Page 76 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“I’m right here, buddy,” I assure him.

“Not you,” his lips quiver. “Notyou,” he cries, face twisted in anguish.

And with that, I crack clear in half. Scooping him into my arms, he cries loudly as I pass Eli, my eyes spilling over as reality sets in. I fucked up. Badly. I’ve scared my son, my boy, my baby. My behavior doing nothing but intimidating him into becoming an overly polite asshole.

“Peyton, I’m right here, buddy. I’m right here,” I whisper hoarsely as he pushes at my chest to free himself of me as I continually break. I’m furious with myself for thinking there was any other way through this than plain old parenting. No shortcuts to fast results will do over patience, guidance, and example. There’s no quick fix, and I was a fucking fool to think otherwise.

“Not you,” he pushes at my chest again and again, adamantly trying to wiggle out of my arms. “Myotherdaddy,” he accuses as his palpable heartbreak sears my chest raw with a hellfire I’ve rarely felt. His cries cracking me wide open as I stalk down the aisle and push through the doors. Stepping outside into the brisk night, I glance toward the parking lot, lifting my finger to Serena and Gracie who sit in wait in the idling SUV.

Stalking out of the way of the passersby, I round the corner of the sidewalk.

“Peyton,” I say, sitting him down to stand on the side of the church, the sight of his tiny wingtips rawing my heart out further as I take a knee in front of him. “Buddy, I’m sorry.”

Peyton’s face twists in anguish as he cries openly in front of all of the church traffic, and I find myself giving no shits who lays witness. I caused this and deserve whatever they hear.

“Daddy’s been bad this week,” I rasp out. “But he just wanted you to understand that all little boys don’t get the things you get. My daddy didn’t do the things I do for you. He wasn’t my best friend, Son. He was really mean to me, and I just want you to know that, so you try to be nice to your mommy and daddy, who try so hard to be nice to you.”

He cries a little longer, his words breaking as he finally speaks.

“So you s-say sorry, then we can be n-nice again to each odder, D-Daddy?” his voice drags with his soul-deep plea. “Please, Sir? If I promise to try really hard to be good every day?”

“Yes, that’s all your Daddy wants. So much. Mommy does too, I swear,” I say before he plasters himself to me, his little chest heaving. Feeling every bit the asshole I am, I try to soothe him with words of comfort, running my hand over his thick hair and down his back. “I’m sorry, buddy. I never wanted to be mean to you. I’m just trying to make you understand and I didn’t do it the right way. Sometimes, daddies aren’t good at their job, and I’ll do better, too. I promise.”

“I hated it when Rudolph stolded our tree,” he airs his grievances in a shaky voice. “I hate it Mommy won’t eat cereal with me. Mommy is so mad. You are so, so mad and distapointed. I don’t want to be in trouble anymore, Daddy. Is that okay?” he sniffs, “Sir?” he whispers pointedly in my ear, which singes me to ashes.

“Peyton,” I croak, holding him tightly, clutching my beautiful boy with my arms along with the whole of my heart. For the babywho stared right back at me just after making his entrance into the world. Seconds from his birth, capturing me utterly. “I’m so sorry for not being nice.”

“It’s okay, Daddy.” He pats my shoulder, consoling me as I realize I’m crying just as hard as he is.

“I want you to listen to me and listen good, okay?”

He nods.

“Yes, you’ve been very naughty, and you’ve done some naughty things, but I love you so much, Peyton O’Neal. More than anything on this earth. And you might not be a good boy all the time, but you’remy boy,and I’m proud of you. Mommy is too. No matter what, okay?”

“I’m proud of you, Daddy ... Sir, oh my dawd,” he laughs, palming his face nervously. A hint of fear in the gesture but a recognition of authority. Healthier fear and recognition than none at all. One that might have him stopping in the parking lot when I order him to do so. With that image forever in my mind, I try not to guilt myself over it. Whatever damage I’ve done with my fucking stunt, I’ll do my best to rectify if need be. Peyton holds me for long seconds, well, longer than the usual three before I speak up.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask him.

“Uh huh,” he whispers, his full focus on me.

“When you ran in the parking lot when Daddy told you not to, I’ve never been so scared in my life, Peyton.” My vision blurs as the images resurface. “That truck almost hurt you,” anguish fills me at the sight of the truck whizzing by a second, two at most, after I snatched him into my arms. A vision I’ve been trying to outrun since it happened. “I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. Daddy would never be okay if anything happened to you. Mommy would never be okay, either.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“I’m glad you are, but please, please don’t ever do that again,” I croak. “Don’t ever run from me like that, okay? You’re my whole world, my whole life. I can’t do this without you, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t ever run in a parking lot again.” He holds out his tiny hand to keep his promise, and I swallow, doing my best to keep my shit together as I take it.

“Thank you.” As we start to walk toward the SUV, I glance down at him and see his chest bounce as I whisper my assurances. “It was just a bad couple of weeks, buddy. Okay? That’s all this was. We’ll have more bad days and bad weeks—that’s just the way it is, but if you want, we can start making it better right now.”

“It’s okay if Rudolph gives my toys away.” He gives me his puppy dog eyes as he rambles on. “I really, really want that Rail Ride, but I duderstand I’ve been bad.”

And there’s my wide-eyed, manipulative boy. I can’t help my grin at his arrival.

“Maybe Rudolph heard you apologize,” I wink.

He nods, his little chest heaving from the strength of his cries. Unable to help myself, I scoop him up, kissing the tear lining his little cheek. “I love you. Big hug.”

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