Chapter 1

Wes

One minute I’m frustrated looking for actors that portrayed Batman – both live action and animated – in this word search gifted to me by my wife this morning, and the next I’m frustrated by the developing confrontation I somehow idiotically stumbled into with my only son.

Who is just like his mom.

Down to the tiny eye twitch that precedes a heated argument.

I adjust myself in the seat that I’m occupying across the table from him on our private jet and wordlessly meet his crystal glare.

Despite the fact that I’ve become more accustomed to flying over the last decade, I still don’t like it.

It still fills me with a sense of uneasiness, just like it did when I flew to bring him home after his first “plane-vacation” during our darkest times as a family.

And I become even more uncomfortable when the turbulence of the flight matches that of my child.

I can only handle one choppy thing at a time.

I would appreciate him waiting his turn.

The smoothness of our journey finally resumes allowing me to calmly declare, “ We’re not going to Doctenn for Christmas, Wyland. ”

“How is this fair?!” he squawks, damn near knocking over his holiday flavored energy drink. “How come we can fly to fucking Texas for you to be seen at some stupid fucking hockey game – a sport you don’t even give a shit about – but when I ask for us to go to somewhere that matters to me , you won’t even bother to hear me out?!”

“This was a work trip. Part of our sponsorship agreement with the league.”

“And I’m asking for a family trip. Part of your dadship agreement with your son.”

“Dadship is not a real word.”

“I used it like it was real.”

And there’s more of his mom along with her attitude.

“ We’re not going to Doctenn for Christmas, Wyland. ”

“How come you’ll do shit for everyone else in this family but me ?”

“ That’s not true. ”

“It is true!”

“It is not. ”

“It is!”

“ It is not. ”

“ It is! ”

Thirteen on the verge of fourteen yet still fights with me like he’s two and half on the edge of three refusing to eat grilled chicken nuggets because they aren’t shark shaped.

Has his passion for the ocean dissipated since then?

No.

It’s actually increased.

Exponentially.

Yet rather than be ocean creature obsessed like his mother – or his veterinarian uncle – he’s surf obsessed, which is its own fresh hell of difficult for me to understand.

And the only thing that’s even more difficult?

The fact that no part of him is remotely interested in my favorite branch of our multifaceted company.

At least not yet.

The closest I’ve come to bonding in that department is when I agreed to check out potential athletes the company could sponsor to expand into that market – after explaining the general process of how companies choose figureheads – something I only did as an excuse to spend more time with him.

Unlike J.T., I’m not sold on the notion that branching out into the world of surfing – whether it’s whiskey or beer – is the right risk for us.

Our legacy.

All of which is not something that’s easy to explain to your son.

Particularly when he’s just as headstrong as you are.

The twins?

Somehow didn’t get this level of stubbornness.

My assumption?

Wyland inherited it all first.

Rather than let the argument die down, he scoots to the edge of his cushioned seat to emphasize his examples. “You flew Uncle Calen and Aunt Lani to Hawaii so he could study Monk Seals!”

“ Technically , it was a joint, aquatic institute, extending education, charity venture; therefore, our company covered the cost for their commitment to continue to better the environment for us as well as the wildlife we serve.”

“You flew Park to Vegas – where he choked out that magician – for some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu boot camp refresher thing!”

“He’s head of security. It was technically a business training expense.”

“You fly Gami and Gramps to Switzerland all the time to visit Aunt Penny, Uncle Scott, Patty, Ginny, and Weaver!”

“Because your Aunt Penny isn’t allowed in this country.”

He doesn’t need to know that’s my fault.

Or that I won’t amend that decision despite the healthy bond our families have come to build over the years.

While I don’t anticipate Penny – or any member of her current family – to launch another attack, I refuse to let our guard down.

We did that once, and it came at a cost that’s impossible to repay.

I won’t make that mistake again.

“ Seeeeee ,” he hisses, in obvious outrage. “ Everyone. Else. ”

“You’re being simplistic.”

“You’re being a paddlepuss.”

“ What. Did. You. Just. Call. Me? ”

Wy slams his back against the seat at the same time he redirects his attention out the window yet doesn’t repeat himself.

What the fuck is a paddlepuss?

Is that an insult?

It strikes me as an insult.

Do I really have to learn to speak surfer?

Was learning to talk Trekky for truly everyone else not enough?

“You asked me what I wanted for Christmas,” quietly begins the oldest Wilcox child, glare gliding back to me, “and that’s what I want.” Our eyes tightly lock. “I want to be in Doctenn for Christmas. I want to give Kendall her gift. I want to make sure that kook in his overpriced designer boardies that’s been coastin’ her waves all semmy gets the mess that she’s not his Betty. She’s mine. ”

All of sudden, unexpected memories begin flashing through my mind.

Snow falling.

Fire crackling.

Jazzy Christmas tunes lingering somewhere in the distance.

Wy’s crystal stare shifts into my mismatched one.

His custom Trekky beach club hoodie transforms into a designer sweater.

The energy drink in front of him becomes traditional Wilcox Christmas punch – complete with our yearly limited-edition whiskey.

They didn’t care that I drank.

Hell, I’m pretty sure it was expected.

Wilcoxes drank.

It’s our name.

In our history.

Our roots.

Drinking underage wasn’t something to lift an eyebrow about – especially not when it was supporting our business – however me yelling was.

I rarely yelled.

I rarely had reason to.

But going home to be with her wasn’t a want .

It was a need .

A need that cost me the two people who loved me most in the world for someone who I’m not certain ever did.

Similar to the Penny situation, I’m not taking an unnecessary risk.

In spite of the desperation he’s feeling at this very moment, he’s fine.

He’ll be fine.

And us not traveling to another country, in unknown weather, is how I guarantee that.

His safety… our family’s safety …is the most important thing to me.

It always has been.

It always will be.

Has to be.

“ We’re not going to Doctenn for Christmas, Wyland. ” I swallow the lump of apprehension in my throat, drop my attention down to my booklet, and coldly state, “ End of discussion. ”

There’s no reluctance in his retort or him storming off elsewhere, “ I hate you. ”

Which is fine.

Because at least he’ll still be alive to do so.