I swallowed. “He wanted to come by tomorrow. See the kids.”
He was silent. Jaw pulsing.
“I told him no. That he had to be consistent with me before he could drop visits on the kids.”
“Good. I’m proud of you.”
“But what if he comes by tomorrow anyway?” I looked up, then back at him.
“And I was supposed to be here.” He nodded, rubbed at his neck again. “I’ll call him.”
“No.” I shook my head, suddenly resolved. “If he comes, I’ll handle it.” I shivered. “Maybe it’s time he hears it from me. Maybe that way he’ll have to listen.”
“Maybe.” He squeezed my sides. “I hope so.” His shoulders shifted. “But you call me if you need me. I’ll keep my cell on. Tell the team I might have to jet.”
“Okay.” I smiled, kissed him quick. Leaving on the fly was a huge gesture in his world. “I’m cold. Let’s go have that shower.”
His eyes twinkled with the lights. “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Cold hands made their way into the back pockets of my jeans, and he pulled me in. “You, lady in red, are the best present I could ever ask for.” He searched my face. “I hope you know that.”
The tease of his voice, his hands, were exactly what I needed. “What I know, hockey boy, is that this momma needs a massage after that shower.”
“Gladly.” He laughed. “Although, I might need to beg one as well.” He turned to head inside, his left leg still dragging.
“Marc? What happened?”
“I fell from the ladder.” He shrugged. “That last strand always seems to get me.”
I laughed. “At least you didn’t attempt a deep dive into the snow from a third-floor apartment railing this time.”
“This is what I’m saying.” His was a walk half gimp, half swag. “I’m improving.”
“Except you fell this time.” I scooted around him and opened the door, reaching down to rub at his hip a little bit.
He closed his eyes in relief, like I had healing hands. “Nobody’s perfect.”
I couldn’t help but kiss his smiling, beard-scruff-surrounded lips. “Sometimes I think maybe you are.”
He spun me to the wall, injury forgotten, working his way from mouth to neck.
Sweet apple kisses of the past. Our future. All of them delicious.
I sighed, happy.
We’d make it to the shower. Eventually.
The day had gone well. The kids and I had made ornaments, started giant batches of sugar and gingerbread cookies. We’d moved on to decorating when there was a fumbling sound at the front door. I looked at the clock. Marc was on time. Wonder of all wonders. We’d have Christmas Eve together after all.
“Alex, honey, run and let Daddy in. His hands are full.” He’d promised to bring home supper, save us all from one of my ill-fated attempts at cooking.
“Okay, Mommy.” She scooted off.
“Remember to ask who it is first!” I hollered after her, wiping my hands on a towel as I followed behind.
I heard a squeal. “Santa!”
“What—”
And she flung open the door.
My father stared back, the little blonde ball of energy between us. His gaze shifted down to hers. “Aren’t you pretty, like a little doll?”
Her brow furrowed. “You’re not Santa. Where’s your suit?”
“Oh, well, no, I’m your—"
In one swift motion I had her in my arms. “Can you be a big helper, please, and go check on baby Finn for Mommy?” She loved being the bossy big sister. “Maybe it’s time to clean up before dinner?”
“Oh, yes.” She agreed matter-of-factly, and I set her down to go investigate the situation.
I looked back to my father. Santa he was not, but the round belly and white beard were not a far cry from the jolly fellow he’d harkened. “I was pretty clear on the phone.”
“Hello to you too, Jillie.”
I crossed my arms. “Look, it’s not that I don’t see the effort. But you need to make plans with me, follow through on them. We have a lot to go over before I introduce the kids to you.”
“Please don’t treat me like I want to hurt them.” He held up a stack of gifts. “I could never do this for you, but I’m trying now.”
“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “This is not trying. This is an uninvited shot in the dark.” I went to close the door. “And it’s not enough.”
He held his fingertips against it, resisting the cutoff. “Please. I just want to make it right.”
I peered at him through the door opening and took a deep breath. This was the moment. My turn to speak out, speak up for all we had lost, all I had lost, because of his choices.
“Then start with an apology. Start with the truth. Start with the why.” I tried to steady myself, my words, my thoughts. “No one kept you from me while I was growing up. You made that choice. And I’m not going to pity you for it.”
His face twitched at the sting of my words. “I thought—I thought I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t ready.”
I said nothing.
He continued with caution. “I didn’t know. How to be a father, a husband.”
“No one’s shown Marc, and he’s managed to figure it out.” My voice was curt, unyielding.
“It’s not that I wasn’t shown how.” He took a deep breath. “It’s that I was shown wrong.”
The packages in his hands began to shake, both he and them rattled. I softened. A bit.
It took him a second to regain his composure, but he did. “I didn’t want to become my father. He wasn’t—he wasn’t a kind man.” His throat bobbed and his eyes shifted in circles, finding anywhere to look but at me. “Someone had to break the cycle.”
My chest caught. He’d been abused?
He gulped. “The night I left.” He corrected himself. “The first night I left, I lost my temper, punched a wall. And I didn’t even know I had it in me.” He met my gaze finally, full of determination. “Nothing. Nothing was worth putting you or your mother through what I went through growing up. And I wasn’t about to take that risk.”
I let the door swing wider as the space between us filled with the unspoken, a possibility of openness.
His absence had been out of love.
His hands worked together in a nervous pattern. “Your mother and I married young. I didn’t—I didn’t know it was too late, or too soon, until it was. All of that came out after. The memories.” His hands worked faster. “The fears.”
For the first time I saw the broken man instead of the abandoner, the humanity instead of the human role he was meant to play in my life and had failed at so terribly.
“I swear, Jillie, I was just trying to protect you.” The catch in his voice was more than I could take. “But I am not my father. I’m not.” He took a deep breath. “I’m just sorry it’s taken me so much time to accept it.” He bobbled his head, like his thoughts were a directionless marble. It was the exact same gesture Finn had just started to make. “Well, time and therapy.”