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Dark and dramatic as a storm, he ran past me, thumped up the stairs, and slammed the bedroom door. It was still ingrained in me that Briggs hated the chaos of Fox getting upset, and I had to work hard to shake my instinct to ask Fox to calm down.My sonwas entitled to find the world hard, and I was going to be there for him.
I locked the front door, then piled drinks and snacks onto a tray and headed upstairs.
“Fox?” I knocked on his door. We’d been here a week now, and I thought things had been going well for him, with Clarke and Ainsley befriending him, pulling him into their circle, with study sessions at the library, shared in jokes, and a love of movies. Both of them were good kids, and I liked to see Fox smiling when he was with them. Not to mention, he’d worked doubly hard to get an essay in to Chris about that mice book he’d been reading.
“Go away!” he yelled so loud I winced. Fox aced sulky teenager, but this was different, this was temper, and tears.
I knocked again as worry consumed me. “I’m coming in!”
“Don’t you dare!”
“I’m coming in,” I repeated.
“I hate this! It’s my room! I hate you!” he shouted, but shoulders back in self-defense, I pushed the handle, stepped inside, and encountered chaos. The contents of his school bag were scattered around the floor, a water bottle lying on its side, the contents splashed up the wall and now soaking into the carpet, and the poster of his papa in uniform holding his Cy Young award had been torn from its pride of place and was in tiny pieces on the floor.
Fuck.
Was this about Briggs? What the fuck had he done now?
I had an alert on my phone for any news about my ex, and nothing had come up, but this had to be somethinghe’ddone, or said, to cause Fox to lose control like this. I faced him head on. He was in the middle of the turmoil, hands in fists at his sides, red-faced with temper, and snarling.
“Get out!” he screamed in my face, and even though with this temper he’d probably be able to hurt me if he lashed out, I knew he wouldn’t do that.
“Fox, you need to take a breath.”
He searched around himself, found a baseball trophy he’d won when he was at Grovewood Prep, and hurled it at the wall where it dug into wood and plaster, then fell to join the remains of the poster. I moved so that I was in front of him, not touching him, but letting him see me.
“Leave me alone! I hate you!” he yelled right in my face.
“Fox—”
“You’re not even my real dad!” he roared, his eyes wide, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks.
The knife dug deep, even though I knew he didn’t mean it. This was not just another adolescent outburst; this was Fox losing control, his emotions cascading one at a time, and that was where he’d ended, hating the adult who was responsible for him.
His hands were curled into fists and his chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, but through the pain, he was so vulnerable—still a kid—and his brown eyes, normally bright and curious, were dark with a storm of anger, frustration, and hurt.
“Fox!” I shouted over him, startling him. “Stop!” I kept my voice steady despite the worry churning inside me, trying to rein in the confusion.
“Why does everything have to be so messed up?!” Fox yelled, his voice cracking under the strain of his emotions. “Why can’t anything just be normal? Why didn’t Papa want me to stay?”?” He sobbed. “Why didn’t he wantme?”
I swallowed my pain at his words, then took a cautious step toward him and touched his arm, and I called it a win that he didn’t move away, or flinch. “Fox, talk to me.”
He glared. “I didn’t even want to come to this shitty town!”
“Fox? Talk to me.”
“I hate you for bringing me here!”
“Fox—”
“I hate you!” Then he pressed his fingers to his mouth. “Dad…” He stared, unblinking, then dashed tears from his eyes, and I could almost see every emotion passing over his face. “You don’t understand,” he whispered. “No one does!” With that, he slumped onto his bed, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shaking with sobs.
I sat beside him, leaving enough distance to give him the space he needed while still being close. “I may not understand everything, but I’m here to listen.” I kept my tone gentle, a little worried that I might scare him off, when actually this could be a pivotal moment for the two of us. If only he would talk to me about what was going on in his head.
Fox was silent for a long while before his voice emerged, muffled and small. “They took me out of the group chat.”
“Who did? Clarke? Ainsley?” My heart ached—so much for friends—I thought they were the good guys.
