That piece of uncommunicated information turned my mood even more sour. “I wish you had clarified that. You know I need time to prepare for afternoons with April.”
“Prepare how? With a pre-dug hole behind the bleachers?”
He wasn’t far off. You’d think, with all the coparenting April and I did, that our relationship would have improved over time, but it was just as contentious as the day we met. Only now there were extra kids in the mix. Mine. And I was fiercely protective. Though that wasn’t to say I didn’t love hers. Sweet, helpful, and well-behaved, MGM was a model child. We’d grown close over the years. Like me, he wasn’t a fan of ocean swimming, so when Scott took Keith out surfing, Mitchell stayed back with me, and we talked, baked, and played. No, my stepson was not the problem. April and I being within spitting distance of each other… that was the problem.
I forced a smile. “Well, then, let’s get this over with.”
Scott studied me like he was deciding whether to push it or let it go. He pushed it. “I can practically feel the sisterhood forming.”
I shot him a look. “I wouldn’t.”
He sighed. “Can you play nice for once?”
“That depends,” I snapped. “Are you going to have my back this time?”
Scott had made the mistake of trying to stay neutral, never a wise choice when you were married to one of the combatants. For his own safety, there was only one correct answer to that question:Yes, honey.
He nodded.
Good enough.
I walked to the door, grabbing the diaper bag and Emma’s clothes. I’d change her at the field. Trying to wrestle her into an outfit now would have been like lighting the fuse on a grenade then hopping into the car with it. I didn’t have it in me for that battle.
Sidestepping me, Scott called out to the kids in forced cheer. “Let’s roll, team!”
Keith whooped and bolted ahead, tripping over his own excitement. Emma toddled after him, her half-naked doll dragging behind her like a casualty of war. And I followed them out into the California sun, bracing myself for T-ball, tantrums, and my regularly scheduled sparring match with April, carrying the gnawing understanding that the argument with Scott was coming back home with us.
22
SCOTT: SHOW ME THE MONEY
The garage reeked of weed, cheap beer, and desperation, three of my favorite coping mechanisms. Dollar bills were scattered across the card table, limp with sweat and bong water. Michelle always pictured me out here gambling away our rent, but none of these guys could scrape together more than ten bucks between them. The only thing at stake, aside from a few spare dollars, was pride and a few bruised egos.
Yeah, I was still friends with all the guys from the neighborhood. We’d stuck together through thick and thin, clinging to the same bad habits that had bound us from the start. They were terrible influences. Hell, so was I, but there was something comforting about being surrounded by these idiots. Except I wasn’t feeling relaxed.
The tension from yesterday’s clash with Michelle was still hanging around. She knew I was lying and wanted to hear me say it.Did you take any money out of the envelope, Scott?I’d denied it. Badly. She’d looked at me like I was a stranger wearing her husband’s face, and there was nothing that ate at me more than disappointing her. I’d told her I’d fix it, and yet here I wasthrowing more money away with my stoner friends on our standing Sunday afternoon poker game.
“Yo, McKallister,” Allen said, lighting another joint. “You in, or did Michelle take away your lunch money?”
“Ha. Ha. So funny,” I said, tossing in a buck. “I get an allowance.”
The whole table cracked up. I let them. It was easier to emasculate myself in front of my buddies than to come clean about where the money was really going.
I glanced at my cards. A pair of sevens, nothing special, so I folded.
Johnny squinted at me through the haze. “You good, man?”
I smiled, or tried to. “Yeah. Just tired.”
That was the lie I’d been using lately.Tiredcovered everything. My job. The money, the guilt, the quiet panic of realizing I’d promised Michelle a good life and somehow delivered a half-paid electric bill and a habit of disappointing her. And that was before she knew the half of it. I was in deep, and the only real way out was to come clean—today, right now, before the lie grew another day older. I should’ve told her. I almost did. But the words got stuck in my throat, and I let the moment slip. My father had walked out when things got hard. I’d spent my whole life swearing I wasn’t him. And yet here I was with smoke in my lungs, lies in my mouth, and no idea how to stop the walls from closing in.
The apartment complexwas quiet when I pulled up. The outdoor hallway lights buzzed against the fading daylight, throwing a sickly glow across the row of front doors. I knew Michelle and the kids were waiting behind one of them, and the second I crossed the barrier, I’d have to switch it on. The besthusband. The best father. No excuses. They deserved that much.
I killed the engine and sat there, my forehead against the wheel, wondering how long I could keep lying to her before it all came apart.
Then a knock on the window damn near stopped my heart.
Marty.
