Chapter 7

Wes

A Christmas intervention.

I can’t decide if this is better or worse than an alcoholic one.

I do know that a drink right about now would take the edge off.

And I also know they don’t give out chips for not being a terrible parent.

And I am.

I don’t mean to be.

It’s never been my intention.

Honestly?

I’m not even sure exactly when it happened.

My back hits the wall across from Wy’s bedroom on a heavy sigh.

I have accomplished world-renowned mergers.

I have the literal key to the city of Highland.

I have dined on multiple occasions with literal royalty.

How is it I’m failing so fucking miserably at this?

What if being his father is something I never succeed at?

What if…he grows up having me yet wishing he didn’t?

Or grows up having me but pretends he didn’t?

What if the second he’s eighteen he cuts me out of his life completely?

Only talks to his mother?

His grandparents?

His siblings?

Uncles?

Everyone except me?

Which is quite frankly exactly how it feels now.

How do I stop that from happening?

How do I prevent becoming the villain in his life that I have no doubt he’s already labeled me to be?

Another body shaking sigh slips free during my crossing of the short distance to knock on his door.

It’s odd how familiar this shit is.

“ Go to the twins, dudes, ” Wy calls back from the other side of the blockade, clearly mistaking me for the dogs. “ I’m good. ”

“It’s your dad,” I awkwardly announce on a tug to my shirt collar. “Can I um…Can I come in?”

An uncomfortably long lull occurs prior to him grumbling, “ It’s your house. ” Another painful pause. “Do what you want.”

My lips briefly press together as I crack it open just enough for my face to be seen. “It’s your room, Wy.” I swallow the lump of animosity wedged in my throat. “You don’t want me in it? I won’t come in it.”

He looks up and over from where he’s watching something – most likely surfing – on his device in his bed. “Do you need to come in for something?”

“Your uncle asked me to bring this to you.” The bag wielding arm wedges itself through the small space to be seen. “Said it was for your box.”

Excitement begins to light up his crystal stare only to immediately be smothered away with a kick of the chin. “You can just drop in my chair and go.”

I nod my understanding, step inside, and head for the dangling hammock seat near the window. However, about halfway there, I stop.

Force myself to face him.

Ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and ask, “What’s in it?”

Wy slams his back against his surfboard headboard in obvious annoyance. “ Why? ”

“Because I would like to know what you had your uncle get from our company.” I take a single step towards his mattress. “And I’d like to know why you didn’t ask me to do it.” A second shaky stride is taken. “Why you rarely ask me to do anything for you. Why you rarely tell me what’s going on. Or what you need. Or that you have a new friend. Or a girlfriend. Or fucking… anything , Wyland.”

“Why the hell would I?” he chomps back without an ounce of hesitation. “You don’t talk to me.” The object in his lap gets carelessly thrown to one side, video still playing. “You tell me it’s this way and that’s that.” One ankle is crossed over the other. “You give zero fucks to how I feel or what I think or even who I wanna be.”

The weight of his words effortlessly buckles my knees.

“Mom? Total brah.” There’s no denying the joy in his gaze. “She listens. She tells me shit she did when she was my age. Or…a little older. Mistakes she’s made. Still makes cause she’s not perfect.” A slight shrug is presented. “She talks to me about what might happen in a sitch. What might not happen on the flip side. Lets me wipeout and then instead of an ‘I told you so’ lecture, she just…encourages me to pick up my board. Be less hardheaded. Think about things. And ultimately go again.”

It's impossible to stop my shoulders from sagging.

That’s her.

Supportive.

Inspiring.

Forgiving.

“And my uncs? Duuuudeeeeesss. ” Another wave of adoration conquers his freckled complexion. “Always pushin’ me to follow my own waves. Carve out my own name. Be me whoever me is whenever that’s who I feel like I am. They’re always tellin’ me it’s gnarlz if I’m into death metal or only wanna wear hot pink boardies or enjoy v-cheese or tof’ on pizza. They always remind me what I like and who I like can change and that change is… okay. ”

“ It is okay, ” slips out in a whisper.

I’m glad Calen and J.T. provide him with that reassurance.

That foundation.

I hate that I don’t.

That he feels that I don’t.

Or can’t.

Or won’t.

“Hell, even Gami and Gramps listen to me about shit. They don’t bark orders. They ask questions. Sometimes they ask a lotta questions. Like too many questions . But then it’s like yooooo you asked so many because you were listening and tryin’ to figure me out while I’m figuring it out too!” Love continues to swirl around his stare. “They…hear me… like just me instead of me as like a part of the family me…and that tells me that I matter alone as much as I do with everyone else.”

“Gramps did the same for me when I was your age,” I quietly confess at the same time I collapse onto the very end of his bed. “To be honest…he still does that for me.” Both hands lifelessly fall into my lap. “And J.T. to this day – in both my personal and business endeavors – promises me change isn’t necessarily bad. That good can come from it. Which is absolutely correct considering how much he’s helped the company grow in our established markets and expand into territories I was second guessing.” Our eyes become completely locked. “And your mom? She loves to give me an ‘I told you so’ lecture.” The corner of my lip kicks up spurring his to do the same. “However, she is always right there to offer me a hand back up. Cheer me on. Celebrate my successes. Comfort me in my failures.” This time my mouth trembles in trepidation. “And I have no greater failure than the one I’m hearing now.” Tears threaten to come to my eyes. “ I’ve failed at being your father. ”

“ Dad… ”

“To you I’m a dictator, not your dad.”

“ That’s…that’s not…totez true. ”

One eyebrow thoughtlessly arches itself.

“Alright.” He shrugs in conceit. “It is.”

Rather than recoil away from honesty, I jump right into the center of it, with no cape, no grappling hook, and no utility belt for assistance. “You know being your dad is the hardest fucking job I’ve ever had. And the only other thing I’ve failed this hard at – and this frequently – was winning your mom over.”

Wyland’s eyebrows immediately dart down. “ She married you. ”

“Yes.” My ass adjusts itself on the ocean blue sheets. “But she didn’t make it easy.” Fondness from our early years can’t be kept at bay. “She made me work for what we have… Every. Step. Of. The. Way. ”

An intrigued hum slips free.

“And it was worth it. And putting work in for those you love will always be worth it. And I’ve come to realize…I haven’t put that work in with you. ”

This time he shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket yet keeps his attention locked onto me.

“I need to put that work in with you . Hell, I want to, Wyland, but you’re not making it easy for me. No, it’s not your job to make it easy; however, I know you’re making it extra difficult, and I know that because you are your mother’s child.”

He struggles not to grin.

“You have been adamant about fighting me from the minute I held you in my arms in the wrong blanket.”

Small chuckles are thankfully given.

“You get enjoyment out of getting under my skin exactly like she does except she allows for compromise and solutions at the end of it, yet you condemn and shun me whenever things aren’t quite in your favor.” Another realization leads to me sighing, “Which is what you get from me. ”

Shit.

He really is both of us, isn’t he?

“My apologies for failing you, Wy,” I full-heartedly claim. “You’re all right. I need to learn how to talk to you and with you versus at you if we’re going to have any kind of relationship that doesn’t end when you turn eighteen.”

“ Come on, Dad, ” my son casually interjects, on a small lean forward. “You know that’s not gonna happen.”

“Do I?” The head tilt he’s presented is completely serious. “You tell me you hate me at least every other week.”

“Yeah, but I don’t mean it.”

“It feels like you mean it, Fins.”

To my surprise, he lets a crooked grin grow. “I like when you call me Fins.”

My eyebrows launch into the air on their own accord.

“Makes me feel like you get me and not who you want me to be.”

“I want you to be whoever you wanna be. I’d just like an opportunity to get to know that dude is all.”

Light chortles flood the air. “You hate that word.”

“ So. Much. ”

Laughter leaves us both aiding in the destruction of the wall that’s been too high between us for too long.

Once it dies down, I offer him the bag I’m still holding. “Will you tell me what’s in it?”

“Look for yourself,” is warmly commanded.

Reaching into the bag allows me to retrieve a small black WE box whose contents I’m quite familiar with considering I designed it. Curiosity regarding if that’s actually what’s inside leads me to removing the lid and revealing the tiny whiskey barrel keychain. My gaze immediately gravitates back to his. “One of our limited-edition, anniversary products.”

His nod is instant.

Excited.

“Why would you wanna give Kendall one of these?”

“Because it comes from our family,” he gestures with a tip of the chin. “Those are made from original Wilcox barrels. This was you paying homage-”

“ Excellent word. ”

“-to the big kahuna in our fam. Showing him and our ancestors you respect where we came from. Where all this started. Preserving a piece of our history in a pretty epic way. Plus…” a less than innocent lip scrunch is given, “I want her to have something with my name on it.”

“Because you want the world to know she’s yours. ”

“Yeah.”

Yes.

He is absolutely my son.

Prideful nodding is attached to me placing the lid back on it. “Can you show me what else is going in the box you’re taking her for Christmas?”

Wyland’s jaw immediately drops over the statement.

“ Weather permitting. ”

“You…you…you yankin’ my leash?!”

“I don’t enjoy that phrase, but no, son. I’m not ‘yanking your leash’.” A single deep breath makes itself heard prior to me proceeding. “You recall that your biological grandparents died in a plane crash?”

“Your parents and then, Mom’s dad was the pilot. It’s how you got your scars.”

“Yes. And that accident occurred during bad weather that I pushed my family into over a girl that I was dating at the time.” I force myself to continue in spite of the ache spreading in my chest. “Which is the main reason I have been opposed to traveling during such a potentially treacherous time.”

“You blame yourself for their deaths?”

“ Exclusively. ”

My confession causes him to scoot closer.

Demolish more of the metaphorical wall.

“Survivors guilt is something I’ve lived with for most of my life, and the reason I initially turned to alcohol to cope. And while it’s something I like to think I’ve completely healed from, it’s in moments like this, I realize I haven’t.”

“Dad… ”

“However, it’s unfair to punish you …to keep you… from living your life because of my fears. ” Another long, loud exhale is executed. “There’s no reason we can’t go to Doctenn for Christmas particularly when the whole family supports the decision.”

Elation soars through his expression despite his best efforts to keep it contained.

“As long as the weather reports are in our favor-”

“They are! They are!” He scurries to my side of the mattress. “I’ve been watching them nonstop to make sure that they are! That they stay that way! The ice storm that was predicted to hit Doctenn turned the opposite direction this morning, and from here to there for the next few days is smooth flying. I even asked O’Malley to double check all the weather patterns for me, and if it was safe .” The arrival directly next to me is attached a softer smile. “I really wanted go, but not if there was any way our family was gonna get hurt. Nothing is worth that.”

Inexplicable warmth soothes the pangs in my chest. “ You’re a good kid, Fins. ”

“ You’re a good dad, Dad. ” His announcement barely precedes him throwing his arms warmly around me. “ I love you. ”

Squeezing him tighter is my only option, and truthfully, it’s the only one I need. “ I love you too, son. ”