Page 7 of Alfie: Part Two

“Alfie, may I have West’s phone number?” Shan asked. “I have an idea.”

Before I could answer, we heard a groan from the doorway, and it was Kellan coming out, clutching his stomach.

It was the first time in fucking ages I’d seen him in casual clothes. Gone were the classy pants and suspenders. He was wearingsweatpants.

“What the fuck are you wearing, mate?” I hollered.

“Don’t talk to me,” he snapped. “My shame is already colossal.”

Finn and I laughed.

CHAPTER 14

West Scott

Get through the day, get through the day.

It was a day to celebrate. I’d officially started my annual five-week vacation. And yet, I left work with a sense of impending doom, and I knew why. How was I going to entertain myself for over a goddamn month when I couldn’t stand the current state of my mind?

Thank fuck, I had the children this week. I was going to tire them out with my incessant fear of being alone. But then what? Alfie took over on Friday, and Trip started second grade on Monday.

We had long since decided to give Ellie an extra year because, frankly, she wasn’t ready for school. We’d enrolled her in a private program that would prepare her for first grade but still allow her to be a full-time kid. The program focused on creativity and spending a lot of time outside, all while she’d get used to having some minor homework from playtime that incorporated simple math and reading.

Besides, Trip had started first grade at seven too. Alfie and I had both started at six, and we felt it was early.

How long was that? I checked my watch. Approximately eleven minutes without wallowing in despair. That might be a record. Now, if only the fucking traffic could ease up…

I rolled down the window and took a sip of my coffee. At least the last heatwave had ended. We weren’t expecting another one until next week. For now, we could enjoy milder temperatures of roughly eighty degrees and less humidity.

Fall was my favorite. When temperatures dropped below sixty, the trees burned in oranges, reds, and yellows, and the children looked forward to Halloween. When it made sense to light a fire in the living room. When it got darker.

Because you’ve truly coped well with darkness lately.

I grimaced and wished I could mute my own thoughts.

I needed a new hobby. I’d played way too much golf lately, at least four or five times a week if I didn’t have Trip and Ellie. Unfortunately, golf wasn’t a sport that swept you away on mental adventures. Instead, it offered me extra time to overthink my life and go back and forth between various regrets I had.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a good night’s sleep.

It was possible I’d lost some weight in the last couple of weeks as well. A snarling stomach had reminded me that I’d forgotten lunch more than a few times. I’d buried myself in work and helping Colby get settled in.

He might think I was overbearing at this point. I was going completely overboard with his new living arrangements. I’d had a new TV delivered, I’d bought him a PlayStation, I’d had the place repainted last weekend when he was with Alfie, and I’d installed a direct line of communication between the guest studio and the kitchen in the house.

He could obviously come and go as he pleased, but I worried he might feel lonely. Either those concerns were valid, or I was projecting. Regardless, we’d agreed that he would at least come into the house for dinner every night, unless he was messing up his life with mobster affairs.

Alfie didn’t exactly work regular hours. He picked up Colby every morning after I’d already left for work, though that would change soon. Colby was in the process of getting his driver’s license.

I’d once hoped having Colby staying with me would grant me more moments with Alfie, but the opposite had happened, and it was slowly killing me.

It wouldn’t shock me if I lost my shit tonight when Alfie joined us for dinner. The children had asked, and that was one of those instances we couldn’t say no.

I only did that, flat out, with my parents.

The fucking nerve on those two.

At this point, I wasn’t sure our ongoing conflict was temporary anymore. I’d reluctantly agreed to lunch the other week, last time I’d had the children, and it’d started out okay. Then they’d apparently “heard through the grapevine” that a “troubled teenager” was moving in to my house, which could only mean one thing. They’d found out about Colby moving in from one of my nosy neighbors, and the troubled part came from digging. My father had poked around and used old contacts with the FBI to map out Colby’s entire life.

It was a good thing the kid hadn’t been present at that lunch when Dad produced his list of arguments about why I shouldn’t let Colby stay with me. I would’ve gone postal. Colby may be rough around the edges, but I could tell he was worried about overstepping and saying or doing the wrong thing. Being subjected to my parents’ judgment would’ve hurt him. I was certain.

---