Until December (Until Her/Him #8)(56)

“Can we talk about me getting my driving permit?” Mitchell asks, opening the back door and tossing his bag in the back before slamming it and getting in the front. “It’s getting really annoying having to wait on other people to drive me around.”

“You can’t drive alone with a learner’s permit, bud,” I tell him as he buckles up.

“I know, but if I get my permit now, when I turn sixteen, I’ll be able to drive without anyone with me. And just think—you won’t have to worry about getting me and Max to school, ‘cause I can drive us there and home.”

“Jesus, weren’t you just turning ten?” I ask, pulling out onto Main.

“Dad, please don’t start reminiscing,” he groans, making me smile. “I want my license, not a walk down memory lane.”

“If you put in the time, I’ll take you down to take the test.”

“Yesss!” He shoots his fist into the air.

“That said—”

“Oh, man,” he cuts me off. “Can’t we just forget whatever you’re going to say?”

“Not unless you got some money saved for wheels that I don’t know about.”

“Please continue,” he murmurs, making me chuckle.

“As I was saying, if you get a job this summer and save what you earn for a car, I’ll match you dollar for dollar.”

“Seriously? Even if I make four thousand dollars?”

“Even if you make four thousand dollars,” I agree.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anything for you, bud.” I glance at him as I turn onto our street.

“December is still going to be here for dinner, right?” he asks, and I see his eyes on his mom’s rental car parked where December normally does.

“She should be here soon,” I confirm, shutting down the engine. “I called to let her know I was on my way to pick you up when I got finished at the shop, and she said she’d be here after she stopped to get dinner.”

“What are we having?”

“No fucking clue,” I say, and he grins at me before he gets out.

After beeping the locks and rounding the hood, I expect to find him inside but notice instead he’s stopped at the top of the porch. I start to ask him what’s up then curse under my breath when I hear the sound of Max’s favorite video game being played way too fucking loudly. With a deep breath, I push into the house and shout over the firing gun on the TV. “Turn that shit down.”

Max looks at me then quickly fumbles to find the remote under the bags of junk food spread out before him, and as soon as he lays his hands on it, he shuts off the game.

Beth, who is lying on the couch, lifts her head and smiles asking. “How was work?” before she looks to where Mitchell is disappearing down the hall toward his room.

I ignore her and focus on Max. “I’m guessing, since you’re playing video games, that your homework is done.”

“Mom said—”

“Is your homework finished?” I repeat, cutting him off, and he looks to his mom and swallows before he shakes his head. “You know the rules. No video games during the school week unless your homework is done.”

“I told him it was okay,” Beth says, and I cut my eyes to her. “It’s not a big deal, Gareth.”

“You’re wrong, Beth. It’s after six, which means when he should be relaxing before going to bed tonight, he’s going to be up doing the homework he should have gotten done when he came home from school.”

“I told him it was okay, so if you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me,” she argues, standing from the couch, and I fight the urge to roar or pick something up and toss it across the room.

Fuck me, she will never change. This is what she does best, makes it seem like I’m the asshole and she’s the good guy before she disappears, leaving me to deal with the aftermath.

“Go get started on your homework. December is gonna be here soon with dinner,” I tell Max.

“How sweet. Your girlfriend is bringing you dinner,” Beth says, and I see Max’s shoulders slump before he heads down the hall.

“Just go, Beth.” I sigh. I don’t have the energy to deal with her shit right now.

“I’m thinking about moving back to town for good.”

“Great,” I reply, not believing for one second that will happen, especially since she’s been saying the same shit for years.

“I’m serious.”

“Good.” I look at her. “Max will like having you around more often.”

“I’ll want fifty/fifty custody after I get settled.”

“No.” My jaw clenches.

“Did you just say no?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry. I meant hell fucking no,” I grit out.

“If I go to a lawyer—”

I laugh without humor, interrupting her, and her expression gets tight. “Spend your money, Beth. Go to a lawyer, and while you’re there, explain the last few years and exactly how much time you’ve had with our sons, how much money you’ve sent for their care,” I tell her quietly, not wanting the boys just down the hall to hear. “Then tell your lawyer that you want a judge to grant you fifty percent custody because you’re pissed and jealous that I’ve found someone solid and the boys like her.”