Chapter 6: Homecoming
The clock on the DVR read 12:27 AM.
Dominic was pretending to read the same paragraph for the fifteenth time. Avery was systematically demolishing the bag of salt and vinegar chips he’d bought as a peace offering, the crunching loud in the quiet room. She was ostensibly watching a documentary about deep-sea anglerfish, their grotesque illuminated lures flickering across the screen, but her eyes kept flicking to her phone, face-down on the coffee table.
“He’s fine,” she said, not for the first time, dusting chip salt from her fingers.
“I know he’s fine,” Dominic replied, not looking up from his book.
“You’re vibrating the floorboards with your knee.”
He stopped the involuntary jiggling. The house felt too still, a held breath. Every creak of the settling foundation was a car door that didn’t close, a footstep that didn’t fall on the porch. The negotiated trust of the afternoon had curdled into a dull, acidic worry in his gut.
12:31 AM.
His phone buzzed. Both of them startled. It was a text notification, not a call. Dominic snatched it up.
Location Shared: Alex Monroe - ETA 12 mins.
“Alex is picking him up?” Avery asked, leaning over to see.
“Must’ve. He didn’t call.” A kernel of something twisted inside him. Why hadn’t he called? Was he too drunk to dial? Embarrassed? Or just responsibly using a designated driver? Dominic’s mind offered both the benign and catastrophic explanations with equal fervor.
12:42 AM.
Headlights washed across the front window, passing slowly. Tires crunched on the gravel drive. A car door thunked shut. Then another. Then the sound of laughter—sharp, bark-like, unmistakably Alex’s, mingled with a higher, giggling, unsteady counterpoint.
Avery muted the anglerfish. They shared a look. The laughter outside was getting closer, accompanied by the erratic scrape and click of footsteps.
The front door flew open, banging against the wall with a crack.
“We’re home!” Alex’s voice boomed into the quiet hall, full of unrestrained amusement. “And I have a delivery! One slightly used baby brother, more glittery than specified, and definitely past his warranty.”
She backed into the living room doorway, already laughing so hard she wheezed, her shoulders shaking under her leather jacket. “Oh, you guys are gonna love this. It’s vintage Angel, age five, but with way better shoes.”
And then Angel appeared, clinging to Alex’s arm like it was the only mast on a storm-tossed ship.
Dominic’s breath caught.
The soft cloud of pastel was gone, replaced by a creature of shimmering, wobbly night. The waist-length white curls were a magnificent, voluminous chaos, tumbling around his shoulders and down his back. He’d done his makeup—smoky silver around those dark blue eyes, now wide and unfocused. Silver hoops glinted from multiple ear piercings. He wore a waterfall of delicate silver chains around his neck, catching the firelight with every unsteady movement.
And the outfit.
Fishnets, sheer and dark, traced the lines of his legs, which disappeared into a pair of black, sequined mini-shorts that glittered like a fractured galaxy. A matching v-neck halter top left his shoulders and arms bare, revealing the smooth, un-inked skin and the subtle definition of his abdomen. The black, knee-high stiletto boots added a good four inches to his height, their slender heels tap-tap-tapping erratically on the hardwood as he tried to find his balance.
He looked stunning. And utterly, completely sloshed.
“Hi,” Angel beamed, the word slow and syrupy. He released Alex’s arm, swayed dangerously, and gripped the doorframe instead. His smile was a luminous, unguarded thing. “I’m home. One o’clock. On time.” He frowned with great concentration, turning his wrist to look at an invisible watch. “It’s… now time. Home time.”
Avery had put the chip bag down. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Well, don’t you clean up nice, sparkles.”
Dominic found his voice. It came out quieter than he intended. “Hey, kid.”
Angel’s gaze, glassy and warm, slid from Avery to Dominic. His expression melted into one of profound, adoring affection. “Daddy,” he sighed, as if the word itself was a comfort.
He let go of the doorframe and attempted to walk. The stiletto boots, designed for posing, not for navigating a synaptic fog, had other ideas. The first step was awkward. The second was a disaster. His ankle turned, he gasped, and pitched forward.
Dominic was up and across the room in two long strides. He caught Angel under the arms before his face met the rug, absorbing the stumble with a grunt. Up close, he smelled of candy-sweet alcohol, vanilla perfume, and a hint of cigarette smoke from the party.
“Whoa there, Bambi.” He righted him, holding his upper arms firmly. Angel felt pliant in his grasp, weight trustingly surrendered.
“You caught me,” Angel whispered, gazing up at him with stars in his eyes. “My daddy caught me.”
“Yeah, I did.” Dominic’s initial worry was being rapidly displaced by a flood of sheer, overwhelming tenderness. This wasn’t the paranoid, scared drunk from the bad memory. This was a happy, soggy mess.
Alex wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, slumping against the wall. “You shoulda seen him, Dad. He was holding court on Micah’s back porch, telling a bunch of theater kids that love is like… what was it again, Ange?”
Angel, still leaning into Dominic, tilted his head back to look at his sister. “Love,” he announced with soggy profundity, “is a glitter bomb. In your heart. And it explodes… all the time. And you have to clean up the glitter forever, but it’s still pretty.”
Avery snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth. Dominic felt a laugh bubble up in his own chest, tight with residual anxiety.
“He was hugging everyone,” Alex continued, gleefully recounting the tale. “I mean everyone. The shy bassoonist, the intimidating costume designer with the mohawk, the family dog. He cried during a slow song. He told Micah’s ugly aquarium fish they were ‘doing a great job.’ And!” She pointed a finger, her voice rising with the climax. “He drank exactly one and a half of those girly seltzers you bought him. One and a half! This—” she gestured at Angel’s radiant, wobbling form, “—is the product of, like, eight percent alcohol by volume. He’s a monument to lightweight glory.”
One and a half. Dominic’s shoulders loosened an inch. He’d kept his promise. He’d just… embodied it with the functional tolerance of a newborn fawn.
“Had’praisal fun,” Angel mumbled into Dominic’s shirt, nuzzling. “Danced. My feet hurt.” He attempted to lift one foot to examine the offending boot, nearly toppling them both. Dominic hoisted him more securely.
“Okay, party’s over, Cinderella. Let’s get these glass slippers off you before you put an eye out.” He bent, maneuvering Angel to sit on the arm of the couch. Angel went willingly, his movements loose and uncoordinated.
“I’ll do it,” Avery said, still grinning. She moved to kneel in front of him, her large, capable hands making quick work of the intricate buckles on the knee-high boots. “Christ, kid. These are weapons.”
“They’re fancy,” Angel corrected her softly, watching the top of her head. He reached down and patted her hair. “Hi, Mommy. You have pretty hair.”
Avery looked up, her tough face softened into an expression of pure, amused affection. “Yeah, yeah. You’re not getting out of water duty with flattery, mister.” She pulled the first boot off. Angel wiggled his fishnet-clad toes with a sigh of relief.
Dominic sat next to him on the couch proper, a steadying arm around his back. Angel immediately curled into his side, a warm, sequined weight. He rested his head on Dominic’s shoulder, his cloud of hair tickling Dominic’s chin. He smelled like a party, but underneath, he still smelled like Angel—sweet shampoo and warm skin.
“Did you drink the water?” Dominic asked, his voice a low rumble.
Angel nodded against his shoulder, the motion slow and heavy. “Drank the water. Ate some… crunchy things. No smoking.” He tilted his head back, his eyesdrowsy and earnest. “I promised. I ‘membered.’Membered everything you said.”
“I see that,” Dominic said, the last of the tension draining away, replaced by a weary, fond exhaustion. “You did good, kid.” The trust hadn’t been broken. It had been validated, even if the vessel was currently struggling with object permanence.
Alex shed her jacket and threw herself into the armchair. “So, the verdict? We keeping him? Or do we send him back for the louder, more obnoxious model?”
“We’re keeping him,” Avery said, pulling off the second boot with a final thunk. She stood, boots in hand. “But we might disable the glitter function for a few days. You want some coffee, champ? Or just straight to bed?”
“Bed,” Angel murmured. Then his eyes flew open. “Wait! Alex!” He tried to sit up, but Dominic’s arm held him fast.
“What about me, you menace?” Alex asked, kicking her feet up on the ottoman.
“You drove me. You’re my hero,” Angel declared, his voice thick with emotion. A single, crystalline tear traced a path through the shimmer on his cheek. “You’re the best sister in the… in the whole… location.”
Alex’s smirk softened. “Someone’s sappy.”
“I’m appreciative,” he insisted, blinking slowly. He looked around the room, his gaze floating over the boxing posters, the family photos, the snarling wolf mural. “Our house is the best house. It’s warm. It’s a heart house.”
Avery exchanged a look with Dominic over his head. Her eyes were shining.
“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you to your heart bedroom.” Avery reached for him. “Can you walk, or are we carrying the precious cargo?”
“I can walk!” Angel announced with drunken dignity. With Dominic and Avery’s help, he got to his feet, swaying gently in his socks and fishnets on the plush rug. He took one experimental step, then another, holding onto Dominic’s forearm. “See? Navigation systems… engaging.”
They guided him slowly out of the living room, a little procession. Alex followed behind, watching the scene with a fond, if still amused, shake of her head.
The staircase was the next frontier. Angel stared at it as if it were Machu Picchu.
“This seems… tall.”
“One foot in front of the other, Ange,” Alex called from behind.
Angel gripped the banister with one hand and Dominic’s arm with the other. He took the first step with immense concentration, then the second. Halfway up, he paused, turning his head to look back down at Alex, who was trailing them. “You’ll catch me if I fall backwards, right?”
“I’d let you fall for the comedy, but Mom would kill me,” Alex said. “So yeah, I got you.”
The journey to his bedroom was a slow, zigzagging pilgrimage. He stopped to admire a framed family photo on the landing, pointing a wobbly finger at a picture of Dominic holding a six-year-old Angel on his shoulders. “That’s us. We’re smaller.”
“We were,” Dominic agreed, patiently steering him onward.
Finally, they reached his pink-hued sanctuary. The fairy lights were still on, casting a soft glow over the plush pastel bedding and the ranks of stuffed animals. Angel sighed with profound happiness upon crossing the threshold. “My room. It’s perfect.”
“Alright, show’s over,” Avery said, her tone gentle but firm. “Let’s get you swapped into something less… hazardous.” She went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of soft cotton sleep pants and an oversized t-shirt.
Angel sat heavily on the edge of his bed and began the arduous, fumbling task of trying to unbutton his sequined shorts. His fingers, slick and uncooperative, slid uselessly over the shiny material. He let out a little frustrated huff.
“Here,” Dominic said, kneeling in front of him, just as Avery had with the boots. He gently batted Angel’s hands away. “Let me.”
Angel looked down, his expression serene and trusting as Dominic’s large, tattooed, grease-stained-creased hands worked the tiny button and zip on the glittering shorts. It was a moment of absurd contrast, the kind of tacit, casual intimacy unique to families. Dominic didn’t hesitate. He helped him wriggle out of the sequined shorts and the halter top, leaving him in just the fishnets and underwear, then quickly helped him into the soft sleep clothes. Angel raised his arms and shifted his weight compliantly, like a sleepy toddler.
Avery collected the party clothes, draping the shimmering fabric over her arm. “I’ll hang these. They’re actually kinda fierce.”
“They’re my fearless clothes,” Angel explained, his words beginning to slur even more as the imminent promise of sleep pulled at him. “I felt… tall.”
“You were tall,” Dominic assured him, sitting beside him on the bed.
Avery returned, a glass of water and two aspirin in hand. “Here. For the morning you definitely deserve.”
Angel took them obediently, gulping the water. He handed the glass back and then collapsed sideways, his head landing in Dominic’s lap with a soft whump. He curled onto his side, nestling in, his back against Dominic’s stomach. He let out a long, shaky, contented sigh. One hand came up to fist loosely in Dominic’s henley shirt. “Stay for a minute?”
Dominic’s hand went automatically to the white curls, smoothing them back from his damp forehead. “Yeah, kid. I’ll stay for a minute.”
Avery leaned in the doorway, watching them. She smiled, a private, soft thing. “Good night, my glitter bomb. Love you.”
“Love you, Mommy,” Angel mumbled, already half-gone.
She blew a kiss, then turned, shooing Alex ahead of her. “C’mon, you. Let the menfolk have their moment.” The door clicked shut, leaving them in the soft, colored light.
Dominic sat in the quiet, his heart a full, aching thing in his chest. The adrenaline of the wait, the relief of his safe, ridiculous return, the sheer overwhelming love for this fragile, complicated, sparkly human being in his lap—it all crested and then settled into a deep, peaceful calm. He traced idle patterns on Angel’s shoulder through the thin cotton.
“Daddy?” Angel’s voice was a faint whisper, almost lost in the fabric of his jeans.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Did I do okay?”
The question, so small and vulnerable, undid him completely. He leaned down, pressing his lips to Angel’s temple. “You did perfect. You had fun. You were safe. You came home. That’s all we ever want.”
Angel nodded, a slow, sleepy rub against his leg. “The seltzer was good. Thank you for the sparkly water.” A pause. “My friends liked my outfit. Alex said I looked hot.”
Dominic choked on a laugh. “Alex has a unique perspective. You looked… very you.”
“Mm.” Angel was quiet for so long Dominic thought he’d finally slipped under. Then, in barely a breath: “I didn’t feel anxious. Not once.”
The words hung in the twinkling air. They were the real trophy, the true return on the risk. Not the successful party, but the fleeting freedom from the prison of his own nerves.
“I’m glad, Angel,” Dominic whispered, his throat tight. “I’m so glad.”
But there was no answer. Angel’s breathing had evened out, deep and slow, his body heavy with sleep. His fingers, however, still gently clutched the fabric of Dominic’s shirt, an anchor even in unconsciousness.
Downstairs, the low murmur of voices drifted up. Avery and Alex, debriefing, their laughter a soft, muffared sound.
Dominic didn’t move. He sat anchored by the weight of his sleeping son, in a room that smelled of glitter and vanilla and safety, watching the fairy lights cast tiny, shifting stars on the walls. The wolf in the living room downstairs might have been howling, but up here, there was only the quiet rhythm of breath, and the silent, formidable shield of a father’s vigil, his battle for the night already, and beautifully, won.