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I nod my understanding, step inside, and head for the dangling hammock seat near the window. However, about halfway there, I stop.

Force myself to face him.

Ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and ask, “What’s in it?”

Wy slams his back against his surfboard headboard in obvious annoyance. “Why?”

“Because I would like to know what you had your uncle get from our company.” I take a single step towards his mattress. “And I’d like to know why you didn’taskme to do it.” A second shaky stride is taken. “Why yourarelyaskmetodoanything for you. Why yourarelytellmewhat’s going on. Or what you need. Or that you have a new friend. Or a girlfriend. Or fucking…anything, Wyland.”

“Why the hell would I?” he chomps back without an ounce of hesitation. “You don’ttalkto me.” The object in his lap gets carelessly thrown to one side, video still playing. “Youtell meit’s this way and that’s that.” One ankle is crossed over the other. “You give zero fucks to how I feel or what I think or even who I wanna be.”

The weight of his words effortlessly buckles my knees.

“Mom? Total brah.” There’s no denying the joy in his gaze. “She listens. She tells me shit she did when she was my age. Or…a little older. Mistakes she’s made.Still makescause she’s not perfect.” A slight shrug is presented. “She talks to me about what might happen in a sitch. What mightnothappen on the flip side. Lets me wipeout and then instead of an ‘I told you so’ lecture, she just…encourages me to pick up my board. Be less hardheaded. Think about things. And ultimately go again.”

It's impossible to stop my shoulders from sagging.

That’s her.

Supportive.

Inspiring.

Forgiving.

“And my uncs?Duuuudeeeeesss.” Another wave of adoration conquers his freckled complexion. “Always pushin’ me to follow my own waves. Carve out my own name. Bemewhoever me is whenever that’s who I feel like I am. They’re always tellin’ me it’s gnarlz if I’m into death metal or only wanna wear hot pink boardies or enjoy v-cheese or tof’ on pizza. They always remind me what I like and who I like can change and that change is…okay.”

“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 hefeelsthat 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 aska lottaquestions. Liketoo many questions. But then it’s likeyoooooyou 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…hearme…likejust meinstead 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…hestilldoes 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. Thatgoodcan 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? Shelovesto 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 thehardestfucking 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.”

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