Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” I sigh. “We had been divorced for a few years, but he was still one of my best friends. Chris was a great dad, and I hate the boys won’t—”
“Where is my backpack?” Dylan’s voice and footsteps on the stairs interrupt me. “I knew it would get lost when you told Carter he could use it. Now I can’t find it, and I know you . . .”
My blond-headed child skids to a stop when his gaze settles on Jay.
“What were you saying?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Who is that?” Dylan asks, motioning toward Jay with his head. His features make it clear he’s not happy to see a man in the house.
“I’m Jay. I live next door.”
Dylan turns his attention to him. “Why are you here?”
“I was fixing your deck, and your mother invited me in for a cup of coffee.”
“You don’t have coffee at your house?” Dylan asks.
“Dylan!” I hiss.
He glares at Jay. Jay looks unbothered. He lifts his mug and slowly sips, never taking his eyes off my son.
“Have you unpacked your drill?” Jay asks, setting his drink on the counter.
My heart pounds as I watch them go back and forth.
“What?” Dylan asks, his facade cracking.
“Every post out back needs a couple of screws put in them,” Jay says. “I didn’t look at the front, but I’d imagine it’s about the same. You’re gonna want to get on that before someone gets hurt.”
Dylan pulls his brows together. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand? You came in here and talked to me like a grown man, so I’m reciprocating. There are a lot of grown-man things that need to be done around here. Let me know if you need to borrow any of my tools.” Jay places his cup in the sink. “Thanks for the coffee, Gabrielle.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say, scrambling to understand what just happened. “Thanks, Jay.”
He winks at me before slipping out the back door.
As soon as it shuts, Dylan sparks into motion. “Why the heck was he in here?” he asks, pointing at where Jay stood.
“Dylan, I know you’re going through a lot right now, but—”
“You can’t just have men in here. You don’t even know him.”
I blink slowly. “Young man, I’ll have whoever I want in my house.”
His chest rises and falls as if he’s struggling to keep himself in check.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that I’m the adult, the parent, and it’s my responsibility to stay calm and help my child handle himself.
Lord, help me.
“Do you want to talk about anything?” I ask.
He shakes his head like he’s disgusted by the question.
“Do you want to talk to someone else—”
“Don’t start with the whole therapist thing again,” he says.
“I’m just giving you the option.”
“I don’t want it.”
“That’s okay. But you need to figure out how to handle your emotions, because you’re being a jerk to me, and now to our neighbor, and that’s not okay, Dylan.”
He narrows his eyes.
“I love you, buddy. I’m here. I’ll always be here—on your team,” I say gently. “But please remember that I’m a person and I have feelings too. And the way you’ve been talking to me hurts. I don’t want to punish you and make your life harder, but I can’t let you think that your behavior is okay.”
I brace myself for the incoming onslaught of words, of defiance, that’s been the norm lately. Instead, he looks away and swallows heavily.
My head begins to pound. I pinch my temples as fatigue begins to settle in my bones. I am so tired of this, but I don’t know what to do.
“Look, maybe I’ve let you get away with too much lately,” I say. “Maybe some of this is my fault. Maybe—”
He throws himself at me, pulling me in for the tightest hug. He buries his face in my shoulder and squeezes me.
I hold the back of his head with one hand and hug him with the other. All the while, my heart breaks.
Oh, my sweet boy.
Tears spring to my eyes as he clutches me for dear life—like maybe he needs this as much as I do. I don’t dare speak. I don’t tell him how his pain is mine and I feel it in the depth of my soul. I only hold him, swaying gently back and forth, and comfort my child. Loving on him in the only way he’ll accept right now.
Holding him like this reminds me that he’s still a baby, no matter what’s coming out of his mouth. My baby. And he may be down a father, but I’m still here.
“I love you,” he says into my robe. Then he pulls back.
His eyes are glassy as he wipes his hands down his face.
“I love you,” I say. “More than you’ll ever know.”
Shades of fear and hope mix in his light-brown eyes. Hold on to hope, baby boy. We’ll get there.