“Just getting another beer,” I say and give him my best smile. I probably look like a serial killer or something. Fuck. This is probably easier when they’re babies and don’t know how awkward and weird their parents are. I just want the kid to like me.
Amber signals she wants a beer, so I head out to the garage and grab two cold ones from the fridge. Once I have them in my hands, I give myself a minute before heading back in there. I’m not this uncertain fuck who gets nervous around people who can’t kill me before I can kill them. But this is different. Zander isn’t a prospect—he’s my son. I can’t force him to respect me, and he’s not going to kiss my ass and pretend he likes me. My cut won’t buy me shit with my kid, and it’s fucking me up thinking that who I am underneath the patch isn’t enough to be a good dad for whatever time I have before he’s too grown to want me around.
Back in the kitchen, Amber is leaning across the table, saying something to Zander that I can barely hear. I move closer but not too close to be seen. My boy keeps a stiff upper lip as she talks, offering only an occasional verbal response.
“It’s okay to be excited,” she says.
He rolls his eyes and says, “I’m not excited. He’s cool is all.”
Amber shakes her head and focuses on Piper, who’s trying to grab macaroni and cheese in her little hand and shove it in her mouth, but they keep slipping out, and she’s getting mad. My girl’s got a temper, just like her momma.
“Fork works better,” Zander says, eyeing his sister. She’s stares at him, then picks up her plastic fork and waves it at him. Her lips are pursed, parted slightly, and she’s doing this spitting/shushing thing and giving him a warning look.
“Bubba, be nice!” she says in a little baby shout. A stupid fucking smile and laugh overtake me. She must have practiced that a lot because it comes out so clear compared to everything else she tries to say. Striding into the room, I’m met with a perplexed look from Zander and a soft smile from Amber.
“She’s bossy,” I say and pop the top off Amber’s beer before handing it to her.
“She’s a pain in the ass,” Zander says, giving her a side eye. My smile gets bigger as I open my own beer and sit back down in my seat.
“You both get that from your mother,” I say. Amber told me bits and pieces about my boy, and one recurring theme was how strong-headed he is. Something shifts in his mood. He drops his fork, shoves his chair back, and stands up so quickly it surprises me. What the actual fuck?
“Sit your ass down and finish your dinner.” Amber’s order does nothing to derail the boy from the attitude he’s cooking.
“No. He can’t just come in here and act like he knows me!”
A lump forms in my throat. He’s right. I did just meet him, and hearing the pain and emotion in his voice takes me back to being his age and being pissed at the world for anything and everything. But most especially at the time, for not having a dad. I let my boy grow without a dad, and damn if this doesn’t suck.
“Sit down.” Amber’s voice has taken on a hard edge that demands a sudden response. But he still doesn’t move. If it wouldn’t make the situation worse, I’d point out that this kind of shit is exactly what I was referring to. Amber goes about trying to talk to the boy, but every second that passes, my mood just gets worse and worse.
“Why? So we can sit here and pretend like we’re a happy fucking family?”
Amber shoots up from her chair before I can. She crosses the room and stands right in front of him. I can tell they’ve done this dance at least a hundred times before. I rise from my seat slowly, taking in greedy breaths to calm myself. It. Doesn’t. Fucking. Help.
“Zander Wyatt Strand, you get your fucking ass back in that goddamn chair. Now.” Amber’s voice is harder than I’ve ever heard it before. Half a second later, Piper is screaming at the top of her lungs. Her face is bright red, with tears streaming down her chubby cheeks. Her little arms are shaking like crazy.
Zander leans down and shakes his head with a cocky smirk on his face. “No.”
I will not beat his ass.
“Kid, you’re one wrong word from getting your ass whooped.” Amber jabs her finger into his chest and stands on tiptoe to get in his face as much as she can. I want to do something, but I don’t think knocking my kid out the first time I meet him is going to go over well with him or his mother. And that’s kind of all I got in terms of ideas right now, so I stay put and do my best not to fuck him up.
“Which word?” he says. “Bite or me?”
I will not beat my son’s ass.
“How many times have you begged me to let you see your dad, huh? And this is how you act? You’re hurting, kid. I get that. But you need to rein it in and fucking enjoy having a father.”