The Lights on Knockbridge Lane (Garnet Run 3)

It was the wound of trauma that was reopened every time someone paid overt attention to him. Now the wound could open at a hair trigger, and those triggers had become phobias. He knew it. He just wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

But he did know what to do about his father’s disapproving, judgmental, entitled voice.

“You heard me. I didn’t know any different at the time. But I know now what it looks like to be a good father. You model best practices for your children. You show them how to make the world a better, more interesting, more loving place. You’re honest with them because trust between you matters. You ask them how they feel and why they feel it and you honor those feelings. You don’t instrumentalize them for your own gain. And you don’t ever, ever make them feel responsible for your happiness as a person.”

Wes could hear the cold fury in his voice so he knew his father could hear it too.

“I was so terrified of hurting you, of ruining your career, that I did things I hated. Things that hurt me. That are still hurting me now. And you didn’t care. You didn’t care how I felt or what I needed. You only cared about yourself. I know that now. And I know how selfish that is.”

Wes took a deep breath. He felt as if a huge weight had slid off his shoulders, and his heart was pounding with adrenaline.

“I’m sorry to say this on your birthday, but I can’t sit with it for one more day. I did something that hurt people I care about yesterday because I was so terrified of being visible in the world. It was a stupid mistake and I regret it, but I don’t know if I can ever make it right. But I’m sure as hell gonna try.”

He wasn’t even talking to his father anymore. He was just saying aloud the things that needed to be said.

Before his father could say anything in response, Wes blurted out, “Happy birthday,” and hung up the phone.

He was shaking.

“Holy shit,” Wes said. “Holy, holy, holy shit.”

He slid down to the floor, back against the wall. His hands were trembling but he felt exultant, like he’d finally beaten an enemy in a game he hadn’t even admitted he was playing.

And if he could do that...if he could face his father after all these years and tell him exactly what he thought of him?

Then he could do anything.

He grabbed a piece of cardboard lying near him and a marker near his foot and started to make a plan. He sketched and calculated and plotted and schemed.

Then he picked up his phone and placed one more call.

“Zachary?” he said when his friend picked up. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need you to help me save Christmas.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Adam

It was the day before Christmas Eve and Adam and Gus were trying to pretend like they were having fun. It was a rather pitiful scene.

Adam kept coming back to his realization about Wes and what might have gone wrong between them, and why. He’d composed and deleted three separate text messages, because if he was wrong...well, it felt too pathetic to text the guy who broke up with you and say, “I think I figured out why you dumped me and I’m sorry and here’s how we can fix it” and have him say, “No, actually, I dumped you because I’m just not that into you.”

Adam cringed and sternly banished the thought, resolving yet again to be present with Gus. His heartbreak would still be there after Christmas was over.

“Hey, I know,” Adam said. “Let’s go get a Christmas tree!”

Gus lifted her drooping head at that idea, but then slumped back onto the couch.

“I don’t wanna murder a tree,” she said.

“We could get a fake tree,” Adam offered, but even as he was saying it he worried they’d be sold out at the few nearby stores.

Gus just sighed and flipped over on the couch so her blond hair streamed to the floor.

Adam tapped around on his phone, then went to sit beside her.

“Look, here. We could get a tree that has the root ball still attached and that way we can plant it again after Christmas.”

Gus sat up.

“We don’t have any ornaments,” she said, but he could tell her interest was piqued.

“We can make them!”

“Hmm.” Gus contemplated for a minute, then jumped up. “Okay!”

Adam grabbed her in a hug. She was truly the greatest kid on the planet.

“Thanks for being a sport,” he said. “I’m sorry this Christmas hasn’t turned out as good as I promised.”

“It’s not your fault,” she sighed.

It was, but Adam chose to accept her absolution in the spirit in which it was given.

* * *

The Christmas tree farm was about thirty minutes away and they sang along to Christmas carols the whole way, moods lifting with each mile they got from home. It was good to just leave sometimes, Adam realized. To physically distance yourself from your problems so you could get some perspective. It had certainly worked with Mason. Mostly.