Chapter Twenty-Nine
Atlas
"I'm gonna start a fire."
Liam's lying on his bed, tossing a basketball up in the air and catching it. Over and over. He catches the basketball and glances over at me standing in the doorway.
"Want to help?"
He pauses, looking conflicted, before he nods. "Yeah."
The early afternoon sun has already set, but my dad's got hanging string lights outside that allow us to see. My parents' backyard is huge, especially since my dad also bought the plot behind when we moved in.
He put in a swimming pool that we use frequently for summer BBQs and you practically have to bribe Liam to get out of it.
My dad and I also built a nice fire pit with space for the whole family. Summer and Fall nights when Silas and Carrie brought the girls come to mind: all the kids roasting marshmallows for s'mores, Wendy cuddled under my arm as we talked and laughed and drank with my parents, Silas, and Carrie.
Those nights are forever carved into my memory.
"Grab a couple of pieces," I tell Liam, pointing toward my dad's covered firewood rack. "Make sure you cover it again, Pop will lose his damn mind."
Liam huffs a laugh at that, but doesn't say anything else. Silently, Liam and I work in tandem to build the fire, the heat warming us up on this cold January night.
Noah's inside, watching Bob Ross and practicing what he learned in art class today.
My parents returned home from the hospital an hour ago, both exhausted, and are upstairs resting. My dad barely slept a wink in worry, and my mom can never get any rest on hospital beds.
I figured if I had any moment to talk to Liam alone this weekend, this was it.
Liam sits down on the bench seating that my dad and I built, while I sit on the other side of the fire, wanting to give my son the space to breathe.
"When I found out your Mama was pregnant with you," I start softly, Liam's eyes meeting mine. I laugh as I tell him, "God, I was terrified."
Liam keeps his eyes on me, his neutral expression not moving.
"We were so young. I had barely any experience holding babies. Your Mama at least had babysitting experience, but I didn't know how to..." I trail off, shaking my head. "I didn't know how to be a Dad..."
Liam's face twitches, he sniffs and wipes his nose, but keeps his eyes on mine. I lean forward and channel all that love, all those happy emotions I did feel when I found out Wendy was pregnant.
"I was scared, but I knew I wanted you. I wanted a baby with your Mama."
His eyes soften, just a bit.
"When you were born, you were so clingy with your Mama," I laugh as I picture baby Liam clinging to Wendy's side, glaring at anyone who came too close.
That’s my boy, I would always think proudly.
"If anyone else even dared to try and hold you, you'd scream your little head off, steaming mad."
Liam's lips quirk, and I continue, still laughing. "I'd pluck you from their arms, and place you back in your Mama's and... silence. Peace. That's just where you wanted to be."
My son genuinely smiles at me, and it makes me a little sad that I can't remember the last time he did so. I haven't given him any reason to smile, not in the last year. I haven't been the father my boys deserve.
I feel I made some headway with Noah today, talking about the letter, expressing my mental illness to him in a way that he understands.
But Liam is...
"It makes sense why you're so protective of her now, and I am so proud of you for that, but I would never—ever—cheat on your Mama," I tell Liam, putting all of the meaning I have in my body into these truthful words. "There's no one else but her. There's no universe where I'd ever do that."
Liam blinks. "Really?"
"Really," I nod. "Aubree is just my employee. Your mama is my entire fucking world."
Whatever stone was left in Liam's expression crumbles into dust at that. He exhales and glances at the fire, staring into it, a couple of expressions flickering across his face.
"I am so sorry for neglecting you, Liam," I tell him, willing my voice not to break. "I am so sorry for not being the father you deserve."
Liam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and fuck, in the light of the fire, I see a tear trail down his cheek.
He takes deep breaths, jaw clenching, before he releases it. His shoulders drop, his hands unclench, his jaw relaxes, and he opens his eyes to meet mine.
"Dad," Liam starts, his brow furrowing. "I'm... I'm sorry too."
I'm already shaking my head. "For what?"
"For..." he says, his face pinching. "For lashing out.
"No, it's okay, son. I understand."
"I know," Liam shrugs, looking at the fire. "But Mama says that understanding where it comes from doesn't excuse it."
I murmur, "Your Mama's smart."
"What's... wrong?" Liam asks, his voice unsure. I tilt my head in question. "I mean, like..." he vaguely gestures to his own head.
"Oh," I sigh, before continuing. "Well, my doctor diagnosed me with PTSD, and she thinks I have symptoms of OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I have thoughts in my head—really, awful thoughts that happen without my permission."
"What kind of thoughts?"
"About Mama dying."
Liam's eyes widen, and I realize I probably just voiced one of his own fears. God knows I'm terrified about my own mom dying.
"They're fears, Liam. Not facts. Your Mama is okay, she's not going anywhere."
Liam's face relaxes only slightly. "So, you just... think about her dying a lot?"
"I'm terrified of her dying like..."
Realization hits his face. "Like Aunt Carrie."
"Yes," I whisper. "But... also, something really bad happened, and it frightened me.
I'll tell you about it later, one day, but.
.. everything is okay now. I'm going to my doctor, my therapist, and I'm taking medicine.
I'm talking about it. I'm getting better, but if you have any questions, you can always come to me. Always."
Liam watches me for a long moment before he nods, his eyes dropping down to the fire.
"I didn't read the letter yet."
"That's alright," I soothe him, but he shakes his head.
"I should have," Liam fidgets, looking guilty now. "I have to apologize for something else."
I nod, encouraging him. "I said... some really mean things about you to Noah... about your mental illness. I was wrong, and I'm really sorry, Dad."
My heart swells in my chest at his words and the genuine apology in them. I didn't even know about this, and I wouldn't have known about this unless Liam told me. Whatever he said to Noah, I know it was not coming from cruelty, because Liam isn't cruel.
He's a good kid, but that's what he is—a kid. He's going to make mistakes, he's going to say the wrong things, and it's up to us, his parents, to correct them.
The problem is, I've been leaving Wendy to handle all of that, using the excuse of feeling that she's more competent.
Yeah, she's competent because she actually tries and has experience doing it. Her being competent doesn't excuse my incompetence.
Parenthood is a partnership, and Wendy shouldn't just be seen as the default parent while I'm the fun parent. Not anymore.
"Thank you," I choke out, not fighting the tears that fall down my cheeks. "I forgive you. I love you, Liam."
Liam sniffs and wipes his face, another tear trailing down his cheek. He nods, "I love you too, Dad."
Without another word, I stand up and walk around the fire toward him. Liam glances up at me and stands too.
Jesus, this close, I can really see how much my son has grown, how much I've missed. My fourteen-year-old is almost in high school, and he really does look so much like me.
Same messy dark hair, same dark brown eyes, same jaw, same nose, but his smile—that's all Wendy.
He's only a couple of inches shorter than my six-foot-five, and he’s destined for my size one day.
But, he's still the little boy who stood on my shoulders to dunk a basketball in our driveway. He's still the little boy calling for Daddy to protect him from nightmares.
He'll always be my little boy.
I hold my arms out, not forcing him, giving him the option to deny it, even though I'm really hoping he doesn't.
Liam looks at me for a long moment before he walks right into my embrace.
"I love you, son."
Liam nods, his breath hitching as he buries his head into my shoulder and cries. A cleansing kind of cry with chest-racking sobs and his whole body shaking.
I hold onto my son, and I let him feel, and I protect him from anything that can ever hurt him while he does.
"It's okay, Daddy's here..." I grit my teeth against the overwhelming mix of emotions in my chest. I press a kiss to his head. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I promise. No more. I'm getting help, I'm not going anywhere ever again."
"You really hurt Mama," he cries, and I squeeze my eyes shut, more tears slipping out.
"I know," I murmur, nodding. "God, I know, but I'm fixing it. I promise I'm going to fix it."
Liam's voice is quiet as he asks, "Are you guys going to get a divorce?"
"Over my dead body," I joke, and Liam huffs a laugh.
I joke because I would let Wendy divorce me if that's what she truly wanted. I've spent too long being wrapped up in the fear of losing her, in doing things my way only this past year, that I have no fucking right to keep demanding anything of her.
But I would fight for her—for another chance—until my last breath, because it will only ever be Wendy for me.
After a few minutes, Liam pulls back, and I release him. He wipes his nose on his hoodie sleeve, and we silently sit back down at the fire pit, this time next to each other.
The only sound is the crackling of the fire and the distant hum of traffic. It's a cloudless sky tonight, all the stars visible from the new moon.
This night feels peaceful, light—a fresh start for us.
"You want marshmallows?"
Liam snorts. "No thanks, Dad."
Him calling me Dad again makes me grin, and I ask, "How are you doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"I've missed out on a whole year of your life, Liam," I shrug. "Tell me everything—what you're comfortable sharing, at least."
Liam’s eyes light up. "We're undefeated."
"Yeah?" I ask with a smile. "Are you still playing shooting guard?"
"No, Coach's got me playing Power Forward," he says, before a small grin curves at his lips. "He named me Captain."
"No shit?" I ask, and Liam nods his head proudly. I hold out my hand for a high-five, "I'm proud of you."
Liam looks at the hand for a long moment, his face torn like he's deciding what to do. I don't move a muscle; this moment feels heavy and important, and I resolve myself that I won't show that it hurts if Liam rejects me, but hope grows anyway.
Just as I think Liam's not going to move, he lifts his arm and high-fives me. It's soft, but the sound rings through my heart like a thunderclap.
"Thanks, Dad," Liam murmurs, glancing down to his lap.
After a few moments, his voice remains low when he asks me. "Will you come to my game on Wednesday?"
That hope swells so abruptly that it almost knocks me out of my seat.
"If you want me to," I say, and he nods his head.
"I do," he murmurs.
We sit in silence again for a few minutes, just looking at the fire, when I ask him, "So, who's this Birdie I've been hearing about?"
Liam's face completely transforms into something familiar, his smile going warm and his eyes going glazed. It's familiar because it's my own face, the way it warms in photos when I'm looking at Wendy.
"She's my best friend," Liam says, his voice so soft and fond. "She knows everything about basketball. And she's really nice. And she's funny. She's... she's great."
My smile widens.
I guess the apple doesn't really fall far from the tree.
"I can't wait to meet her," I say, before my smile drops and quickly add, "If you want me to—"
"I do," Liam says, shrugging. "She'll be at the game. She comes to all my games."
Relief and happiness make me dizzy.
"Okay," I nod.
"Okay," Liam echoes.