Chapter Fourteen #3
At one point, even seeing their faces would make my hands shake and sweat, my mind going haywire so I tucked them away because that was easier.
She waits for my answer, and I don't give one, the words choking me.
Nodding, she bites her bottom lip like she does when she's trying not to cry, and sighs. We fall into silence, the only sound is our breathing and the hum of the appliances in the house.
Our doorbell rings, the bright and cheery sound too loud for what's quietly breaking between us.
Wendy immediately perks up, wiping her cheeks with both of her hands and taking two deep breaths. I watch as she visibly pulls herself together. She smiles, painting it on carefully, before we hear the front door open.
Little frantic steps pound against the hardwood. Noah, our baby.
Like a little ginger rocket, he comes barreling into the living room. "Mama! Guess what—"
Surprised, Noah skids to a stop when he sees me. The look on his face guts me. He looks at me like I'm a strange man in his house, not his father, not the man who held him after he was born, sobbing because he had a head of ginger hair just like his mama.
I had a mini-me, and now I had a mini-Wendy.
I was in heaven.
"Hey, buddy," I whisper, my voice soft, careful, trying not to flinch at the hesitation that shouldn't exist between us.
"Hi, Dad," Noah mutters, his voice guarded.
It cuts me when he keeps a wide berth as he runs right into his mother's arms. She holds him tight, burying her face in his hair and breathes deep like she's steadying herself.
Movement out of the corner of my eye makes me turn. Liam stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed, and looking right at me.
It strikes me how grown he looks right now and how much he looks like me. Everyone always joked about my height, and with how tall Wendy is, our sons never stood a chance but to be little giants.
He glares at me with a look so fierce it makes my hands shake at my sides. His expression is full of anger, of resentment, of a bitterness that doesn't belong on a thirteen-year-old's face.
Christ. When's the last time I even really looked at my sons? How have they sprouted up in just a year?
How much have I truly missed?
"Hey, Liam," I whisper.
He doesn't answer, he just exhales through his nose and rolls his eyes, his dismissal sharp and intentional.
"Hi, Mama," Liam says pointedly, shooting me a cold look before stomping over to her and Noah. She opens her arms, but instead of stepping into her embrace, he wraps his arms around both her and Noah.
That makes me feel about an inch tall, because his stance is unmistakably protective.
He's protecting his mom and brother from me.
My oldest son is now the man of the house in my absence.
I feel sick.
I hear two more sets of footsteps and see my parents in the doorway. The look on their faces is something I haven't seen since I was a kid, when Silas and I took their car for a joyride around the block.
The same feeling wells up inside of me at their looks of disappointment—shame.
My dad also looks fucking stone-cold pissed at me, and it makes a shiver run down my spine.
"How was the movie?" Wendy asks the boys, smiling as she glances back and forth between them.
Noah's face is all sweet innocence, while Liam still simmers with quiet anger, periodically glancing back at me with a look that seems to ask: Why are you still here?
"It was awesome! We watched Back to the Future!" Noah chirps, bouncing up and down. "Pop said he took Mom-Mom to see it in theaters back in the eighties. Mama, they have to be like... a hundred years old!"
He loudly whispers the last part, glancing back at my parents in wide-eyed wonder.
Their angry faces directed at me melt instantly when they look at their youngest grandbaby. My mom jokingly squawks, affronted, while my dad barks out a laugh, shaking his head.
"I'll have you know, young man," my mom says, hands on her hips, mock-indignant. "I am a very young and spry sixty-three, thank you very much."
"'Heavy,'" Noah says solemnly, quoting Marty McFly.
Everyone laughs, wrapped in a warm family blanket of camaraderie, and I can feel my own lips twitch even as the longing punches me square in the gut.
This—this—is what I've missed out on for the past year by choosing to pull myself away.
Movie nights, inside jokes, cuddles, and laughter.
I've missed a whole year of my sons growing up, turning into little people with big personalities and different interests. Leaving Wendy to raise them alone.
I've missed a whole year of cherishing my wife during our marriage and of reveling in the time I've been given with her.
Oh, God.
It all comes together in an instant, the clarity making me dizzy. While I was so worried about losing my wife and my kids, I missed out on an entire year with them.
I purposefully missed three hundred and sixty-five days of their lives, and they're still here—healthy and happy and smiling and alive.
I threw away all that time on what-ifs and could-bes.
Fuck. Oh no.
No, no, no, no, no...
My father is looking at me now in a way that tells me he understands the war raging in my head. I clutch my stomach as nausea rolls violently through me.
Wendy sees it and crouches down to Noah's height, turning him so his back is to me, smiling like everything is fine, like I'm not cracking open right in our living room.
"I'm glad you liked the movie, baby," Wendy says, smoothing her hand over Noah's hair. "Did you guys eat? Are you still hungry?"
Liam shakes his head. "Nah, Pop and Mom-Mom took us for ice cream after the movie."
"Mama, I wanna be Marty McFly for Halloween!"
She laughs, kissing Noah's forehead and standing back up. "We can definitely make that happen. Can you take your brother upstairs for a bit?" Wendy says to Liam, who keeps his back to me, but positions himself between me and his mother, my wife.
She leans in and whispers something in his ear that I can't catch, before pulling back and smiling down at Noah. "You guys can play Nintendo for as long as you want tonight."
"Really?" Noah cheers and Wendy smiles, nodding. "Yes!"
Wendy and my parents laugh as Noah does a silly victory dance before Liam leans toward her.
Pride and sorrow flare inside me when he asks quietly, "Are you okay, Mama?"
I shouldn't feel pride, but I do.
Did he inherit those protective instincts, or was that self-taught through my absence?
Liam has always been attached to his mama; he was the clingiest little baby with Wendy and would cry his little head off unless she was holding him.
I always wanted my boys to know that we protect their mother, that our family runs through her. The same way my dad taught me and Silas to look out for our mom. The same way his father taught him, and so on.
Sorrow follows close behind, because now he's protecting her from me.
And I would never—no, I can't say that anymore.
I did hurt Wendy. I hurt my wife. I hurt my kids.
Maybe they really do think they need protection from me.
"I'm okay, baby," Wendy says softly, smiling at Liam as she pulls his head down to kiss his mop of dark hair.
Liam was born with a full dark head of hair, and my mom said that's why Wendy had such bad heartburn through her pregnancy, an old wives' tale.
Wendy was always so fascinated with it. She always said she loved how he had my dark hair, and would brush it softly with her fingers when he was a baby just as she does now.
She pushes a dark lock from his face as she reassures him. "I'm fine."
Liam nods, then tosses his arm over a confused Noah's shoulders. I try not to feel sick when he keeps himself between Noah and me, guiding his baby brother up the stairs with a final glare at me.
"Do you see?" Wendy asks quietly once we hear the bedroom door close upstairs. You need to fix that, Atlas. I cannot fix it for you—it needs to be you. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," I choke, turning to meet her exhausted eyes. "Wendy, I—"
"I'll drop them off this weekend so you can have them.
We can do every other weekend until we get an official custody order.
You still have access to the calendar for their appointments.
Liam's basketball practices and Noah has art class on Saturday mornings at the community center.
He has friends there, and he hates missing it.
Please, for the love of God, check the calendar. "
"I will," I whisper, nodding pathetically.
"Go pack your things, Atlas," Wendy says, her voice completely empty, stripped of anger and hope alike.
She brushes past me and heads up the stairs. I watch her until she disappears from my sight, until I hear Liam's bedroom door open and close, until I can hear the muffled sounds of Super Mario and Noah's belly laughs.
Heavy steps sound behind me, so familiar, and my spine instantly tenses. When I turn around to meet my dad's eyes, his face is a stone mask of rage.
"Dad—"
He cuts me off with a low growl.
"Pack your shit. Now. You have ten minutes. And then you get your ass in my car. We're gonna go for a little ride."