was a gentle smile on her lips. "Of course. What did you think? That your dad and I would abandon you?"

I ran my fingers through my hair and shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought... you know, with Liam gone—"

"Stop right there," she said, holding her hand up to cut me off. "Because yes, while I'm most definitely still dealing with my son's death in my own way, that doesn't mean I'm going to abandon the son that's still here. We're here for you, and for Bowen, however you need us."

"I guess that's just it though," I said, speaking slowly as though admitting what I said next to my mom made me a failure, "I'm not sure what I need, or what Bowen needs. I mean, it's been nearly a week since the funeral, and he seemed to be doing alright. He hasn't broken down at all since we told him I'd be taking care of him, but then last night, it was a nightmare that sent him off and I couldn't do anything to stop that."

"Ryan," my mom started softly, "kids aren't adults. Their brains work differently, and a lot of the time, their energy manifests one emotion at a time. So, Bowen likely has anger, grief, and sadness roving around his mind, but because he's such a happy kid, that's what shows the majority of the time. But if something, like a nightmare, scared him and reminded him of his parents at the same time, well... it was simply a recipe for disaster."

"So, what you're saying is there's no guidebook on how to handle this?"

Shaking her head, she replied, "Unfortunately not."

"Then what am I meant to do when he falls apart again?"

"Take it from someone who raised two children that weren't exactly angels all the time," she drawled, "just be there to pick him up when he falls. And if he wants to talk about his parents, let him. He needs an outlet, just like you and I, so don't forget that."

Digesting those words, I knew the execution of such wasn't as simple as it sounded, but it was something I could build off of.

As I opened my mouth to thank her for the advice, I heard the sound of tiny footsteps growing louder and louder.

"Grandma!" Bowen yelled in excitement as he rounded the corner, a wide grin on his face as he hugged her. "I didn't know you were here."

"I thought I'd come by and see my two favorite boys this morning," she replied, ruffling his hair with affection.

Bouncing on his toes as he pulled back, he asked, "Are you coming seashell hunting with us?" Before getting an answer, however, he turned to me and repeated himself. "Is she coming seashell hunting with us?"

I huffed out a laugh. "She's welcome to," I offered before shifting my attention back to my mom. "I promised him we'd head out to the beach in a bit to look for seashells, and then grab hotdogs for lunch at Larry's stand."

"Well, I think that sounds like a great idea, and I'd love to come along."

"Yay!" Bowen exclaimed, before pivoting on his heel in a hurry. "I need to go get my bucket."

When he was out of sight, I turned back to my mom and lifted a brow. "So, I'm just meant to take this whole thing one day at a time?"

She nodded with affirmation. "One day at a time, my son. One day at a time."

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