She whips her face toward her father, her eyes going big and doe-like. “It’s not a fib, Daddy. You wanted ice cream too!”
“Busted!” Gunner hollers.
Since I’ve been getting closer with my siblings lately, any time I have had the chance to take them out unsupervised, we usually end up at Hudson’s. It’s not only because his place is way safer than mine, but because it’s nice to have someone there to help me keep all the rug rats in line.
Hudson clambers into the booth behind ours and proceeds to bring Gunn into a headlock, going on about what a “smartass little turd” he is. I can’t argue with the assessment, so I turn back to Joey, who’s currently staring at Graham with curious eyes.
“Hi, Graham,” she says shyly, a hint of childlike adoration in her sweet voice.
He nods at her, and I notice again how alike we are in our movements. That’smynod, down to the way his chin is tipped low and the way his eyes barely flutter up to catch a glimpse of who he’s nodding at then immediately focus on whatever is in front of him. He’s the spitting fucking image of me, and I can’t believe I never noticed it before.
Just then Gia and Gillian come out of the bathroom. Joey squeals and runs over to the older girls, excited to see her friends. Unlike most fourteen-year-olds, Gia is attentive to anything and everything Joe has to say. Her patience is inspiring.
Taking in the scene around me—Gunner locked in a car conversation with an equally animated Hudson, Gia and Gillian showing off their nails with a pumped up Joey, and Graham sitting quietly in the middle of all the action with the smallest smirk on his face—I realize then how much I’ve missed out on by giving up my family, what exactly it was I walked away from, the small moments I could have had but didn’t get—all because I was stupid and selfish, because I didn’t have the graceful patience and understanding my little sister holds, or the youthful wonder Gunner has, or even the inner peace Graham finds in moments like this. Hell, even Gillian’s ability to not be a snotty teenager is moving.
It’s astounding.
And I’m a fucking asshat for throwing it all away.
I slump in my chair with the heavy weight of blame, sadness, and hurt. A hefty hand lands on my shoulder. I turn toward the owner, finding Hudson. He gives me a meaningful glance, quietly telling me to not beat myself up and enjoy the moment.
Glancing around again, I decide that’s the best idea right now. I can’t continue to let this moment pass me by. Instead, I need to immerse myself in it.
“What are you guys doing out tonight?” It’s a blanket question, because what he really means isHow in the hell did you get Mercy to let you have the kids tonight?
“School program,” I answer.
“No shit?” His eyes flash to an inattentive Joey and a relieved look passes over his face when she doesn’t hear him.
“Yep. First time for me.”
“How’s it going?”
I contemplate telling him what happened with Graham. Maybe he can offer some insight? Give me some advice on how to deal with it? But I know if I was in Graham’s position—and I have been before—I wouldn’t want anyone else knowing what happened. Not that anxiety attacks are something to be embarrassed about, but it’s also not something you want broadcasted all over.
Instead, I give a noncommittal shrug. “It’s good so far.”
“Any troubles?”
“Nah. Everything’s fine. Hopefully that’ll show when I drop them back at Mercy’s. I could really do with spending more time with them. I need it. They need it.”
“You have no idea how far something like an ice cream treat can go with a kid. You were smart to bring them here.”
“It’s not a bribe,” I’m quick to say.
“Not saying it is, man, just that it’s a happy memory. A good one. Something they’ll connect you to, ya know? Kids need that, especially these kids after they’ve lost everyone they love.” Hudson twists his face. “Shit. That sounded bad. I didn’t mean you, I just meant…”
I wave a hand, letting him off the hook, even though it’s true. “It’s cool. I understand what you’re getting at.”
“Do they ever…”
“Ask about them?” An unexpected lump forms in my throat as I think of all the times I’ve overheard them asking Mercy about our parents, the few times they’ve even approached me. It hurts. Eight years later and it still fucking hurts. “Yeah, sometimes. Less often now, but yeah.”
“Damn,” he says with a whistle.
Damn is right. If I wasn’t such a hardheaded jackass, I could have had longer with our parents. I could have opened myself up to them. I could have been a better son. I could have—
Hudson rests his hand on my shoulder again, giving it a gentle squeeze, bringing me back to where I need to be.
