Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Twitch sounded maddened. “The fuck kind of show is this?” I heard a huge thud, then squeaking, and Twitch muttered, “Off the couch, little dude. Your mom’s not gonna dig that.”
More squeaking. More bouncing. Then A.J.’s voice rose excitedly as he jumped on the cushions. “I like it. It’s funny. Patrick is silly. Daddy,” he panted as he kept jumping, “can we watch SpongeBob?”
Twitch didn’t speak for a moment, but when he did, I heard trouble brewing in his tone. “A.J.” he began, “I said off the couch.”
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like our son was in the mood for listening, and the loud, grinding squeaks continued, followed by the little monster’s puffing and panting, and I listened as A.J. ignored his father. “Mum lets me watch it in the mornings before school. Can we?”
“Off the couch,” he tried again, his tone deceptively calm.
The creaking and squeaking continued as A.J. burst out with, “Oh!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?”
The entire house shook as Twitch hollered, “Get off the couch!”
It was so loud that the silence that followed almost echoed off the walls.
When I heard the squeaking stop, my heart began to race.
My first instinct was to fly out of the bathroom with guns blazing and tear the handsome man a new asshole. But the social worker in me told me to wait and see how this played out.
With a heavy heart, I waited.
At the sound of A.J.’s breath hitching, my insides coiled tight, and when Twitch let out a groan, followed by an apologetic sounding, “Oh, buddy. I’m so sorry. C’mere,” little footsteps rushed over, and when I peeked out of the bathroom, I found Twitch on his knees, cradling our son to him, rocking him from side-to-side as A.J. cried quietly.
And my chest ached painfully.
The parenting gig wasn’t easy. There were plenty of manuals, yes, and everyone had an opinion on how to parent, but it was basically all about experience, and Twitch hadn’t yet had that pleasure.
I needed to understand that he was learning as he went, and some of the lessons would be learned the hard way.
When the man in question kissed our son’s head and sighed before pulling back to catch the little monster’s tears with the backs of his fingers, he explained, “What happened then wasn’t your fault, okay?” A.J. nodded, holding back tears as Twitch went on. “When I was a little boy, some bad things happened to me, and sometimes loud noises do something to my head.” He pointed at his temple and tried to speak delicately. “Sometimes loud noises make Daddy angry, okay? But that’s not your problem, bud.” He touched a gentle hand to A.J.’s jaw, wiping away more tears. “I’m tryin’ to be better.” Twitch pulled our son to him again, hugging him tight. “I’m gonna do better.”
I heard the words he didn’t say.
I’m gonna do better... for you.
A.J. wrapped his little arms around his father’s neck, and croaked, “I’m sorry.”
I watched Twitch’s heart break. He closed his eyes, pained. “You did nothing wrong. You don’t have to apologize for anything, okay? I’m sorry,” Twitch uttered, placing his lips to the top of his apple-scented head. “I messed up and I’m sorry.” After a long moment, Twitch pulled back and peered down at the sad-looking gremlin. “Are we good, little dude? Forgive me?”
A.J. was an observer. He didn’t always take things for face value, and when he looked into his father’s eyes, he must have seen the sincere apology in them because he nodded slowly, contemplatively, as though he truly believed Twitch was sorry.
As did I.
So when Twitch sighed in relief and stood up to put his hand to A.J.’s head, and muttered, “Go put your bag away. I need to talk to your mom,” I was ready for him.
He appeared in the doorway of the bathroom looking pale and upset, and when I clicked my tongue, stepping toward him, he met me halfway, wrapping his arms around me tightly as I snaked my own around his waist, pressing myself into him.
My poor baby.
My poor, haunted baby.
Twitch lowered his face into the crook of my neck, and the move had my chest panging so hard I could barely contain it. Reaching up, I stroked the back of his head lovingly and kissed the space above his ear, providing the comfort he needed at that moment.
I held him for a solid minute before he pulled back, straightening and taking a deep breath to steady himself. And I smiled softly. “Hey.”
But he didn’t speak. He simply lowered his face to mine, seeking more comfort from my lips. And I gave it to him.
The kiss was slow, and deep, and full of apology, and when we separated, his eyes seemed less turbulent and more focused. More like himself. And when he covered my mouth a second time, taking my lips in another hard kiss before turning and moving to exit the bathroom, I called out to stop him.