“Oh no,” she said, fingers flying to her throat.
“Oh fuckin’ yes.” He walked into the family room and pulled James off his shoulders, setting him down on the thick carpet. “Andrew’s out of control. I’m taking over the problem full time. All your coddling and wanting to talk things out hasn’t done shit. I’m in charge now, and if he wants to keep this shit up, he’s gonna be sorry he crossed me!” He slammed his fist on the coffee table and it splintered. James jumped and then began to cry.
“Calm down,” Clotille said as she knelt down and put her arms around the young boy, pressing him close to her. “Anger fighting anger never solved anything.”
Rock’s heart lurched when he saw big tears rolling down his three-year-old’s face. In a flash, he was back in his house in Lafayette, cowering in a corner as his dad ranted and smashed up the small living room. Fuck! I don’t want James to be scared of me. Shit.
He went over to Clotille and gently took James from her, hugging him against his chest. “Mon doux petit fils, ne pleure pas. Père isn’t mad at you. Don’t cry.” With his thumb, he gently wiped away his son’s tears. After several minutes, James calmed down and squirmed to get back on the floor. Rock bent over and set him down, and the small boy grabbed a bright red firetruck under the table. As he played, Rock caught Clotille’s gaze. “This is one of the reasons I don’t want you working. The kids need you in the home.”
“I’m not working and Andrew is still acting up. He needs to see a therapist to help him with any unsolved issues he has. The school has recommended it many times.”
“Fuck, woman,” he hissed, then stormed out the French doors, shutting them behind him. The chilly air made his eyes water. Taking out a joint, he cupped his hand around it and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he held in the smoke and then slowly exhaled, releasing some of the tension in his body. He had to calm down before Andrew got home so he wouldn’t do something he’d regret.
Staring at the snow-covered grass, his mind floated back to his childhood and the beatings his father had given him and his siblings. I don’t want to raise my hand to Andrew. I promised myself I’d never do that to any of my kids. Why can’t I control him? I’m the club’s sergeant-at-arms, yet I can’t do shit with Andrew.
The door opened behind him, and he stubbed out his roach with the toe of his boot. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Clotille come outside, zipping her jacket up to her chin.
“You know, asking for help is neither a sign of weakness nor a sign you’re throwing in the towel. It’s simply another path to finding a solution,” she said softly.
Clenching his teeth, he stared straight ahead without answering.
“We need to be honest with ourselves and with Andrew. He has to know that we’re not perfect parents and we’re scared we’re losing him. We have to tell him we worry and feel inadequate as parents.”
“There’s no fuckin’ way I’m saying that,” he gritted.
“Anger is a part of him and a part of you, and we have to go beneath it. Your dad was always mad, never taking the time to listen to you, and you resented it like hell. My mother was the same. Your dad and my mom only knew how to communicate with their hands, and anger was the only emotion they ever showed us. I remember how I adored my dad and always responded so positively to him. I know you had the same experience with your mother. We can’t fuck this up. We have to be better than your dad and my mom. And maybe we don’t know how to be that way because our childhood was fraught with anger, beatings, and no communication. My mom never listened to me, and it made me feel shitty and unloved.”
“There’s no damn way Andrew doesn’t know we love him.” He didn’t turn to look at her, but he heard her footsteps clack on the stone patio.
“He does, but he thinks you’re unapproachable and I take your side all the time.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “And that’s a horrible feeling for a teen. It’s hard being a teenager. We have to put ourselves in his shoes. And we have to figure out why he’s skipping school and acting out. We need to find the source of his behavior. Right now, all we’re doing is treating the symptoms by punishing and lecturing him, and it’s not working.”
Rock leaned back against her and placed his hands on hers. “Fuck. I thought if I was the opposite of my old man, everything would be great with me and Andrew. It’s hard to think I fucked this up when all I’ve been doing is trying to be the best dad I can.”
“And you are an amazing dad. Don’t think you’re not. And you haven’t fucked anything up. It’s challenging to be a parent, especially of a teenager. Andrew has issues we probably should’ve addressed when I first brought him to Pinewood Springs to meet you. I was so wrapped up in loving you and our family unit that I thought everything was good with him. Obviously it’s not.”
He blew out the breath he was holding. Puffs of icy white vapor mingled with the cold air. “We need to make this right, ma chérie.”
“We need help in doing that, and we have to be together on this. Andrew has to know we’re a united front, and we’re doing this because we love him and are scared of losing him.”
Rock nodded. It was hard for him to ask for help. He knew Clotille was right, but a big part of him felt like he’d done something wrong. He went through so much shit in his life, but he’d survived, and he hadn’t needed a damn shrink to get him through it. But Andrew wasn’t him. And if he was being honest, he was still pissed as hell at his old man for treating his mother like shit and for beating him too many times. Maybe getting Andrew therapy will help him deal with whatever’s going on inside him.
He turned around and pressed Clotille close to him. “Que je t’aime, chouchou.”
“I love you too, sweetie,” she whispered as she gripped the back of his neck and pulled his face toward hers.
They kissed deeply, only breaking away when they heard the creak of the patio door. Rock locked gazes with Andrew, who stood in the doorway. Grasping Clotille’s hand, Rock walked toward him.
Andrew lifted his chin, a defiant gleam in his dark eyes.
Rock knew he expected him to flip out, but he wouldn’t get sucked into the old familiar pattern. He stopped in front of him. “Let’s go inside. We gotta talk.”
Andrew’s eyes widened and he stepped back into the house.
Rock went into the study, Andrew close behind him. That night, no matter what, they’d have a long talk. He’d fight down the inclination to raise his voice, he’d listen to everything his son said, and then he’d tell him he loved him. The following day, Clotille would find someone to help them.