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“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 willalwaysbe worth it. And I’ve come to realize…I haven’t put that work inwith you.”

This time he shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket yet keeps his attention locked onto me.

“Ineedto put that work inwith you. Hell, Iwantto, Wyland, but you’re not making it easy for me. No, it’s not your jobtomake it easy; however, I know you’re making itextradifficult, 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 skinexactly like she doesexcept 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 getfrom me.”

Shit.

He really isbothof us, isn’t he?

“My apologies for failing you, Wy,” I full-heartedly claim. “You’re all right. I need to learn how to talkto youandwith youversusat youif 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.”

“Itfeelslike 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 getmeand not whoyouwant me to be.”

“I want you to be whoever you wanna be. I’d just like an opportunity to get to know thatdudeis 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.”

His nod is instant.

Excited.

“Why would you wanna give Kendall one of these?”

“Because it comes fromourfamily,” he gestures with a tip of the chin. “Those are made fromoriginalWilcox barrels. This was you paying homage-”

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