Page 90 of Deceived Wrath

I pause in the middle of his bedroom, taking in the traces of the life I’ve mostly been absent from.

Soccer trophies line the shelf above the desk, each one a reminder of games I never watched and victories I never celebrated with my son. My body feels weighed down by guilt as I head into the kitchen, where Scout is unsticking a drawing taped to the fridge. It’s a colorful family portrait he must havedrawn of me, him, and Ray, complete with his tattoos and scarred head.

I smile. “I can see the resemblance.”

Scout says nothing as he looks down at the drawing.

“I think Ray should have it.” He tapes it back up and walks out of the room.

I watch him go, feeling my stomach twist.

The poor kid has already lost his mother, and today he almost lost a man who has been more of a father to him than I ever have.

I follow him back into his room, where I find him holding a small soccer medal on a piece of fraying blue ribbon.

“I won this in the district championship… I wish you could have been there.”

I swallow hard, crouching down beside him. “I know, Scout. But I’m here now. And I promise… I’m not going anywhere.”

He studies me for a long moment, then carefully tucks the medal into his backpack as if carrying it with him will keep it safe.

Guilt slashes at me, but mixed with it is a new sense of determination.

From now on, I won’t let him feel the absence of his father the way he has so far. I’ll be here, really here, for him.

We finish gathering his things, some action figures, a few clothes, and some well-loved books.

Once his backpack is fit to bursting, he carries it out to the car.

I watch him carefully, his small hands clutching his treasures, and a strange weight lifts just slightly off my chest.

Scout glances up at me, his eyes, so identical to my own, full of trust.

For the first time since Ray’s collapse, I feel hope that I might just be able to figure this out and be the father that he needs, but more importantly, that he deserves.

It feels like days pass before we arrive at the penthouse.

The moment the elevator doors slide shut behind us, Scout goes still. His eyes sweep over the open-plan living space as he grips the strap of his backpack a little tighter.

“This is…big,” he says quietly.

I almost laugh because that’s the understatement of the century, but I catch myself.

He’s not impressed. He’s overwhelmed.

“Yeah. It takes some getting used to.”

He nods, though I’m not sure he believes me.

I let him wander at his own pace.

He walks over to the windows that stretch the full height of the wall, showing off a panoramic view of the city. Scout presses his forehead against the glass, watching the tiny cars far below.

“They look like toys.” He sounds amazed.

I move to stand behind him with my hands in my pockets, trying to imagine seeing the city through his eyes.

His eyes flit to me and then back to the window and the world below. “Do you get scared being up this high?”