He scowls and continues hitting the bag.
Knowing I’ve got little chance of him opening up while he’s in this mood, I reach for the mitts and put them on. Jerking my chin at him, I say, “Come here.”
The scowl doesn’t leave his face, but he does what I say. A moment later, he’s punching the mitts I’m holding up.
We train in silence for ten minutes. Keaton punches the mitts harder than he ever has. I push back just as hard, giving him the resistance he needs to get this out of his system.
After ten minutes, I say, “You ready to tell me what’s going on yet?”
He grunts his way through another punch before stopping and wiping sweat from his face. “No.”
I eye his water bottle on the ground. “Have a drink and then we’ll do another ten minutes.”
We repeat this twice. On the third round, I sense the force of his punches easing. I give him his full ten minutes before asking again, “Who pissed you off?”
He continues hitting the mitts for another minute before finally stopping and looking at me. Sweat slicks his skin and fury bleeds from his pores. “A motherfucker who needs to learn some fuckin’ lessons.”
“The guy who gave Savannah that black eye?”
He works his jaw. “Yeah.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a question, Keaton.”
“It sounded like one.”
I cross my arms and wait for him to give me what I’m after. I’ve been patient with him but I’m ready for him to talk.
He continues working his jaw as he lifts his forearm to his forehead to wipe the sweat away. “He made a move on her at theparty. She didn’t like the move. He got rough with her. I took care of it.”
Now, it’s my turn to clench my jaw. “How far did he get with her?”
“I stopped him before he got what he wanted, but I wasn’t there in time to stop him hitting her.”
“Who?” I demand. I agree with Keaton: this kid needs to learn a lesson. And his parents need to know what he did.
“You’re not getting involved in this,” he says with more determination than I’ve ever seen in him.
“Scarlett and Wilder need to know about this.”
“No.” He turns to the punching bag.
“Keaton—"
He swings back around to face me, cutting me off. “Savannah doesn’t want them to know. I only told you because I knew you wouldn’t let it go. I’m talking with her and trying to help her figure this shit out in her head, so can you just drop it and let her find the right time to open up to them?”
Sitting back isn’t something I’m good at doing but fuck if raising kids hasn’t forced me to learn. It’s still not my first choice, but at times it’s been myonlychoice.
I take a good look at my son as I think about everything I’m seeing and hearing in him. Keaton’s one of the popular kids at school. Always has been. High school has been a rollercoaster for him and me as he’s navigated his way through that popularity and everything it’s brought him.
Girls are all over him while boys look up to him.
Last year, he and I went to battle often over the way he treated girls. He’s always respected girls but having a never-ending line of them waiting to gain his attention meant that when he grew bored there was always another girl in line. As far as I was concerned, Keaton was too willing to go from one to the next without enough thought about the feelings involved.
We fought a lot while I did my damnedest to teach him that this wasn’t acceptable. Somewhere along the way, he paid attention and at the end of last year, I noticed a change in him. It was subtle, but it was there, and he’s only dated two girls this year.
