Page 6 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“It’s time to admit what no parent wants to admit,” I cross my arms.

“What?”

I shoot her a pointed look, and she reads it effortlessly and nods. At least we’ve still got silent communication.

“We’ve failed, haven’t we? We’re failing,” she sighs, a thin tear trailing down her cheek. I stalk over and whisk it away with my thumb before firmly shaking my head.

“I don’t think you fail at parenting,” I tell her honestly. “Not if you try every day. Not if you give it all you have, and Serena, we have. We do, every day we try so hard, so hard that it’sall wedo. No life other than that, and that’s no life for us at all. I know parenting means sacrifice, but enough is enough.”

I pull her shaking hand from her lap and press a kiss to it before noticing the bite mark on her arm. I lift my eyes in question.

“Peyton bit me when I asked him to pick up his toys earlier. Just walked over and bit me like a dog. And hard, like he wanted to hurt me, Thatch.”

“Jesus Christ,” I stare at the dents in my wife’s arm as the resignation becomes a stronghold. “It’s time to admit what no parent is supposed to think or admit out loud.”

“No, Thatch,” she tries to pull her hand away, “we can’t.”

“The fuck we can’t. And once we do, what I want to do about it is going to make you just as uncomfortable, but first things first. Wehave to say it. We’ve voiced it before, and for the most part, we were joking, but it’s not fucking funny anymore, is it?”

A pregnant pause before she shakes her head.

“Say it,” I order as her eyes spill over. The sight of her tears solidifying every threat I made upstairs to the tiny terrorists torturing my wife.

“Our kids are assholes,” she releases on a breath.

“Yeah, baby, they are. Total assholes, and we’re not fucking going out like this.”

Thatch kneels in front of me as exhaustion keeps me weighted to the bed. I can feel the sticky suds drying on my skin but can’t summon an ounce of energy to remedy it.

“All I looked forward to today was my bath,” I admit. “Because it meant the war was over. It meant fighting to get the kids herded into the SUV and home without six demanded stops was over. Battling and begging them to tidy their rooms and for Gracie to do her homework was finished. Keeping them tame enough for me to make their dinner was the very last feat. The entire day, I daydreamed about the fizz of the bath bomb and the heat of the water. Of twenty or even ten minutes of uninterrupted time alone. I would have settled for five. But as it seems, not in this life.” I shake my head.

“I fucking hate this,” he whispers.

“Did we spoil them that much?” I ask.

“No, I hate this defeated look,” he murmurs, staring up at me. “Decades together, and I’ve never seen you back down from afight. Not this easily. I hate it, and I can’t believe I’m saying it,” he shoots me a boyish grin, “but I want my fighter back.”

Thatch grabs my hand, drawing my ring finger up and pressing a kiss to it. A ring he got for me three Christmases ago—when we were at our worst. That year, we couldn’t get along to save our lives. It was what I like to call the resentment year. We were bitter and stressed. Since then, we’ve been far more vocal and honest, and it’s greatly improved our relationship. But now, and daily, it’s as if we’re just trying to survive being parents.

Sex is scarce lately—the intimacy has all but vanished, and as he gazes up at me, I wonder what he sees. My vision blurs with memories of just the two of us over the years. Staring down at my gorgeous husband, I take notes of my biggest draws to him—his thick blond, bordering curly, strawberry-kissed hair and gorgeous green eyes. The fine lines surrounding them only making him more appealing. He’s aged beautifully, and he’s sexier than ever.

Jesus, when is the last time I really looked at my husband? Truly saw Thatch past the haze of our chaotic lives? I can’t remember. Staring at him now, I decide he’s still the most beautiful guy I’ve ever laid eyes on. Before I met him, I never thought a redhead would be my type, but the second we locked eyes, I had one. Even with the laundry list of unattractive shit he does daily, getting lost in his deep jade stare still does things to me. Attraction I thought I’d lost years ago, but remains, coming and going with the marriage tide. But as Thatch stares up at me earnestly, for the first time in far too long, he captures my attention fully.

“This is not what we signed up for,” he whispers softly.

“I don’t think anyone signs up for this, at least this version of it.Didwe spoil them, Thatch?”

“Yes,” he answers instantly. “But we’ve been in this shit situation foryearsnow. Since the business took off and westarted bringing real money in.” Oddly enough, it was my ring that started it. Thatch took a side job to cover the cost after cooking our books that month to surprise me. That venture had him taking on more independent jobs for extra cash. When the housing spike only increased—both in and surrounding Nashville—the demand had Thatch breaking completely free of being a middleman. Since, he’s become one of the most wanted contractors in Tennessee. While it was a terrifying gamble at first, within months, he started bringing in stupid money. So, naturally, we wanted to give the kids everything their hearts desired—Thatch especially.

“We got caught up in the excitement of having the money,” he voices, “and gave them everything they asked for. Now, they expect everything.Nothingis special, earned, or deserved because they get everything on a whim. And Jesus, Gracie is one more flippant comment away from a narcissist,” he relays gravely. “She’s self-centered, ungrateful, disrespectful, rude, demanding, and manipulative. She’s on the verge of thirteen, baby. We have to stop this,now.”

“She is so manipulative,” I agree, “and she’s not even nice about it.”

“As much as I loathe using them as examples, I knew better than to bite my mother. I knew if I pulled anything like that, an ass-whooping was coming. Hell, if I so much as spoke to her crossly.”

“Me too, but they’ve changed the rules,” Serena whispers. “No ass-whoopings.”

“I get it, but how in the fuck do you reason with kids who give no shits?”

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