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Picking up the ,sly little culprit because he’s lost all trust, I shuffle my weight and pull out my phone from my pocket.
Hailey would literally have castrated me if she found out it only took me an hour to basically lose our son.
My thumb hits send, and I kiss my small shape-shifter on the temple. It’s time to bring in some reinforcements.
seventeen
Finn
“Youseriouslytextedusfor this?” Cole says, lifting the corner of his lip in a sneer. “I thought you were joking.”
“Yeah, and when your text mentioned something about free entertainment, I didn’t expect to be the one providing it,” Eli agrees.
“Guys, we got this,” I reassure them. “It’s one versus three.”
Things have gotten better, or worse, depending on your prerogative, since texting my friends. My fingers were only run over twice after coloring became a bore and Aiden decided he wanted his trucks again.
The kid’s motor skills are perfect when it comes to nailing any vulnerable digit on my body. I swear it’s like his mother somehow convinced him to target me before she dropped him off. He hasn’t missed a beat—or my anatomy once.
I should invest in a Hailey cutout and shove it underneath the hoop while I work on my three throws. Level out the playing field a bit. Then after my ball finds its target, it hits another. My son seems to have no trouble separating the difference, so why should I?
Win-win.
“Fuck,” Eli hisses, not taking his eyes off the small terror that is my son.
“Fuck,” Aiden mimics with a grin.
“Fuck,” Eli repeats. This time it’s out of what he’s done, and my gaze goes nuclear.Thanks, asshole, it screams.
Do you think my friends teaching Aiden a new word is a close second to almost losing him? If I start with that, warm Hailey up a bit with Eli’s exotic vocabulary abilities, she won’t hear me when I mention the other part because the smoke coming out of them will have clogged them closed.
It’s humbling that a child who can’t speak more than a few sentences and a couple hundred words has picked up on the one that will send his mother into a downward spiral.
Aiden repeats it again, singsongy as if it was a favorite pastime. Turns out it became the theme of the night.
Cole let it slip later while trying to wrestle him into his pajamas. More accurately, his phrasing was, “come back here, you little fuck.”
To be fair, this was while the pair of them raced around the living room, and after, Aiden jumped from the bath and opened the door to escape.
Cole’s clothes were more soaked through than my son’s naked body as he sprinted around, not wanting to be dressed. I decided I liked my balls too much to press Cole on how he got so wet, dropping my intrigue.
I’m all for being a free spirit, but even I could admit Aiden was pushing his limits.
Collectively, I would give the hellhound’s success rate a five…out of a thousand. Our efforts? They topped to the brim.
Outmatched, outsmarted, and outplayed, we lost to someone who only learned to walk about a year ago.
We’ve been outdone by someone who’s pint-sized in comparison.
Dad’s house, you might be wondering? A nuclear explosion would’ve had cleaner results. His place is a straight-up catastrophe.
It wasn’t until Cole volunteered—lost to Eli and me, both putting a finger to our noses first—to give Aiden his bath I saw in detail how much Hailey had brought.
How she managed to pack toys, books, diapers,emergencydiapers, wipes, extra clothes, blankets, and snacks all in one bag, I’ll never know. If you told me she was a wizard with a spellbound bottomless bag, I would’ve believed you.
Not that any of that matters much anymore. My little cyclone grabs for anything in his reach. The leftover contents littering the room are some from us but mostly from him.
If one thing, he’s at least efficient. He hasn’t left one area between the kitchen and living room untouched. A true master of destruction.
