Page 77 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“Big hug,” he parrots, squeezing me tight as I release a few relieved tears of my own, knowing I’ll never be able to erase or outrun the image of my baby nearly losing his life. Seconds, mere seconds. When he pulls away and shoots me my own smile—my little replica—I melt, deciding if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make his Christmas special. He’s been put through the wringer and is starting to deserve it.

Fuck it, he’s mine to spoiland discipline.

That’s the job. Loving him is the easy part. Parenting is the rest.

“Let’s go home and hurry to put some carrots out, okay?”

“Yes!” Peyton shouts. “We have to hurry, Daddy!”

“Let’s go.”

After I get him buckled in and take the wheel, I glance over to Serena, who sees my reddened eyes, splotched face, and tense. “Oh my God, baby. What is it?”

I open my mouth to speak when my little mouth piece explains for me.

“I runned in the parking lot and almost got hit, Mommy. Daddy cried and asked me never to do that again.”

Serena grips my hand tightly in hers as I wordlessly beg her to forgive me. I told her about the scare, but I hadn’t told her how much it fucked me up. But I allow her to see it now and let her fully in. The way I always have. In her return gaze, I see nothing but trust, understanding, and the love and strength I’ve come to rely on for half my life.

“Let’s go home.”

“Yes, all buckled, Daddy Sir. We have to get the carrots and hurry!” Peyton rings out as Serena’s eyes widen, and she mouths a “wow.”

I nod, leaning over to take her lips in a brief kiss. “I love you, Brat.”

“Love you too, Handy Man,” she whispers as we both wait for the comment that doesn’t come and instead freeze when something else entirely does.

“Merry Christmas,” Gracie whispers, and I glance back in the rearview to find her expression sheepish but sincere.

“Merry Christmas,” Serena and I parrot, my wife’s smile hidden from Gracie so as not to make her amusement too obvious. But it’s because I know my wife felt it, as I have—the slight shift in our family dynamic. Small or big as it might be, it’s perceptible enough to have a little pride running through me. We’re nowhere near perfect, but we’re not where we were a week ago, and that’s enough. Plenty.

“Merry Christmas,” Peyton rings out last as I take in the sight of all three of them before putting the SUV into gear and pulling out of the church parking lot. Clicking on The Wiggles as we hit the mile mark, my son’s joy is worth the torture, a balm to my stinging heart.

Not long after, with carrots on the fireplace, Serena and I usher Gracie onto the couch in the living room. I toss a few logs on the fire as Serena sits next to our daughter, whose eyes are darting between us as if she’s waiting for her verdict.

“You’re grounded for three months,” I state before turning around. “There won’t be a single exception for any reason. You’ll go to school, come home, do your homework, and your chores. You’ll be limited to internet and other things, but you won’t be goinganywhere.”

“No worries there, I don’t think I’ll ever be invited anywhere again,” she says, her lips wobbling as she turns to Serena. “I’m sorry.” She looks up at me. “I’m sorry, Dad. I know you don’t believe me, but I really am. I just didn’t want to be the only one without a basket. It’s so stupid. And now, God, I’m so embarrassed. The way they looked at me after I got caught. I don’t even want to go back to school,” she palms her face and cries for a few seconds. We both stand by to let her process it before she pulls her hands away. “Daddy, I know this is the one thing that you can’t forgive me for—”

“Not true. I come down on you hard and talk to you about theft often for good reason, Gracie.”

“You hate thieves,” she states. “You said it a million times that there’s nothing you hate more than a thief—than someone who takes what others work for.”

“It’s the truth, but there’s very little I won’t forgive you for,” I tell her honestly. “We all make mistakes and screw up, but your mother and my main concern right now is who you’ll become if you continue to think you’re owed everything. No one, not evenyour parents, owes you anything. But our love is free. There’s a reason I hate thieves, Gracie, and I think it’s time I tell you about the day I met your grandpa.”

She looks up at me as my chest starts to burn. “It was one of the scariest days of my life, the worst and the best.” I kneel down in front of her to make sure she doesn’t miss a word. “You haven’t asked too much over the years, but there’s a reason you’ve never met my parents or my brother and never will. But you’re old enough now to know the truth, and your mother and I think you need to.” Serena stares at me, concern marring her features. Gracie does the same, her expression more of curiosity as I kick open a door I’ve long since shut.

Zipping my last suitcase, I glance out of my bedroom window to see the darkened shed. I haven’t been out there once in the last four days. I haven’t stalked it to see if he’s been there. Been waiting, allowing my anger and hurt to overrule the urge. To protect me from suffering any more humiliation. I went out on a limb and actually fought for the time I stole with Thatch. Too much already to continue to respect myself if I do anything more without reciprocation. No matter how good it felt.

After carrying my bag down the stairs and placing it next to my luggage, the dread for the trip sets in—along with the knowledge that I’ll be back at school tomorrow. Trepidation seeping in, briefly, I allow the ache to outweigh the anger, and it’s then my feet move of their own accord. Within minutes, I’m stepping inside the shed.

Heartache seeps into every pore as I glance around the lifeless space. Sections of the darkened room being replaced by flickering amber light-laced memories. Some of the best of mylife. A few of us talking while measuring our hand against the others. Others of him hovering above me, wordless but in the midst of discovery.

The first night seeps in, that memory hitting the hardest. Where Thatch stood at the workbench and glanced back at me, and the words he spoke.

“Looking for something?”

I had. I’d been searching for some time for a connection like ours—even if it had turned out to be one-sided. What I felt with Thatch was unmatched. Even if it wasn’t strong enough to hold him. He’s never made a tenth of my effort, and despite his lash-out, it’s the true reason I made peace with letting him go.

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