Page 89 of Until August
As if he was the boss and could call the shots. “I’m not bargaining with you, Sage. We’ll stay as long as it takes.”
He trudged to the beach and across the sand until we found a quiet spot away from the others enjoying the sunset. We sat facing the ocean with our knees drawn to our chest, looking like exactly what we were—father and son. He might not look like me, but he sure as hell had similar mannerisms.
“I don’t think it’s right to lie to you or to withhold information,” I said, getting right into it. “You have every right to be mad at me. And you deserve to know where I’ve been for the past five years. So I’ll be honest with you.”
“Whatever,” he mumbled, but I could tell he was listening and curious to hear more.
But fuck, this was hard.
I wanted to be honest with him, but it was a lot for a little boy to understand, and I never wanted him to think that any of it was his fault. No point stalling, though, so I ripped off the Band-Aid. “I was in prison. Or jail. Whatever you want to call it.”
There. It was out.
I let out a breath and watched his face, trying to gauge his reaction. He picked up a handful of sand and watched it sift through his fingers while I stayed quiet, giving him time to process the information and formulate questions I knew he’d have. “So why did Mom tell me you left for another job?”
That was a tough one. I didn’t want to call his mother a liar, so I chose my words carefully. “She was trying to protect you.”
He snorted. “That’s dumb.”
Not the reaction I’d expected. “Yeah? What’s so dumb about wanting to protect you?”
He flopped onto his back and tucked his hands under his head like he was just chilling out on the beach and didn’t have a care in the world.
“My best friend’s dad was in prison. And everyone knows it. So it’s not a big deal.”
I shifted so I could see his face better. I knew his best friend was the other boy I saw on that beach that day. “Your friend, Bodhi’s dad, was in prison?” That surprised me because Sage had also informed me that Bodhi’s dad was Travis’ best friend.
“Yep. A long time ago. Before Bodhi was born.” He traced the clouds with his fingertip like he was painting the sky. Kids’ moods were so mercurial. You’d never know that this was the same boy who had cried or kicked and screamed to get away from me. “Last week, Kai got in a big fight at a surfing contest, and he punched a kid.”
Sage’s eyes widened, and he propped himself on his elbows to get his point across. “Like, he punched him right in the face.”
Jesus.
“And anyway.” His back flopped onto the sand again. “He got kicked out of the competition. But he said he didn’t care because that other kid said mean things about his dad. So hehadto punch him.”
I wasn’t sure if this was the time to tell him that fighting had never solved anything. But I let it go because I’d been in so many fights as a kid and didn’t want to be a complete hypocrite. Besides, this wasn’t about his friend. It was about Sage. “So you’re not upset that I was in prison?”
“Nope.” Sage’s eyes closed like he was soaking up the last of the evening sun. Sage was a lot more chilled out than I’d ever been as a kid, that was for damn sure.
I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. Probably Sasha. I’d deal with her later. Right now, I was more worried about Sage.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Only recently, I’d asked Nicola the same thing. I never used to ask that question. I never used to want to talk about anything. But times had changed, and so had I. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Not really,” Sage said.
“Right.” Had he really accepted my answer so readily? “But if you have any questions, you can ask me whatever you want, okay?”
“Okay.”
A few minutes of silence passed, and I was still watching his face. He looked so blissed out that I wanted to ask him his secret. I don’t think I’d ever been that relaxed in my entire life. He could probably feel the weight of my stare because his eyes opened. They were the same shade of blue as a cloudless summer sky.
“I came up with a question.”
“Shoot. Ask me anything.” I thought maybe he’d ask me why I went to prison. Or if I’d missed him while I was there. Or something along those lines. But he gave me something different.
“Can I… I mean, what should I call you?”
Dad. Call me Dad. But I didn’t want to force him if it didn’t feel right. I cleared my throat. “What do you want to call me?”
