Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“It is okay,” slips out in a whisper.
I’m glad Calen and J.T. provide him with that reassurance.
That foundation.
I hate that I don’t.
That he feels that I don’t.
Or can’t.
Or won’t.
“Hell, even Gami and Gramps listen to me about shit. They don’t bark orders. They ask questions. Sometimes they ask a lotta questions. Like too many questions. But then it’s like yooooo you asked so many because you were listening and tryin’ to figure me out while I’m figuring it out too!” Love continues to swirl around his stare. “They…hear me…like just me instead of me as like a part of the family me…and that tells me that I matter alone as much as I do with everyone else.”
“Gramps did the same for me when I was your age,” I quietly confess at the same time I collapse onto the very end of his bed. “To be honest…he still does that for me.” Both hands lifelessly fall into my lap. “And J.T. to this day – in both my personal and business endeavors – promises me change isn’t necessarily bad. That good can come from it. Which is absolutely correct considering how much he’s helped the company grow in our established markets and expand into territories I was second guessing.” Our eyes become completely locked. “And your mom? She loves to give me an ‘I told you so’ lecture.” The corner of my lip kicks up spurring his to do the same. “However, she is always right there to offer me a hand back up. Cheer me on. Celebrate my successes. Comfort me in my failures.” This time my mouth trembles in trepidation. “And I have no greater failure than the one I’m hearing now.” Tears threaten to come to my eyes. “I’ve failed at being your father.”
“Dad…”
“To you I’m a dictator, not your dad.”
“That’s…that’s not…totez true.”
One eyebrow thoughtlessly arches itself.
“Alright.” He shrugs in conceit. “It is.”
Rather than recoil away from honesty, I jump right into the center of it, with no cape, no grappling hook, and no utility belt for assistance. “You know being your dad is the hardest fucking job I’ve ever had. And the only other thing I’ve failed this hard at – and this frequently – was winning your mom over.”
Wyland’s eyebrows immediately dart down. “She married you.”
“Yes.” My ass adjusts itself on the ocean blue sheets. “But she didn’t make it easy.” Fondness from our early years can’t be kept at bay. “She made me work for what we have…Every. Step. Of. The. Way.”
An intrigued hum slips free.
“And it was worth it. And putting work in for those you love will always be worth it. And I’ve come to realize…I haven’t put that work in with you.”
This time he shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket yet keeps his attention locked onto me.
“I need to put that work in with you. Hell, I want to, Wyland, but you’re not making it easy for me. No, it’s not your job to make it easy; however, I know you’re making it extra difficult, and I know that because you are your mother’s child.”
He struggles not to grin.
“You have been adamant about fighting me from the minute I held you in my arms in the wrong blanket.”
Small chuckles are thankfully given.
“You get enjoyment out of getting under my skin exactly like she does except she allows for compromise and solutions at the end of it, yet you condemn and shun me whenever things aren’t quite in your favor.” Another realization leads to me sighing, “Which is what you get from me.”
Shit.
He really is both of us, isn’t he?
“My apologies for failing you, Wy,” I full-heartedly claim. “You’re all right. I need to learn how to talk to you and with you versus at you if we’re going to have any kind of relationship that doesn’t end when you turn eighteen.”
“Come on, Dad,” my son casually interjects, on a small lean forward. “You know that’s not gonna happen.”
“Do I?” The head tilt he’s presented is completely serious. “You tell me you hate me at least every other week.”
“Yeah, but I don’t mean it.”
“It feels like you mean it, Fins.”
To my surprise, he lets a crooked grin grow. “I like when you call me Fins.”
My eyebrows launch into the air on their own accord.
“Makes me feel like you get me and not who you want me to be.”
“I want you to be whoever you wanna be. I’d just like an opportunity to get to know that dude is all.”
Light chortles flood the air. “You hate that word.”
“So. Much.”
Laughter leaves us both aiding in the destruction of the wall that’s been too high between us for too long.
Once it dies down, I offer him the bag I’m still holding. “Will you tell me what’s in it?”
“Look for yourself,” is warmly commanded.
Reaching into the bag allows me to retrieve a small black WE box whose contents I’m quite familiar with considering I designed it. Curiosity regarding if that’s actually what’s inside leads me to removing the lid and revealing the tiny whiskey barrel keychain. My gaze immediately gravitates back to his. “One of our limited-edition, anniversary products.”