Where the Light Is [Part Two]
Title: Where the Light Is
Author: heroes_and_cons
Pairing: Kradam: AU, established couple, parent!fic
Word Count: 10,370
Rating: R for language, mild sex, drug references
Disclaimer: don’t own Adam or Kris. Caden is a figment of my imagination. Title credit to John Mayer
Warnings / Triggers: terminal illness, character death, drug use, divorce. Please do not continue if any of these triggers could be unsettling for you.
Authors’ notes: The story itself jumps around a lot; it’s linear, but told in snapshots, without dates given. Just a heads up : )
Ten.
The tiny white lines reminded Adam of the snow forts he and Neil used to make as kids, when they vacationed in northern California or Colorado. They would each pile up snow in long, parallel walls, some distance away from each other, then fire snowballs blindly over the sides. Eventually, when their arms ached and their noses were numb, they went inside for hot chocolate and a movie marathon.
Adam bent over, positioning a shaking hand near the first line, and gently inhaled as he moved upwards.
The foil underneath crinkled. The first one was gone, disappeared, and he could feel it kicking in, surging through his veins, faster and burning, and the only thing he could think of were those goddamn snow forts. Caden would never play in the snow. Adam would never teach him how to build a snowman.
He snorted the next line, then the next, then the final one before leaning back, letting his head roll until it hit the edge of the chair. He shook all over, he itched on the inside where he couldn’t scratch, and the pulsing tick of the clock only reminded him that he was supposed to be somewhere else.
Caden had something today. A procedure. Adam knew this and Kris knew this and they both knew that Adam was supposed to be there but that he most likely wouldn’t go. Because every time he heard the word procedure his veins tingled and he felt nauseous and he needed to get away.
Where he was now. Away, away, away. Somewhere else. Somewhere where cancer didn’t exist. Somewhere where he and Kris were happy and slept in and made dinner for one another like they used to. Somewhere where Caden had a full head of auburn hair and was never tired and ran around until he collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs and laughs. Somewhere where it would snow and Adam would lie down with Caden and make snow angels until their arms were about to fall off.
The room spun violently around Adam, and he closed his eyes, or at least he thought he did, but it went black anyway. It snowed the day Caden was born, Adam reminded himself.
But then again, he’d never appreciated irony.
Eleven.
Unthinkable things-miracles, maybe-had a tendency to occur in Kris’s life when he considered himself to be the least-suspecting candidate.
Like American Idol. Getting an audition alone seemed out-of-the-ordinary. Making it past the top 10 was something else. And winning-being on stage with Adam, arms around each other, hearing his name and the uproar. And everything that followed.
And now. He felt his body trembling uncontrollably, the tears already clouding his eyes. “Say it again,” he whispered, standing and moving towards Dr. Frasier. “Say it again, please.”
The old man smiled, the soft fluorescent lights from overhead illuminating his eyes. “Caden’s gone into remission. That last round of chemo…it worked.”
Kris felt his knees giving out, the floor coming up underneath him and catching him as he collapsed. He buried his head in his arms, forcing his lungs to contract and expand, contract and expand. Remission. Gone. It was gone. The violent monster that had overtaken their lives had left Caden’s body.
But he still felt hollow inside; Adam wasn’t next to him, there to support him as he fell to the ground. He wasn’t there to hold Kris, to bury Kris’s face into his shoulder and let him breathe.
It was a miracle, but some miracles don’t fix everything.
Twelve.
Caden cocked his head, slightly surprised, when Adam entered his room the night before his sixth birthday.
“Hey buddy,” Adam murmured, smiling as he sat at the edge of Caden’s bed. “I know Dad usually reads to you before bed but I thought maybe this time I would.”
Caden blinked. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But I don’t want a book story.”
Adam shrugged. “All right. You want a different kind of story?”
Caden leaned back, tugging the blankets up to his chin. “Can you tell me about the day I was born?”
Adam swallowed. “Sure. I can do that.” He could do more than that: he could tell Caden every minute, insignificant detail about that day. Like how, as he and Kris walked from their car to the hospital, he could feel the snowflakes landing in his hair and melting into his scalp. Or how he’d grabbed a copy of the Los Angeles Times, so that one day Caden could look back at the headlines of his birth date.
“It snowed on the day you were born,” Adam began, struggling to steady his voice. “It was the first time in twenty years it’d snowed in L.A. And your dad and I, we just sat there and watched it come down. It was beautiful.” He swallowed, suddenly desperate for water. “And then we got a call from Jessica-”
“My mom,” Caden interrupted. Kris had recently explained to Caden who his birth mother was, when Caden had asked about how babies were made, and how he was even around if two daddies couldn’t make a baby by themselves.
“Right,” Adam said. “She called us and said you were coming, so we ran to the hospital. And it happened really fast-one moment, it was just us, and the next, you were here. And you were perfect.” Adam touched Caden’s forehead. “Perfect, that’s what the nurse told us. They wrapped you up and gave you to us and we just held you and never wanted to let go.”
“And then you took me home?”
Adam nodded. “Yep, we took you home.” Adam hesitated. “Listen, Caden, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Caden sat up, his eyebrows furrowing in worry. He hugged his knees to his chest. It never ceased to amaze Adam that, just months ago, they had thought Caden was going to die.
“Your dad and I…we decided that I’m not going to live here anymore.”
He watched Caden’s face fall, almost in perfect synchronization with his heart falling to his stomach. “Why?”
“Sometimes,” Adam whispered, “two people who loved each other…don’t, anymore. We still care about each other. And we will always love you.”
Caden blinked. “You won’t be here anymore?”
“I’ll come visit all the time,” Adam insisted. “And we’ll do all the fun stuff we always do. I just…won’t live here anymore.”
“Don’t go.”
Caden’s voice was so level, so quiet, that for a moment Adam wondered if he’d imagined the words. But Caden repeated it again, more earnestly: “Don’t go. You can’t.”
“I have to, buddy,” Adam murmured. “I have to. I…I’m sorry.” He started to stand, leaned down and kissed Caden’s forehead. “Everything will be all right, okay? I love you,” he repeated.
Adam turned before he could say anything else, before he could break down into tears, and hurriedly ran down the stairs, two at a time. Kris was in the front hall, arms folded over his chest.
“You told him?”
Adam nodded, swallowing. “Kris, I…” I want to make this work. I’m sorry. I love you.
“Daddy!” The echo of Caden’s voice bounced around the room. His feet pounded as he ran down the stairs, stumbling until he burst onto the floor, crashing into Adam with enough force to knock him over. “Don’t go, Daddy, please don’t go.” Adam could feel his son’s tears soaking through his jeans.
He knelt down, gripping Caden’s shoulders. “Caden,” he said quietly, “I have to go. I’m sorry, but your father and I made this decision.”
Tears streaked from Caden’s widening eyes. “You never asked me, though,” he whispered.
Adam dipped his chin, so that his forehead gently grazed Caden’s. He could feel Kris’s body heat radiating towards him, even though he was standing five feet away. Even after all this time, Adam could still feel all of Kris’s body movements with his eyes closed.
“You know you’re my hero, right?” Adam smiled.
Caden wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “Really?”
“Yeah, of course,” Adam tussled Caden’s hair. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured. “And I’m so grateful. And I love you so, so much.” Adam swallowed against the lump in his throat. “And me not living here anymore won’t change any of that.”
Eventually, Kris untangled Caden from Adam’s legs, holding him close as Adam collected himself. Eventually, Adam turned to leave, and Caden buried his face in Kris’s collarbone.
Eventually, Adam made it to his car, and sat with his forehead against the steering wheel. Caden’s cries still rang hollow in his ears.
Thirteen.
“Dad. Dad?”
Caden’s breaths came shallow as he rolled over in bed, curling his knees to his chest. He knew his voice wasn’t loud enough to permeate his bedroom door and call his dad. His stomach had cramped up, twisting and churning until the pain seemed to envelop him.
Caden sighed, kicking back the sheets and tumbling out of bed, gasping slightly as he went. This happened occasionally-the stomach pains, the aching joints, the fatigue, all from months of chemo he’d gone through years ago. But he still made his high school’s junior varsity soccer team as a freshman, still had a relatively normal life.
He stumbled down the hallway, finding his way to the bathroom. He had deepening bags around his eyes, something his father would probably advise he cover up with concealer.
“Caden?”
There was a soft knock, and his dad stuck his head in the bathroom. “You okay?”
Caden turned on the sink, splashing some water on his face. “My stomach,” he mumbled. “But I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” His dad frowned. “You want to take something? How long’s it been bothering you?”
“Dad,” Caden muttered, standing and reaching for the door. “I’m fine. Will you stop?”
He went downstairs, hearing his dad following, forcing himself to stand up straight even though it felt like something was eating him from the inside out. “I’m going to Dad’s today,” Caden said decisively, pulling a box of Capn’ Crunch from the cupboard.
His father hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Caden knew perfectly well that I don’t think that’s a good idea or Your dad is really busy today or He’s not feeling well today really meant Your dad’s still strung out from last night and you can’t see him. Caden wasn’t stupid; he saw the tabloids, the screaming headlines and the pictures, the ones both his parents tried to protect him from.
Caden began walking over to the phone, with the intent of dialing his father’s number, but halfway there he felt something inside him snap. Maybe not literally, but that was what it felt like anyway-like all of his internal organs had burst. Before he knew it, he’d crumpled, landing on the floor with a thud.
“Caden? Caden!” His dad knelt down, touching his skin. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Caden winced. “My stomach…”
His father reached up, grabbing the phone and dialing. Caden felt as though his soul had left his body, watching the scene unfurl beneath him. His mind registered the fact that his dad was talking, yet he couldn’t make out any of the words.
And then the fire. That was what it felt like-fire, climbing from the bottom of his stomach up his throat, inflaming his entire mouth. He coughed and coughed, so hard that his head pounded furiously. His father grabbed a handful of tissues, and Caden coughed into them.
When he pulled back, the tissues were covered in blood. He heard his father saying something, yelling, and then everything dissipated to black.
Fourteen.
Adam answered the phone on the fifth ring. “Hello?” he mumbled, half-awake.
“Adam? Adam, it’s Kris.”
And suddenly he was wide awake. He sat up, dangerously fast, and felt the room swirl around him. “Kris? What…what’s wrong?” That was the assumption he jumped to: something was cataclysmically wrong.
“It’s Caden,” Kris breathed. “We’re at the hospital.”
In the past eight years, Adam had admittedly fucked up. He could easily confess to this. In the first few months of his separation from Kris, he’d jump from party to party every night, and wake up the next morning lying next to a stranger. He was now underweight-dangerously, his doctor warned-thanks to relatively regular cocaine or heroin use.
But when it came to Caden, something inside Adam triggered; something snapped, made him alert, focused, made him want to change.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he whispered, hanging up before Kris could say anything more.
Fifteen.
Kris couldn’t believe that it had been ten years.
Ten years ago, he and Adam had sat in front of Dr. Frasier, who had told them that he’d diagnosed Caden with ALL, that Caden’s future was grim. And eight years ago, he’d given Kris the news that Caden had gone into remission.
And now Kris sat in front of him again, in front of his massive oak desk, watching the doctor peel off his wire-framed glasses and rub a hand over his face.
“Will your husband be joining us?”
“Ex-husband,” Kris muttered. “And he should be-”
Almost as if on cue, the door behind him clicked, and Adam slipped into the office. “Sorry I’m late,” he breathed, collapsing onto the chair beside Kris. He was disheveled, obsidian-black hair jutting out at all angles, deep bags around his eyes. Kris noticed Adam tug at the sleeves of his shirt, so that they were pulled down to his thumbs.
“I’m going to be honest,” the doctor murmured. “We’ve never seen something like this before.”
Kris swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“Caden went into remission eight years ago,” Dr. Frasier said. “Since then, he’s been in relatively good health. The occasional mishap, but nothing that indicated that something was wrong. And children with ALL that go into remission for at least two years have a 98% survival rate.”
The doctor paused, watching their faces. “I’m sorry, but it looks like Caden fell into that 2%. The cancer is back. We haven’t finished testing, but…it seems as though it’s metastasized through his internal organs. It’s extremely acute, more so than other instances, and rapidly spreading.”
“Jesus Christ,” Adam muttered, pressing his palms into his eyes.
“What do we do?” Kris whispered.
“We fight it,” the doctor said solemnly. “If he could fight it at the age of five, I have confidence he can do it again.” He hesitated. “They’re moving him into recovery. He’s a little loopy with painkillers, but you can visit him if you’d like.”
Adam stood up so quickly he knocked over his chair, and left the room without saying a word.
Sixteen.
They watched him from the other side of the glass. If it hadn’t been for the tubes and monitors and pale shade of his skin, Adam thought, it would look like Caden was just taking a nap.
“Why us?”
Kris’s voice, abrupt and sudden, sliced through the thick air around them. Adam glanced at him, his profile outlined by the silhouette of fluorescent light. “What?”
“Why us?” Kris repeated. “Why does this have to happen to us? What have we done wrong?”
Adam swallowed, leaning against the wall. “I don’t see it like that,” he said quietly. “I think that God gave us a beautiful baby boy. And he knew we were strong enough to handle something like this, and he knew it would make us even stronger.”
“We’re not strong,” Kris whispered, jaw clenched. “We’re not stronger.”
Adam extended his arm, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. His skin was smooth, only dotted by deep scars that were already fading. “I’m doing better, Kris,” he murmured. “A lot better.”
Kris didn’t blink. “Eight years too late, Adam.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m just saying…maybe I screwed up. But Caden still made me stronger. I don’t know if I’d be able to get over this and get better without him.” Adam pushed his sleeve back down. “I miss you.”
Kris hung his head, feeling himself give in, feeling the tears start to collect at the corners of his eyes. “I know,” he whispered. “We miss you, too.”
Seventeen.
Adam closed the door behind them, and they wasted no time.
It had been a while. A long while. And now, they both needed each other, more than they needed air to breathe. They were rough, unforgiving, restless. They pulled off each others’ clothes, forcibly kissing each other, tumbling to the floor in a tumultuous mess of arms and legs.
Adam pushed Kris’s legs up, leaning down to kiss his jaw. Kris laced a hand around the back of Adam’s neck, gently pulling him closer. “I need you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
Kris wrapped his free hand around Adam’s hard cock, wriggling underneath him and guiding him in. Adam groaned, settling in between Kris’s legs, before he began to buck, pulling out and pushing back into Kris.
Kris’s teeth sank into Adam’s shoulder, fingernails clawing his back. “God,” he whispered. “Adam, please…” He wasn’t even sure what he was begging for.
Adam gasped and ducked his chin, feeling the tears catch on his lower eyelashes. He came with Kris, in a tangle of sighs and moans and trembling hips. He collapsed, shaking, pulling out of Kris and lying on the floor next to him.
It was silent for a moment, until Adam heard Kris’s hiccups beside him. He reached over, pulling Kris’s shoulders into the nook of his arms, raking his fingers through Kris’s hair the way he used to.
“I’m not strong enough, Adam,” Kris whispered, pressing his hand into Adam’s chest. “I’m not. I can’t do this anymore.”
Adam’s throat felt as though it were covered in sandpaper. “Kris, you know why I chose the name Caden?”
“What?”
“His name. When he was born, I said we should name him Caden.”
“No,” Kris whispered, his breath damp against Adam’s skin.
“Because it means ‘fighter’. I thought that maybe if his name meant something, it would carry over into his life, you know?”
“It did,” Kris murmured. “He is a fighter.”
“But he got that from you.” Adam unraveled himself from Kris, standing up and reaching for his shirt. “Let’s go.”
“What?”
Adam reached down, extending a hand to help Kris up. “Our son is waiting for us.”
Eighteen.
After several months in and out of the hospital, the doctor turned Caden away.
“His body is rejecting the chemotherapy,” Dr. Frasier explained. “There’s nothing more we can do. He should be at home now, with his family.”
They had somehow been preparing themselves for this, and it didn’t come as a blow. They took Caden home, where they watched movie marathons with him, let him eat ice cream right out of the tub, read out loud to him even though he was a teenager. Kris accompanied Caden on the piano with guitar, and Adam sang; “We’re like the Von Trapp family, but without the Nazis,” Caden had joked. And they’d forced themselves to laugh.
One night, ten days after Caden’s fifteenth birthday, A Christmas Story played softly on the television. Adam was sprawled on the couch with Caden curled up next to him; Kris had dozed off in the armchair.
“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid,” Caden murmured, in synch with the character speaking the line on TV.
“I think you’ve seen this too many times,” Adam smiled, touching Caden’s head.
“Nah,” Caden sighed. “Never too many times.” He paused for a moment. “Dad? Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“You ever think about dying?”
Adam felt his muscles instinctively tense. “No,” he said quietly. “If I thought too much about dying, I would forget about living.”
“I think about it,” Caden murmured. “I think about it a lot.”
Adam considered telling Caden not to, but he figured it was a lost cause. Instead, he found himself whispering, “Are you scared?”
Much to his surprise, Caden half-shrugged. “No. I think I’ll have a nice chat with the big guy upstairs.”
Adam laughed. Kris had raised Caden as a Christian, but he took after Adam in the sense that he’d never become overtly pious. Still, the thought of a higher power now comforted Adam.
“What else do you think about?” Adam asked.
“I think Heaven will be pretty chill,” Caden said. “I’m going to have lunch with John Lennon and Kurt Cobain and Heath Ledger. And go to concerts on the clouds. And there’ll be rivers and trees made of chocolate, like in Willy Wonka.”
Adam felt himself smiling and crying simultaneously, something that hadn’t happened to him in years. “You think you’ll come visit?”
“Yeah, but I won’t haunt you and Dad or anything,” Caden smiled. “But I’ll only drop by if you promise not to move out again.”
Adam shook his head, kissing Caden’s forehead. “I won’t, I won’t. I wouldn’t even dream about moving out.”
Caden paused. “So you love Dad?”
“I never stopped,” Adam admitted. “Sometimes things happen and people…need to be apart. They just need it. But we always loved you, and we always loved each other.”
“I’m kinda like Cupid, aren’t I?” Caden grinned.
Adam smiled. “Don’t flatter yourself, buddy.”
They turned back to the movie, watching Ralphie pine over a toy. After a moment, Caden cocked his head up towards Adam. “Can I have a Red Rover BB Gun for Christmas this year?”
Adam had almost forgotten that Christmas was in less than two weeks. He smiled, resting his hand near Caden’s neck. They both knew that Caden could have anything he wanted now, anything that was physically possible for Adam and Kris to retrieve.
“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid,” Adam murmured.
Besides, he was sure that Heaven was full of them.
Nineteen.
The morning that Caden died, it snowed in Los Angeles, for the first time in fifteen years.
He had fallen asleep the night before, after a dinner of homemade pizza and virgin Shirley Temples, and did not wake up. Kris called the doctor, and he and Adam sat on either side of Caden’s bed, holding his hands.
Kris had leaned down and kissed Caden’s cheek, then pressed his ear gently against Caden’s chest. He could still hear Caden’s heartbeat, gentle and slow, pulsing blood through his fragile veins.
The doctor had come and told them what they already knew. The priest had come, at Kris’s request, and read Caden his Last Rites. Adam had smiled softly to himself, imagining Caden as an angel.
Death does not happen by degrees, as they show it in the movies or on TV. It is instantaneous, like flipping a switch: one moment, Caden’s heart was beating steadily; the next, it had stopped.
In that moment, Adam felt the room change. The air became lighter; the falling snow outside became brighter. The burden that had been sitting so heavily on his and Kris’s shoulders was lifted, and he felt himself physically relax.
“Bye, baby,” Kris whispered, touching Caden’s forehead. “I love you.”
Adam kissed each of Caden’s knuckles, unable to speak. Caden already knew everything he wanted to say: that Adam loved him. That he was Adam’s hero. That they would miss him, think about him, for the rest of their lives.
But, most importantly, that Caden would always be their fighter.
Epilogue.
“Mr. Allen? This is Ms. Keller. I was Caden’s history teacher.”
Kris blinked, trying to match a face with the name. He could hardly remember Caden’s Open House night at school, when they had met all of his teachers.
“Hi,” Kris said softly.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your loss,” she murmured. “Caden was such a talented student, a pleasure to have in class.”
Kris nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see him through the phone. “I know,” he breathed.
“We did a project shortly before he…became sick again,” she continued. “All of the kids had to make time capsules, and we buried them on the school grounds. They were going to dig them up again when they were seniors, before they graduated.” She paused. “I thought…I thought that maybe you would want to take Caden’s.”
Kris swallowed. Their kitchen table was overflowing with flowers and gifts and casserole dishes, but this was potentially the greatest gift anyone could give them. “That would be…perfect,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
They sat on the living room floor, the glow of the Christmas tree bathing them in golden light. Almost every ornament on it was somehow related to Caden-a building block reading Baby Boy’s First Christmas, a snowman he’d made out of macaroni and marshmallows, an acoustic guitar that Caden had given to Kris one year. Underneath the tree, unwrapped, was a burnished, vintage Red Rover BB Gun.
Adam pulled the top off of Caden’s time capsule. The teacher had explained that part of the project involved them compiling a list of all the items and their reasoning behind why they wanted it to be saved. Kris unfolded the list, reading them out loud as Adam removed the items.
“‘A map of Los Angeles, because it’s my favorite place and I’ve never lived anywhere else.’” Adam unfurled the map, where their neighborhood was circled in red.
“‘Sheet music, because I love playing the piano. An autographed picture of me and Paul McCartney-he’s my idol.’” Kris smiled, touching the edges of the photo.
“‘A bumper sticker that says “I fought cancer and I won”, because beating cancer was the best thing I’ve ever accomplished. A bottle of sand from the beach in Santa Monica, because it’s my favorite place to go for a run.’”
Adam uncorked he bottle, pouring a few grains of sand into the palm of his hand. He could smell the ocean, and he could vividly imagine Caden leaving footprints across the shore.
“Last one,” Adam murmured, reaching in and pulling out a faded photograph. It was Adam and Kris and Caden, backstage at one of Adam’s shows. Their arms were wrapped around each other, smiles consuming their faces. Caden was the only one making eye contact with the camera: Adam was gazing down at Caden, tussling his hair, and Kris was smiling over at Adam.
“‘My dads,’” Kris whispered. “‘Because they’re the best parents anyone could ask for. They mess up sometimes, and they fight sometimes. But they’re amazing. They’ve taught me everything I need to know. And they make me happy.’”
Kris paused, wiping his sleeve against his cheek. “‘They’re my heroes. And I’ll always love them.’”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
They buried the time capsule next to Caden’s headstone.
It wasn’t allowed at the cemetery, but Adam was determined. He knelt down, pushing the fresh dirt around it and patting it into a small mound. He stood again, leaning against the shovel.
Kris wrapped an arm around Adam’s waist, pressing his cheek into the sleeve of Adam’s jacket. “When do you think we should dig it up again?”
Adam smiled, shook his head. “I want him to have it,” he murmured.
He and Kris already had enough memories to last a lifetime.
Author: heroes_and_cons
Pairing: Kradam: AU, established couple, parent!fic
Word Count: 10,370
Rating: R for language, mild sex, drug references
Disclaimer: don’t own Adam or Kris. Caden is a figment of my imagination. Title credit to John Mayer
Warnings / Triggers: terminal illness, character death, drug use, divorce. Please do not continue if any of these triggers could be unsettling for you.
Authors’ notes: The story itself jumps around a lot; it’s linear, but told in snapshots, without dates given. Just a heads up : )
Ten.
The tiny white lines reminded Adam of the snow forts he and Neil used to make as kids, when they vacationed in northern California or Colorado. They would each pile up snow in long, parallel walls, some distance away from each other, then fire snowballs blindly over the sides. Eventually, when their arms ached and their noses were numb, they went inside for hot chocolate and a movie marathon.
Adam bent over, positioning a shaking hand near the first line, and gently inhaled as he moved upwards.
The foil underneath crinkled. The first one was gone, disappeared, and he could feel it kicking in, surging through his veins, faster and burning, and the only thing he could think of were those goddamn snow forts. Caden would never play in the snow. Adam would never teach him how to build a snowman.
He snorted the next line, then the next, then the final one before leaning back, letting his head roll until it hit the edge of the chair. He shook all over, he itched on the inside where he couldn’t scratch, and the pulsing tick of the clock only reminded him that he was supposed to be somewhere else.
Caden had something today. A procedure. Adam knew this and Kris knew this and they both knew that Adam was supposed to be there but that he most likely wouldn’t go. Because every time he heard the word procedure his veins tingled and he felt nauseous and he needed to get away.
Where he was now. Away, away, away. Somewhere else. Somewhere where cancer didn’t exist. Somewhere where he and Kris were happy and slept in and made dinner for one another like they used to. Somewhere where Caden had a full head of auburn hair and was never tired and ran around until he collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs and laughs. Somewhere where it would snow and Adam would lie down with Caden and make snow angels until their arms were about to fall off.
The room spun violently around Adam, and he closed his eyes, or at least he thought he did, but it went black anyway. It snowed the day Caden was born, Adam reminded himself.
But then again, he’d never appreciated irony.
Eleven.
Unthinkable things-miracles, maybe-had a tendency to occur in Kris’s life when he considered himself to be the least-suspecting candidate.
Like American Idol. Getting an audition alone seemed out-of-the-ordinary. Making it past the top 10 was something else. And winning-being on stage with Adam, arms around each other, hearing his name and the uproar. And everything that followed.
And now. He felt his body trembling uncontrollably, the tears already clouding his eyes. “Say it again,” he whispered, standing and moving towards Dr. Frasier. “Say it again, please.”
The old man smiled, the soft fluorescent lights from overhead illuminating his eyes. “Caden’s gone into remission. That last round of chemo…it worked.”
Kris felt his knees giving out, the floor coming up underneath him and catching him as he collapsed. He buried his head in his arms, forcing his lungs to contract and expand, contract and expand. Remission. Gone. It was gone. The violent monster that had overtaken their lives had left Caden’s body.
But he still felt hollow inside; Adam wasn’t next to him, there to support him as he fell to the ground. He wasn’t there to hold Kris, to bury Kris’s face into his shoulder and let him breathe.
It was a miracle, but some miracles don’t fix everything.
Twelve.
Caden cocked his head, slightly surprised, when Adam entered his room the night before his sixth birthday.
“Hey buddy,” Adam murmured, smiling as he sat at the edge of Caden’s bed. “I know Dad usually reads to you before bed but I thought maybe this time I would.”
Caden blinked. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But I don’t want a book story.”
Adam shrugged. “All right. You want a different kind of story?”
Caden leaned back, tugging the blankets up to his chin. “Can you tell me about the day I was born?”
Adam swallowed. “Sure. I can do that.” He could do more than that: he could tell Caden every minute, insignificant detail about that day. Like how, as he and Kris walked from their car to the hospital, he could feel the snowflakes landing in his hair and melting into his scalp. Or how he’d grabbed a copy of the Los Angeles Times, so that one day Caden could look back at the headlines of his birth date.
“It snowed on the day you were born,” Adam began, struggling to steady his voice. “It was the first time in twenty years it’d snowed in L.A. And your dad and I, we just sat there and watched it come down. It was beautiful.” He swallowed, suddenly desperate for water. “And then we got a call from Jessica-”
“My mom,” Caden interrupted. Kris had recently explained to Caden who his birth mother was, when Caden had asked about how babies were made, and how he was even around if two daddies couldn’t make a baby by themselves.
“Right,” Adam said. “She called us and said you were coming, so we ran to the hospital. And it happened really fast-one moment, it was just us, and the next, you were here. And you were perfect.” Adam touched Caden’s forehead. “Perfect, that’s what the nurse told us. They wrapped you up and gave you to us and we just held you and never wanted to let go.”
“And then you took me home?”
Adam nodded. “Yep, we took you home.” Adam hesitated. “Listen, Caden, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Caden sat up, his eyebrows furrowing in worry. He hugged his knees to his chest. It never ceased to amaze Adam that, just months ago, they had thought Caden was going to die.
“Your dad and I…we decided that I’m not going to live here anymore.”
He watched Caden’s face fall, almost in perfect synchronization with his heart falling to his stomach. “Why?”
“Sometimes,” Adam whispered, “two people who loved each other…don’t, anymore. We still care about each other. And we will always love you.”
Caden blinked. “You won’t be here anymore?”
“I’ll come visit all the time,” Adam insisted. “And we’ll do all the fun stuff we always do. I just…won’t live here anymore.”
“Don’t go.”
Caden’s voice was so level, so quiet, that for a moment Adam wondered if he’d imagined the words. But Caden repeated it again, more earnestly: “Don’t go. You can’t.”
“I have to, buddy,” Adam murmured. “I have to. I…I’m sorry.” He started to stand, leaned down and kissed Caden’s forehead. “Everything will be all right, okay? I love you,” he repeated.
Adam turned before he could say anything else, before he could break down into tears, and hurriedly ran down the stairs, two at a time. Kris was in the front hall, arms folded over his chest.
“You told him?”
Adam nodded, swallowing. “Kris, I…” I want to make this work. I’m sorry. I love you.
“Daddy!” The echo of Caden’s voice bounced around the room. His feet pounded as he ran down the stairs, stumbling until he burst onto the floor, crashing into Adam with enough force to knock him over. “Don’t go, Daddy, please don’t go.” Adam could feel his son’s tears soaking through his jeans.
He knelt down, gripping Caden’s shoulders. “Caden,” he said quietly, “I have to go. I’m sorry, but your father and I made this decision.”
Tears streaked from Caden’s widening eyes. “You never asked me, though,” he whispered.
Adam dipped his chin, so that his forehead gently grazed Caden’s. He could feel Kris’s body heat radiating towards him, even though he was standing five feet away. Even after all this time, Adam could still feel all of Kris’s body movements with his eyes closed.
“You know you’re my hero, right?” Adam smiled.
Caden wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “Really?”
“Yeah, of course,” Adam tussled Caden’s hair. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured. “And I’m so grateful. And I love you so, so much.” Adam swallowed against the lump in his throat. “And me not living here anymore won’t change any of that.”
Eventually, Kris untangled Caden from Adam’s legs, holding him close as Adam collected himself. Eventually, Adam turned to leave, and Caden buried his face in Kris’s collarbone.
Eventually, Adam made it to his car, and sat with his forehead against the steering wheel. Caden’s cries still rang hollow in his ears.
Thirteen.
“Dad. Dad?”
Caden’s breaths came shallow as he rolled over in bed, curling his knees to his chest. He knew his voice wasn’t loud enough to permeate his bedroom door and call his dad. His stomach had cramped up, twisting and churning until the pain seemed to envelop him.
Caden sighed, kicking back the sheets and tumbling out of bed, gasping slightly as he went. This happened occasionally-the stomach pains, the aching joints, the fatigue, all from months of chemo he’d gone through years ago. But he still made his high school’s junior varsity soccer team as a freshman, still had a relatively normal life.
He stumbled down the hallway, finding his way to the bathroom. He had deepening bags around his eyes, something his father would probably advise he cover up with concealer.
“Caden?”
There was a soft knock, and his dad stuck his head in the bathroom. “You okay?”
Caden turned on the sink, splashing some water on his face. “My stomach,” he mumbled. “But I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” His dad frowned. “You want to take something? How long’s it been bothering you?”
“Dad,” Caden muttered, standing and reaching for the door. “I’m fine. Will you stop?”
He went downstairs, hearing his dad following, forcing himself to stand up straight even though it felt like something was eating him from the inside out. “I’m going to Dad’s today,” Caden said decisively, pulling a box of Capn’ Crunch from the cupboard.
His father hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Caden knew perfectly well that I don’t think that’s a good idea or Your dad is really busy today or He’s not feeling well today really meant Your dad’s still strung out from last night and you can’t see him. Caden wasn’t stupid; he saw the tabloids, the screaming headlines and the pictures, the ones both his parents tried to protect him from.
Caden began walking over to the phone, with the intent of dialing his father’s number, but halfway there he felt something inside him snap. Maybe not literally, but that was what it felt like anyway-like all of his internal organs had burst. Before he knew it, he’d crumpled, landing on the floor with a thud.
“Caden? Caden!” His dad knelt down, touching his skin. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Caden winced. “My stomach…”
His father reached up, grabbing the phone and dialing. Caden felt as though his soul had left his body, watching the scene unfurl beneath him. His mind registered the fact that his dad was talking, yet he couldn’t make out any of the words.
And then the fire. That was what it felt like-fire, climbing from the bottom of his stomach up his throat, inflaming his entire mouth. He coughed and coughed, so hard that his head pounded furiously. His father grabbed a handful of tissues, and Caden coughed into them.
When he pulled back, the tissues were covered in blood. He heard his father saying something, yelling, and then everything dissipated to black.
Fourteen.
Adam answered the phone on the fifth ring. “Hello?” he mumbled, half-awake.
“Adam? Adam, it’s Kris.”
And suddenly he was wide awake. He sat up, dangerously fast, and felt the room swirl around him. “Kris? What…what’s wrong?” That was the assumption he jumped to: something was cataclysmically wrong.
“It’s Caden,” Kris breathed. “We’re at the hospital.”
In the past eight years, Adam had admittedly fucked up. He could easily confess to this. In the first few months of his separation from Kris, he’d jump from party to party every night, and wake up the next morning lying next to a stranger. He was now underweight-dangerously, his doctor warned-thanks to relatively regular cocaine or heroin use.
But when it came to Caden, something inside Adam triggered; something snapped, made him alert, focused, made him want to change.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he whispered, hanging up before Kris could say anything more.
Fifteen.
Kris couldn’t believe that it had been ten years.
Ten years ago, he and Adam had sat in front of Dr. Frasier, who had told them that he’d diagnosed Caden with ALL, that Caden’s future was grim. And eight years ago, he’d given Kris the news that Caden had gone into remission.
And now Kris sat in front of him again, in front of his massive oak desk, watching the doctor peel off his wire-framed glasses and rub a hand over his face.
“Will your husband be joining us?”
“Ex-husband,” Kris muttered. “And he should be-”
Almost as if on cue, the door behind him clicked, and Adam slipped into the office. “Sorry I’m late,” he breathed, collapsing onto the chair beside Kris. He was disheveled, obsidian-black hair jutting out at all angles, deep bags around his eyes. Kris noticed Adam tug at the sleeves of his shirt, so that they were pulled down to his thumbs.
“I’m going to be honest,” the doctor murmured. “We’ve never seen something like this before.”
Kris swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“Caden went into remission eight years ago,” Dr. Frasier said. “Since then, he’s been in relatively good health. The occasional mishap, but nothing that indicated that something was wrong. And children with ALL that go into remission for at least two years have a 98% survival rate.”
The doctor paused, watching their faces. “I’m sorry, but it looks like Caden fell into that 2%. The cancer is back. We haven’t finished testing, but…it seems as though it’s metastasized through his internal organs. It’s extremely acute, more so than other instances, and rapidly spreading.”
“Jesus Christ,” Adam muttered, pressing his palms into his eyes.
“What do we do?” Kris whispered.
“We fight it,” the doctor said solemnly. “If he could fight it at the age of five, I have confidence he can do it again.” He hesitated. “They’re moving him into recovery. He’s a little loopy with painkillers, but you can visit him if you’d like.”
Adam stood up so quickly he knocked over his chair, and left the room without saying a word.
Sixteen.
They watched him from the other side of the glass. If it hadn’t been for the tubes and monitors and pale shade of his skin, Adam thought, it would look like Caden was just taking a nap.
“Why us?”
Kris’s voice, abrupt and sudden, sliced through the thick air around them. Adam glanced at him, his profile outlined by the silhouette of fluorescent light. “What?”
“Why us?” Kris repeated. “Why does this have to happen to us? What have we done wrong?”
Adam swallowed, leaning against the wall. “I don’t see it like that,” he said quietly. “I think that God gave us a beautiful baby boy. And he knew we were strong enough to handle something like this, and he knew it would make us even stronger.”
“We’re not strong,” Kris whispered, jaw clenched. “We’re not stronger.”
Adam extended his arm, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. His skin was smooth, only dotted by deep scars that were already fading. “I’m doing better, Kris,” he murmured. “A lot better.”
Kris didn’t blink. “Eight years too late, Adam.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m just saying…maybe I screwed up. But Caden still made me stronger. I don’t know if I’d be able to get over this and get better without him.” Adam pushed his sleeve back down. “I miss you.”
Kris hung his head, feeling himself give in, feeling the tears start to collect at the corners of his eyes. “I know,” he whispered. “We miss you, too.”
Seventeen.
Adam closed the door behind them, and they wasted no time.
It had been a while. A long while. And now, they both needed each other, more than they needed air to breathe. They were rough, unforgiving, restless. They pulled off each others’ clothes, forcibly kissing each other, tumbling to the floor in a tumultuous mess of arms and legs.
Adam pushed Kris’s legs up, leaning down to kiss his jaw. Kris laced a hand around the back of Adam’s neck, gently pulling him closer. “I need you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
Kris wrapped his free hand around Adam’s hard cock, wriggling underneath him and guiding him in. Adam groaned, settling in between Kris’s legs, before he began to buck, pulling out and pushing back into Kris.
Kris’s teeth sank into Adam’s shoulder, fingernails clawing his back. “God,” he whispered. “Adam, please…” He wasn’t even sure what he was begging for.
Adam gasped and ducked his chin, feeling the tears catch on his lower eyelashes. He came with Kris, in a tangle of sighs and moans and trembling hips. He collapsed, shaking, pulling out of Kris and lying on the floor next to him.
It was silent for a moment, until Adam heard Kris’s hiccups beside him. He reached over, pulling Kris’s shoulders into the nook of his arms, raking his fingers through Kris’s hair the way he used to.
“I’m not strong enough, Adam,” Kris whispered, pressing his hand into Adam’s chest. “I’m not. I can’t do this anymore.”
Adam’s throat felt as though it were covered in sandpaper. “Kris, you know why I chose the name Caden?”
“What?”
“His name. When he was born, I said we should name him Caden.”
“No,” Kris whispered, his breath damp against Adam’s skin.
“Because it means ‘fighter’. I thought that maybe if his name meant something, it would carry over into his life, you know?”
“It did,” Kris murmured. “He is a fighter.”
“But he got that from you.” Adam unraveled himself from Kris, standing up and reaching for his shirt. “Let’s go.”
“What?”
Adam reached down, extending a hand to help Kris up. “Our son is waiting for us.”
Eighteen.
After several months in and out of the hospital, the doctor turned Caden away.
“His body is rejecting the chemotherapy,” Dr. Frasier explained. “There’s nothing more we can do. He should be at home now, with his family.”
They had somehow been preparing themselves for this, and it didn’t come as a blow. They took Caden home, where they watched movie marathons with him, let him eat ice cream right out of the tub, read out loud to him even though he was a teenager. Kris accompanied Caden on the piano with guitar, and Adam sang; “We’re like the Von Trapp family, but without the Nazis,” Caden had joked. And they’d forced themselves to laugh.
One night, ten days after Caden’s fifteenth birthday, A Christmas Story played softly on the television. Adam was sprawled on the couch with Caden curled up next to him; Kris had dozed off in the armchair.
“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid,” Caden murmured, in synch with the character speaking the line on TV.
“I think you’ve seen this too many times,” Adam smiled, touching Caden’s head.
“Nah,” Caden sighed. “Never too many times.” He paused for a moment. “Dad? Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“You ever think about dying?”
Adam felt his muscles instinctively tense. “No,” he said quietly. “If I thought too much about dying, I would forget about living.”
“I think about it,” Caden murmured. “I think about it a lot.”
Adam considered telling Caden not to, but he figured it was a lost cause. Instead, he found himself whispering, “Are you scared?”
Much to his surprise, Caden half-shrugged. “No. I think I’ll have a nice chat with the big guy upstairs.”
Adam laughed. Kris had raised Caden as a Christian, but he took after Adam in the sense that he’d never become overtly pious. Still, the thought of a higher power now comforted Adam.
“What else do you think about?” Adam asked.
“I think Heaven will be pretty chill,” Caden said. “I’m going to have lunch with John Lennon and Kurt Cobain and Heath Ledger. And go to concerts on the clouds. And there’ll be rivers and trees made of chocolate, like in Willy Wonka.”
Adam felt himself smiling and crying simultaneously, something that hadn’t happened to him in years. “You think you’ll come visit?”
“Yeah, but I won’t haunt you and Dad or anything,” Caden smiled. “But I’ll only drop by if you promise not to move out again.”
Adam shook his head, kissing Caden’s forehead. “I won’t, I won’t. I wouldn’t even dream about moving out.”
Caden paused. “So you love Dad?”
“I never stopped,” Adam admitted. “Sometimes things happen and people…need to be apart. They just need it. But we always loved you, and we always loved each other.”
“I’m kinda like Cupid, aren’t I?” Caden grinned.
Adam smiled. “Don’t flatter yourself, buddy.”
They turned back to the movie, watching Ralphie pine over a toy. After a moment, Caden cocked his head up towards Adam. “Can I have a Red Rover BB Gun for Christmas this year?”
Adam had almost forgotten that Christmas was in less than two weeks. He smiled, resting his hand near Caden’s neck. They both knew that Caden could have anything he wanted now, anything that was physically possible for Adam and Kris to retrieve.
“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid,” Adam murmured.
Besides, he was sure that Heaven was full of them.
Nineteen.
The morning that Caden died, it snowed in Los Angeles, for the first time in fifteen years.
He had fallen asleep the night before, after a dinner of homemade pizza and virgin Shirley Temples, and did not wake up. Kris called the doctor, and he and Adam sat on either side of Caden’s bed, holding his hands.
Kris had leaned down and kissed Caden’s cheek, then pressed his ear gently against Caden’s chest. He could still hear Caden’s heartbeat, gentle and slow, pulsing blood through his fragile veins.
The doctor had come and told them what they already knew. The priest had come, at Kris’s request, and read Caden his Last Rites. Adam had smiled softly to himself, imagining Caden as an angel.
Death does not happen by degrees, as they show it in the movies or on TV. It is instantaneous, like flipping a switch: one moment, Caden’s heart was beating steadily; the next, it had stopped.
In that moment, Adam felt the room change. The air became lighter; the falling snow outside became brighter. The burden that had been sitting so heavily on his and Kris’s shoulders was lifted, and he felt himself physically relax.
“Bye, baby,” Kris whispered, touching Caden’s forehead. “I love you.”
Adam kissed each of Caden’s knuckles, unable to speak. Caden already knew everything he wanted to say: that Adam loved him. That he was Adam’s hero. That they would miss him, think about him, for the rest of their lives.
But, most importantly, that Caden would always be their fighter.
Epilogue.
“Mr. Allen? This is Ms. Keller. I was Caden’s history teacher.”
Kris blinked, trying to match a face with the name. He could hardly remember Caden’s Open House night at school, when they had met all of his teachers.
“Hi,” Kris said softly.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your loss,” she murmured. “Caden was such a talented student, a pleasure to have in class.”
Kris nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see him through the phone. “I know,” he breathed.
“We did a project shortly before he…became sick again,” she continued. “All of the kids had to make time capsules, and we buried them on the school grounds. They were going to dig them up again when they were seniors, before they graduated.” She paused. “I thought…I thought that maybe you would want to take Caden’s.”
Kris swallowed. Their kitchen table was overflowing with flowers and gifts and casserole dishes, but this was potentially the greatest gift anyone could give them. “That would be…perfect,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
They sat on the living room floor, the glow of the Christmas tree bathing them in golden light. Almost every ornament on it was somehow related to Caden-a building block reading Baby Boy’s First Christmas, a snowman he’d made out of macaroni and marshmallows, an acoustic guitar that Caden had given to Kris one year. Underneath the tree, unwrapped, was a burnished, vintage Red Rover BB Gun.
Adam pulled the top off of Caden’s time capsule. The teacher had explained that part of the project involved them compiling a list of all the items and their reasoning behind why they wanted it to be saved. Kris unfolded the list, reading them out loud as Adam removed the items.
“‘A map of Los Angeles, because it’s my favorite place and I’ve never lived anywhere else.’” Adam unfurled the map, where their neighborhood was circled in red.
“‘Sheet music, because I love playing the piano. An autographed picture of me and Paul McCartney-he’s my idol.’” Kris smiled, touching the edges of the photo.
“‘A bumper sticker that says “I fought cancer and I won”, because beating cancer was the best thing I’ve ever accomplished. A bottle of sand from the beach in Santa Monica, because it’s my favorite place to go for a run.’”
Adam uncorked he bottle, pouring a few grains of sand into the palm of his hand. He could smell the ocean, and he could vividly imagine Caden leaving footprints across the shore.
“Last one,” Adam murmured, reaching in and pulling out a faded photograph. It was Adam and Kris and Caden, backstage at one of Adam’s shows. Their arms were wrapped around each other, smiles consuming their faces. Caden was the only one making eye contact with the camera: Adam was gazing down at Caden, tussling his hair, and Kris was smiling over at Adam.
“‘My dads,’” Kris whispered. “‘Because they’re the best parents anyone could ask for. They mess up sometimes, and they fight sometimes. But they’re amazing. They’ve taught me everything I need to know. And they make me happy.’”
Kris paused, wiping his sleeve against his cheek. “‘They’re my heroes. And I’ll always love them.’”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
They buried the time capsule next to Caden’s headstone.
It wasn’t allowed at the cemetery, but Adam was determined. He knelt down, pushing the fresh dirt around it and patting it into a small mound. He stood again, leaning against the shovel.
Kris wrapped an arm around Adam’s waist, pressing his cheek into the sleeve of Adam’s jacket. “When do you think we should dig it up again?”
Adam smiled, shook his head. “I want him to have it,” he murmured.
He and Kris already had enough memories to last a lifetime.