Until December (Until Her/Him #8)(70)

Feeling like I’ve been kicked in the gut, I swallow then order, “Come here,” over the lump in my throat.

“Dad—”

“Please come here.” He gets up and walks toward me slowly, and once he’s close, I wrap my hand around the side of his neck and dip my chin so we’re face-to-face. “You’re right. You should show the people you love that you love them, but sometimes people don’t know how to do that, and your mom is one of those people.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for her,” he says quietly, and I rest my forehead against his. “I know how she is, and I love her, even if she isn’t good at being a mom. I just wish she were different sometimes.”

I close my eyes to hide the pain his words cause and whisper, “Max.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, not even a little bit.”

“It is, because I have you and Mitchell, December, Grandma, and Aunt Selma and Sejla, along with a whole bunch of other people who love me. I guess—” He licks his lips. “—I guess I just feel bad, because she doesn’t have that.”

“She could,” Mitchell inserts, and Max looks at him. “She could have a whole bunch of people who love her too, Max.”

He stares at his brother for a long time before whispering, “I guess you’re right.”

“Max,” I call again, and his eyes come back to me. “You can’t be responsible for her happiness. It’s not your job. Your job is to be a kid.”

“Okay.” He licks his lips.

“I love you, son.”

“I know.” He nods, and I touch my forehead to his one more time then squeeze his neck. “You good now?”

“Yeah, Dad.”

“Good.” I let him go, and he goes back to sit next to December, who wraps her arm around his shoulders and leans her head against the side of his.

“I’m hungry,” she says after a moment, and we all focus on her. “Who wants ice cream? I’m really craving vanilla ice cream and french fries.”

“You’re so crazy,” Mitchell mutters with a smile, and Max laughs while I chuckle.

“Why am I crazy? Have you ever had vanilla ice cream and fries?”

“No,” the boys reply at the same time.

“Then you can’t say I’m crazy.” She stands and walks toward me then stops to look over her shoulder. “Well, are you two coming?”

“Sure, why not?” Mitchell gets up off the floor and holds out his hand for Max. Figuring they need a minute, I take December’s hand and lead her from the room.

“I need to get a clean shirt,” I tell her and she nods. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” She gives me a sad smile.

“He’s gonna be okay.” I kiss her forehead and she nods. “Be right back.” I leave her in the living room and go to the bedroom, seeing her school shit scattered across the bed where she was working when I went to go work out. I grab a sweatshirt off the top shelf in the closet and I tug it on, thinking I need to set her up a space in the bedroom where she can work when she’s home. I also need to get some people together to help me move her out of her place sooner rather than later.

With that thought in my head, I leave the bedroom and usher my family out to my SUV. I drive them into town for hamburgers, fries, and frozen custard. By the time we get home, the boys and December are laughing and teasing each other, the drama from earlier a distant memory.

_______________

I drop the wrench in my hand and exchange it for a screwdriver, trying to work through the anger I’m feeling. This morning as soon as I got to work Beth called to tell me she was leaving town and that I needed to let the boys know. Even though I know they’ll be okay, I’m still pissed she didn’t even have the balls to tell them herself, especially after what went down yesterday. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, still it kills me that she doesn’t give a fuck. The only silver lining is they now have December who will help ease the blow.

“Gareth.” I come out of my thoughts hearing my name shouted and roll out from under the car I’ve been working on.

Once I’m standing, my mom’s eyes lock on me. “Mom, what are you doing here?” I ask, wiping my grease-covered hands on a rag as she hurries through the shop toward me. As she gets closer, I see the worry etched around her eyes and the tears still wet on her cheeks. “What happened?”

“I’ve been trying to call you.” She stops close, holding up her shaking hand that is closed around her cell phone. I look to where my phone is across the building, sitting on top of my toolbox too far away to hear with the noise in the shop.

“What’s going on? Are the boys okay?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?” I repeat as a heaviness starts to settle in the pit of my stomach.

“I can’t get a hold of them. All the schools went on lockdown. There was a shooting at the elementary school.” She lifts her shaking hand to hold up her phone once more. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

“I….” Fuck, my knees get weak. “When?”

“I found out about thirty minutes ago. Anna, who works at the police station, called me, because I told her that you were seeing a first grade teacher when we spoke the other day. She wanted to make sure I knew so I could tell you.”