“Oh.” I chew the inside of my cheek, not sure how I feel about her being here in the house that has started to feel like a second home to me.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, baby, but I don’t want Max hanging out in a hotel room every day after school for however long she’s here for.”

“I get it.” And I do get it logically. It’s the illogic part of my brain, the part that contains irrational emotions like jealousy, that doesn’t like it much at all.

“It won’t be for very long.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” I ask, only half joking.

“Probably both of us,” he admits.

I smile and lean up on my tiptoes, touching my mouth to his. “Like you always say, it will be okay.”

“Yeah.” He squeezes my hip. “How much work do you have to do tonight?”

“Not much, I just have a few tests to grade, and they shouldn’t take me more than an hour.”

“I’ll finish up dinner while you get started on them,” he says, and I start to laugh. “What’s funny?”

“Dinner’s done—well, mostly anyway. The meatloaf has to finish cooking, and I need to mix up some ketchup and Worcestershire sauce to go on it before it comes out. But besides that, we should be able to eat in about fifteen minutes.”

He raises a brow. “How long was I outside?”

“Not long.”

“Long enough for you to make an entire meal.”

“Max mixed the meatloaf. I just put it in a pan and placed it in the oven. The corn was already clean, and the potatoes just had to be steamed in the microwave. I didn’t perform a miracle.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says quietly, dipping his face closer to mine. “You’re giving us normal. You’re giving us exactly what you said you grew up seeing.”

“It’s just dinner, Gareth,” I say, feeling a little off balance by his words and tone.

“Baby, you could have gotten pissed about Beth being here, but you didn’t. You came in and started dinner, gave Max something to do when he sought you out, and sat on the couch with your Kindle like it was just another night. You don’t even realize that the roots you’ve planted have become something to cling to in a storm, a safe place to go to when the winds start to pick up.”

“I—”

“You can add that to the list of reasons I love you,” he says, and tears burn the back of my throat.

“Please don’t make me cry,” I croak.

“I never want that. I just want you to understand what you mean to the boys and me.”

I nod and close my eyes while resting my forehead against his chest. When his arms wrap around me, I wonder if he’s right—if maybe, just maybe, I’m stronger than I think I am.

Thirteen

Gareth

THE MOMENT I pull up in front of my mom’s house, Mitchell walks out carrying his gym bag over his shoulder, and Mom pokes her head out but doesn’t move past the doorway like she normally would. She’s pissed Beth’s in town spending time with Max, she doesn’t think I should allow her time alone with him, and even though I don’t like it much either, I know it’s something Max needs and wants. So I have to put my personal feelings aside for my boy’s happiness.

“Can we talk about me getting my driving permit?” Mitchell asks, opening the back door and tossing his bag in the back before slamming it and getting in the front. “It’s getting really annoying having to wait on other people to drive me around.”

“You can’t drive alone with a learner’s permit, bud,” I tell him as he buckles up.

“I know, but if I get my permit now, when I turn sixteen, I’ll be able to drive without anyone with me. And just think—you won’t have to worry about getting me and Max to school, ‘cause I can drive us there and home.”

“Jesus, weren’t you just turning ten?” I ask, pulling out onto Main.

“Dad, please don’t start reminiscing,” he groans, making me smile. “I want my license, not a walk down memory lane.”

“If you put in the time, I’ll take you down to take the test.”

“Yesss!” He shoots his fist into the air.

“That said—”

“Oh, man,” he cuts me off. “Can’t we just forget whatever you’re going to say?”

“Not unless you got some money saved for wheels that I don’t know about.”

“Please continue,” he murmurs, making me chuckle.

“As I was saying, if you get a job this summer and save what you earn for a car, I’ll match you dollar for dollar.”

“Seriously? Even if I make four thousand dollars?”

“Even if you make four thousand dollars,” I agree.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anything for you, bud.” I glance at him as I turn onto our street.

“December is still going to be here for dinner, right?” he asks, and I see his eyes on his mom’s rental car parked where December normally does.

“She should be here soon,” I confirm, shutting down the engine. “I called to let her know I was on my way to pick you up when I got finished at the shop, and she said she’d be here after she stopped to get dinner.”

“What are we having?”

“No fucking clue,” I say, and he grins at me before he gets out.

After beeping the locks and rounding the hood, I expect to find him inside but notice instead he’s stopped at the top of the porch. I start to ask him what’s up then curse under my breath when I hear the sound of Max’s favorite video game being played way too fucking loudly. With a deep breath, I push into the house and shout over the firing gun on the TV. “Turn that shit down.”

Max looks at me then quickly fumbles to find the remote under the bags of junk food spread out before him, and as soon as he lays his hands on it, he shuts off the game.

Beth, who is lying on the couch, lifts her head and smiles asking. “How was work?” before she looks to where Mitchell is disappearing down the hall toward his room.

I ignore her and focus on Max. “I’m guessing, since you’re playing video games, that your homework is done.”

“Mom said—”

“Is your homework finished?” I repeat, cutting him off, and he looks to his mom and swallows before he shakes his head. “You know the rules. No video games during the school week unless your homework is done.”

“I told him it was okay,” Beth says, and I cut my eyes to her. “It’s not a big deal, Gareth.”

“You’re wrong, Beth. It’s after six, which means when he should be relaxing before going to bed tonight, he’s going to be up doing the homework he should have gotten done when he came home from school.”

“I told him it was okay, so if you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me,” she argues, standing from the couch, and I fight the urge to roar or pick something up and toss it across the room.

Fuck me, she will never change. This is what she does best, makes it seem like I’m the asshole and she’s the good guy before she disappears, leaving me to deal with the aftermath.