Page 85 of Never Kiss the Bad Boy

Dad looks to Mom for help, scoffing at my outburst, and she holds her hands out, one toward each of us. “Enough. Sit down. Both of you.” Mom’s using her no-nonsense tone, and we both know what that means—she’s at her limit and we’d best watch it.

Slowly, we sit, Dad and me eyeing each other like this might be a trick one of us is playing on the other. But Mom soothes both of us in the way only she can, like the calm in the eye of the storm of me and Dad.

“Let’s go back to the beginning. Each of you jump in when you have something to say. Politely,” she warns, giving both of us a solid Mom glare of don’t try me today.

I slowly nod, resuming my posture with my hands between my spread knees. Dad reclines back on the couch, letting Mom lead. He probably assumes that if he or I do it, we’ll end up yelling again. He’s right about that.

“After the twins, I wasn’t doing well. My body was a wreck, my hormones were all over the place, I was exhausted, the boys were busy, and Charles was running a multi-billion-dollar company that required his full attention. I didn’t mind, because honestly, I didn’t want him to see me the way I was.” She looks to Dad, whose eyes soften instantly when he sees the pain that going back to that time causes her.

I hate that she’s doing it for me, but I need to know. I need to understand why things are different between me and Dad, and I think this is the only way to do it, so I stay quiet, letting her fall into the memories.

“So we hired Anders, and he truly saved me. But I most definitely did not have an affair with him,” she says, giving me a pointed look, and I shrink, guilt-ridden for even suggesting such a thing. Mom would never do that. It’s not who she is, and if I’d thought about her for a single second, I would’ve known that. “He played ball with the boys, helped with the babies, and let me heal, which I did. It didn’t take long until I was happy again and could re-engage in all the things I loved about the family and life we’d created.” She takes Dad’s hand, squeezing it. “We were done having kids. We didn’t make a formal declaration, but we knew. Until a few weeks after our anniversary.”

She looks at me, and I fill in flatly, “Boom, surprise.”

But Mom smiles. “I was so happy.”

Dad laughs hollowly. “I was terrified.” I look to him, and he explains, “Watching the woman I love go through something like that—and her turning away from me and my support to deal with it in her own way—was one of the scariest things I’ve ever gone through, and I didn’t want her to go through it again.”

“But I didn’t,” Mom rushes to add. “My pregnancy with you was so easy. And when you were born, you were the most flexible baby I’d had. You’d sleep whenever. Eat anything. Go wherever. You were always ready to go, excited by everything. By the time you were a toddler, that had amped up and you were a tornado of activity I was always chasing.” Thankfully, she smiles at the memory because I think that could go the other way—a wild child when she already had her hands full had to be a lot.

“I don’t know where things went wrong for you,” Dad says, taking over and looking truly confused. “I thought we were happy—thought you were happy—and then you started acting out as a teen. We did everything we could, but if we drew a line, you’d pass it. If we made a rule, you’d break it. If we doled out a punishment, you’d fight it. I tried being nice, being hard, being mean, but none of it mattered to you. It was like you’d already checked out and nothing we did could get you to check back in. You didn’t seem to care about anything—family, friends, work… not even yourself.”

His words hit hard, sitting heavy on my heart. “I didn’t. No one cared about me, so why should I care about myself?”

“Kyle, we cared about you! Of course, we did,” Mom says, her eyes filled with pain.

I scrub at my face, years of battling my parents coming back to me. “I know. Deep down, I knew. But I wanted…” I trail off, not sure what I specifically wanted.

“Me,” Dad says with certainty. “I was gone. By the time you were a teen and out of school, I was so caught up in work that I was the one who checked out. Miranda always had a better connection with you, so I let her handle things. I told myself it was easier for everyone and it was better for you, but I shouldn’t have distanced myself. I should’ve forced my way in if necessary.”

“That would’ve made it worse,” I admit, knowing that’s the truth. “I would’ve fought even harder against you.”

We go silent, looking at each other as we all come to the realization that there’s nothing we can do about the past. Mom speaks first, always the peacemaker and chaos coordinator. “What now? How do we fix this?”

“To start, I’m sorry,” I say, meeting both of their eyes in turn. “For my behavior, my assumptions, and for being an ass.”

“Me too,” Dad says. “Kyle, maybe I have been a bad father with you. And for that, I’m sorry.”

“Not me,” Mom adds, smiling a little. “You two are the stubborn peas in a pod who can’t get out of your own way to save yourselves.”

Dad and I chuckle because she’s right.

Except…

“We are not peas in a pod,” I tell Mom. “Pretty sure you’re talking about Cameron, not me. I’m Kyle, remember?” I tease, risking a teeny-tiny smirk.

But Mom laughs. “Are you serious? You two are the most alike. Do you think Charles was always this?” She waves her hand around at him, seeming to indicate his entire being, and I shrug because yeah, I do. She laughs harder at that. “When Charles and I met, he was more of a hellion that you could ever be. He was such a mess that I turned him down when he asked me out.”

Dad jumps in, sounding offended as he proclaims, “Yeah, for like six months!”

Mom grins at him. “How long it took you to grow up is on you, not me. I told you what I wanted and what my dealbreakers were, and it could’ve been six hours, six days, or six weeks. You made it six months and it’s a good thing you didn’t wait any longer.” She tosses her hair sassily, a smirk that matches mine pretty well on her lips.

I’m looking between my parents like they’ve lost it. I’ve heard stories about them dating, of course, and how much in love they were. I’ve seen the pictures of their wedding and flipped through family albums. But Mom turning Dad down? Nope, that’s never come up once.

“Anyway,” Mom says, turning her attention back to me, “the point is, Charles grew up and you have too. But you’re still alike. In personality sometimes, in drive and ambition always, and in stubbornness, all the blessed time.” She shakes her head, feigning exasperation.

Well, I think she’s faking, or at least exaggerating her exasperation with us.

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