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“Thank you, Saint.”
“Anytime, Angel.” I seal that with a kiss, then I point them toward the door and pat their butt. “The sooner you get the kids, the sooner we can celebrate Christmas with them. Go. Don’t let him take another minute of your joy, okay?”
“Yeah. Be back soon.” They flash me a tight smile.
“You can bring the Mercedes if you want. Owen would love that.”
Angel snorts. “Tempting, but I don’t want to rile Trevor up more than I already have. Next time?”
“Next time,” I agree.
I watch them drive off. Then I busy myself making sure everything is perfect for the kids’ arrival. I rearrange the presents under the tree, including one I got for Angel. Among all the parcels, there’s another gift for me. It fits in my palm and I’m tempted to peek under the paper. I recognize Owen’s messy scrawl from the sweet note the kids wrote me with their other gift.
One little peek won’t hurt. Except, when I give in to the impulse, the crudely handmade aro pride ornament hits me like a gut punch. It’s a regular Christmas ball painted with wide dark green, light green, white, gray, and black stripes from top to bottom. Angel told me more about what the flags mean to them while we were decorating. That it’s their family’s way of affirming their love for each other. I think back to my chat in the car with Owen. How I came out to the kid without really meaning to. And this is another sign he’s ready to embrace me as a part of his family. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he never regrets that.
Sure, it’s terrifying to think those two kids might come to rely on me. I don’t know how Angel has done it alone these past years, but I’m going to be the best damn step-dad I can be for them. They’re worth it. Angel is worth it.
Chapter 16
Angel (December 25th, 2023)
I’montenterhooksasI approach Trevor’s front door for what might well be the last time. That’s a strange realization. This place that’s been a part of my kids’ routine for years isn’t going to be a part of their lives anymore after this week.
Trevor and I agreed to tell them about his move after the holidays. I even offered him one last overnight since the kids are on break for the entire week. Owen will need a chance for some closure. Meg will realize what her father’s big move means and just be pissed off at him, but she deserves a chance to tell him that to his face.
I have appointments scheduled for both kids with their old family therapist for early next month. The situation with Trevor sucks, but we’ll get through this together. Another reason to take things slowly with Saint instead of rushing into more upheaval in my kids’ lives.
That’s an excuse though. Having another supportive adult around can only be a positive development. And I deserve to be happy too. Saint has been such a bright spot for me lately. Or at least, he is when he’s not backing away—and I am fairly confident that he won’t be doing that anymore after our conversation earlier.
It’s okay to bring the kids back to his place with me tonight. They’ve both picked up on how much time I spend with Saint. Neither of them seems upset about it. I’m being ridiculous as I linger on Trevor’s front steps, putting off the inevitable, wavering over my decisions.
Trevor has a way of making me second-guess everything. I thought that would end when I left him, but it’s still hard to trust my own judgment some days. Much as the news of his move is going to hurt the kids, a part of me is selfishly relieved it will mean less contact.
Meg opens the door before I can knock and storms down the steps, her overstuffed bag bumping down the steps behind her. She packed light in anticipation of holiday gifts, and from the way her bag bulges now, it looks like her grandmother didn’t disappoint.
“He’s not coming back, is he?” Meg asks me.
My heart sinks. Trevor told them about the move ahead of schedule. Of course he did. It was foolish to believe he wouldn’t take the chance to ruin the rest of Christmas for me. Ugh.
Sometimes I feel like I’m paranoid about him, and then he does shit like this and I’m not crazy for thinking he does it on purpose. I’m not.
“No. He told me he isn’t,” I admit. I open my arms to her. Meg stares at me, trembling with anger for a long time before she caves and crashes down the steps and into my arms. She leaves her heavy bag on the stairs.
“I hate him,” Meg growls through tears as I rock her in my arms. “I hate him so much.”
“That’s alright.” I don’t contradict her. She’s allowed to be angry. As helpless as I feel to help her through this, I can at least give her a safe space to work through her emotions about it. Even if a part of her hates me too. She eventually pulls away to scrub at her tear-bright eyes.
“Owen is excited to visit Calgary. Dad said they’ll check out the Stampede this summer.”
I purse my lips.
Meg slumps. “It’s not happening, huh?”
I shake my head minutely. “I’m sorry.”
Meg huffs. “He’s an asshole. Why don’t you ever call him out?”
“Because he’s your father, and as much as he infuriates me, you kids love him.”
