They scurry away, but Kendall doesn’t move.
“Seriously?” she snaps, her voice tired as well as annoyed. “You let them stay up all night.”
I could argue that let is a very subjective word, considering what really happened, but she doesn’t look like she’d be amused by that statement.
“It’s Friday, and they don’t have school. I figured they’d sleep later tomorrow, and you could get more rest.” I added that last part of reasoning because she seems like she could use a few more hours of sleep.
“Kids that age don’t sleep later, Finnegan,” she hisses, still glued to the same spot she was standing in when I startled awake. “They get up at the same time, only they’re cranky as hell because they didn’t get enough sleep.”
I feel like a complete asshole when she walks away. I know I mentioned I didn’t know a damn thing about kids, and this just proved my point. So much for being helpful.
Chapter 15
Kendall
“You wanted to come to the park, Kason. Go play.”
Even my words are exhausted, but I try to give my son a smile of encouragement.
“I said I wanted to come because Knox wanted to come. I don’t even like the park.”
“Since when? You love the park.”
“I like the park by our old house. This park is dumb.”
I inhale deeply, trying to tamp down my agitation. What I told Finnegan was going to happen happened. Knox was up with the sun, and the other two not long after. Mere hours after lying down, I was back up. Coming to the park felt like the right thing at the time because if the kids wear themselves out enough, I may be able to convince them to take a nap this afternoon, and Lord knows I could use a few more hours of sleep before my shift tonight.
“This is a nice park.”
“They only have three swings,” he mutters, pulling at the grass in front of him.
“You only have one tush, so as long as a swing is available, and I see all three are, you should be good.”
He looks up at the swings, the seats swaying in the light breeze.
“They’re orange. The ones at the other park are red.”
“Kason,” I groan. “Swings are swings. Go play.”
“When will we move again?”
If only I had the answer to this question.
“Soon,” I tell him, realizing a little too late my mistake.
Soon to a seven-year-old isn’t the same soon to an adult.
“Good.”
“You don’t like where we’re at?”
He looks at me as if I’m crazy for even asking the question.
“It’s a nice place. You don’t have to share the same room with two girls.”
“I don’t like him,” he says.
“Him?” We were talking about the condo.
“The man we’re living with.”
I go on full alert, my mind racing to consider what in the world happened last night to make him dislike Finnegan so much.
My heart is pounding, threatening to beat right out of my chest when I ask, “Why? What happened?”
He shrugs as I try to remember the last time I had the stranger-danger talk with my kids.
“He tries too hard.”
“Tries too hard to do what?”
He’s silent for a long gut-wrenching moment before speaking again, and I watch, holding my breath as he twists a blade of grass until it breaks.
“He didn’t even tell us to go back to sleep last night. We walked right into the living room and started watching YouTube.”
“He didn’t tell you to watch YouTube?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.
Kason looks away, his cheeks heating for getting caught in the lie he told last night.
“He didn’t tell us not to,” he argues.
“And because you got to do what you wanted, you don’t like him?”
He shrugs. “He’s not Uncle Ezra.”
“No, he’s not,” I agree. “But it’s his condo, and he’s doing me a really big favor, so you need to be respectful. If I hear of you two being up when you’re supposed to be asleep again, you already know the consequences.”
“Okay,” he mutters, but the sound of his broken agreement makes my heart ache.
I just want to give them the perfect life. I never wanted my kids to see me struggle, to feel the weight of that like Ezra and I did when we were younger. I feel like I’m making all the same mistakes, no matter how hard I try.
“Go play. I’m going to need a nap this afternoon, and I can’t have you running all over the place while I sleep.”
He stands and bolts away, deciding that the orange swings aren’t that bad after all. I know that he’s just hoping I’ll forget about the stunt he pulled last night and won’t take his tablet away from him. That kid pushes every single boundary put in front of him.
My phone rings twenty minutes later, but after seeing my brother’s name flash on the screen, I send it to voicemail, an indication to him that I’m still mad for what he’s done.