Wyatt opens his mouth to speak, but a loud noise startles him. He turns his face toward the house and freezes for a long moment. Then his hands drop to his sides, and he just stands there, the steel in his body disappears. I try to pull my eyes away from him, but I can’t. My man looks like he just found Jesus on toast or something miraculous like that. As big and tough as he is, in this moment he looks so vulnerable and broken.
“Don’t yell at my mom.” The too-deep-for-his-age angry voice of my son shouts from behind me. My stomach falls to my feet as my head whips around. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. Zander’s been waiting his entire life. Fourteen years of hope and dreams and want have all been wrapped up in this moment. And now it’s happening, and he’s being his bossy teenage self. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry. I never wanted Zander to meet his father like this—in the middle of a fight.
Wyatt takes a few steps toward the house, his eyes glued to Zander. His voice is faint but clear when he whispers, “My boy.”
He moves so quickly that before I know it, he’s rushed at Zander and has thrown his arms around our son. I’m left standing in the dirt, staring at the two of them, doing the best I can to hold back the tears. It’s useless. If my mom were here right now, I like to think she’d forgive me this weakness. All I can see from here are Zander’s gangly arms as they wrap around his dad for the first time in his entire life. Fuck. I can’t believe I let anything, even Wyatt’s addiction, keep them apart.
Just when I don’t think I could feel any lower, a high-pitched baby scream comes from inside the house.
Piper.
Crap.
Now is so not the time for her to make her grand entrance with her dad. I’ve already been here too long to have not told him about her, but the situation with Zander has really complicated things. Wyatt’s known about Zander—he’s already dealt with the blow from finding out that my boy is, for sure, his. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want my guys to have their time before I throw my toddler into the mix. I don’t get that luxury, though, because Zander pulls back from his dad and rushes toward the house. I chase after him, hoping like hell that my baby girl isn’t hurt. Zander flings the door open, when I’m just a few steps behind him. I can feel Wyatt standing right behind me, his blissed-out expression slides right back into that desperate sorrow he was sporting earlier.
Kids.
He probably thinks Piper isn’t his. Especially after that confession about Rig. No wonder he looks so upset. Standing there in the front doorway is the bombshell I had yet to drop. She’s so cute and small. Not small for her age, mind you. No, she’s tall, just like her dad and brother, but still tiny in comparison. Her red face is streaked with tears, and she has a stuffed dog squished to her chest.
CHAPTER 11
My boy.
Zander Wyatt Strand stands in front of the house now. Fuck. It feels damn good to touch him, to know he’s real. He’s taller than I expect—already several inches taller than Amber. He got broad shoulders, a square jaw, and a long, straight nose. He’s kind of gangly, not having yet gained his muscle mass. Looking at my boy is like looking at an old photograph of myself. A flash of anger courses through me at the idea of Amber spending every day looking at him, talking with him, and never reaching out to me. I have to remind myself of how fucked up I was back then. If I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t really get a handle on my shit until recently. I know she tried. She did. It doesn’t stop the irrational jealousy that courses through me at all the time she’s had with our boy that I’ve missed out on. Just about six months before we headed out to Brooklyn, I got clean once and for all.
Without even realizing what I’m doing, I head for Zander and wrap him in a tight hug. My brothers wouldn’t begrudge me this, but fuck if I’m not glad they’re nowhere around right now. It takes him a moment before my boy lifts his arms and hugs me back. And fuck if it’s not the best. His grip isn’t as tight on me as mine is on him, but that’s okay. I’m just a dude to him. He must know who I am, but it’s still not the same. I don’t know if I got that until now, but I do. The love I feel for my mom isn’t really less, but it’s certainly not the same as what I feel for my boy. If I feel this strongly about him now, I can only imagine how Amber must feel. Or how Grady feels about Chey. He’s had eighteen years of that kid, and I know damn well how protective he is. Now that she’s off at school in the city, he stalks around in a mood if he hasn’t seen her in a while. It’s like no matter how much time he’s had with her, it’s never enough. I envy him that—those years with her that I didn’t get with my boy.
It’s my fault.