“Tell me about what kind of bike you want when you’re old enough.”
As Tommy starts talking about wanting a Harley like Dread’s, I shoot him a grateful look. He’s distracting my son from his fear, giving him something else to focus on.
The conversation flows, Dread asking questions about Tommy’s favorite colors for a bike, whether he’d want chrome or blacked-out parts. Before long, Tommy’s telling Dread all about the puppy he’s been driving me crazy about wanting.
“Maybe Santa will bring you a dog for Christmas,” Dread suggests.
I shoot him a look, and he has the decency to look sheepish. The last thing I need right now is another mouth to feed. Dogs are expensive, and my budget is already stretched thin.
But I can’t be too annoyed. He’s been amazing through all of this, taking charge and calming my son down.
The miles fly by beneath us. I don’t even want to know how fast he’s driving, but I’m grateful for every second it shaves off our journey.
We pass the “Welcome to Daytona” sign in what feels like no time at all.
“Tommy, we’re getting close.” I glance at the GPS. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
“Dad’s iPad is about to die,” Tommy panics.
“It’s okay, sweetie. We’re almost there. Just stay put, and?—”
Beep, beep, beep.
The line goes dead.
“Tommy? Tommy!”
“The iPad probably died,” Dread says calmly. “We’ll be there in five minutes tops.”
As we get closer to Pine Creek Drive, I notice the neighborhood is getting progressively worse.
“This ain’t a safe place for kids to be alone,” Dread grumbles, echoing my thoughts.
Guilt crashes over me. How could I not have known exactly where my boys were staying? What kind of mother doesn’t check these things?
“I should have insisted on seeing where they were going to be,” I whisper, tears pricking my eyes. “I should have?—”
“Babe.” Dread takes one hand off the wheel to grab mine, threading our fingers together. He gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay.”
At his reassurance, the tears start to fall. “What kind of mother doesn’t know exactly where her boys are staying? Or let’s them leave without a way to call for help?” I sob.
“That’s bullshit,” he snaps.
I wipe the tears from my cheeks, shocked by his tone.
“You’re a kickass mom who trusted an asshole to do his part as their father,” he continues, voice firm. “This ain’t on you. It’s on him.”
I take a deep breath, considering his words. He’s right. I did everything I could to prepare the boys for their weekend with Eddie. I packed their bags with everything they might need. I made sure Tommy knew how to help with Jackson’s diabetes in an emergency. I even wrote out detailed instructions for Eddie, which were obviously pointless since he wasn’t around.
No. This isn’t my fault. It’s Eddie’s. And he’s going to hear about it.
The GPS announces that we’ve arrived at our destination. The house is small and yellow, just as Tommy described, with a large oak tree in the front yard.
Dread barely has the truck in park before I’m jumping out and dashing toward the front door. I bang on it with my fist.
“Tommy! It’s Mom!”
The door flies open, and Tommy launches himself into my arms. He’s shaking, and I hold him close, my eyes closing in relief.
