Until December (Until Her/Him #8)(6)

“Fuck,” I hiss, getting up and heading to my bathroom. I try to block out thoughts of December and how I might have fucked things up between us because of my past, as I shower and then move to get dressed in my walk-in closet. Only when I’m dressed and have my boots on do I come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter; it’s done. My message to her after her explanation made it final.

With that thought, I pause at the bedroom door and make a last-second decision. I strip the sheets off the bed along with the cases on the pillows. Maybe... fucking hopefully, if December’s scent is gone, I’ll finally be able to wake up without a fucking hard-on from her sultry perfume that’s clung to my bedding the last few days. Maybe I’ll be able to wake up without thinking about her and the ways I might have fucked things up because of my past.

I dump the load in my arms into the washer just off the kitchen and pick up the bottle of soap, dump that in, and then start up the machine. With that done, I start a pot of coffee then go down the hallway.

My boys would sleep all day if I let them—something I’m grateful for on the weekends and in the summer, but something that is a pain in the ass to deal with during the school year. I open my nine-year-old’s door first, since it normally takes Max longer to get up. His alarm is going off, but he’s pulled his pillow over his head to block out the blaring noise. I flip on the light then walk across the clean space to his bed and tug his foot. “Time to get up, Max.”

He groans, pulling his foot away. “Isn’t it the weekend yet?”

“Dude, it’s Tuesday.”

“Ugh, I want to be homeschooled.”

“Get up and in the shower,” I order, leaving his light on and ignoring his groan of annoyance.

I skip one door, which is to the boys’ Jack and Jill bathroom, and open the next. When I flip on the light, my fifteen-going on forty-year-old son, Mitchell, lifts his head off his pillow. “Already?”

I smile. “Sorry, kid.”

“You don’t look sorry,” he mutters before plopping back and covering his face. “Can you shut off the light so I don’t go blind?”

“Nope.”

I leave him and head back for the kitchen, where I pour myself a cup of coffee and start breakfast. At just thirty-two, I shouldn’t have two kids my boys’ age. Then again, I shouldn’t have been having sex at sixteen and knocking up my high school girlfriend by the age of seventeen. And I really shouldn’t have stupidly knocked her up again six years later, long after things ended between us. As stupid as my decisions were, I regret nothing. I love my boys and can’t imagine a life without them in it. They are why I work two jobs and have a reason to get out of bed most mornings.

I finish breakfast—scrambled eggs and toast—then wait. Like clockwork, both my boys come into view, each looking almost exactly like me at their age. Tall, and fit without putting work in. Max’s hair is a dirty blond and he’s a little lankier than his brother, but I have no doubt that will change in a few years. They sit on the barstools across from me and I hand over plates to each of them, watching as they start to devour their food in a few bites. With the way they eat, I might need to get a third job. I swear I cannot keep enough food stocked for the two of them, even with a Sam’s Club membership and buying in bulk.

“I’m taking you to school, and Grandma is picking you up. I should be home not long after you get here.”

“I have track after school,” Mitchell reminds me before shoving the last bite of the toast left on his plate into his mouth. This is the first year Mitchell has been in track, the high school track coach convinced him to try out after seeing him run. And after some debating Mitchell decided to give it a year to see if he liked it. So far so good, who knows what will happen next year.

“She’ll pick up Max then wait for you.”

“I don’t know why I have to hang with Grandma. Especially when I’m old enough to sit home alone for a couple hours. It isn’t even like I get to watch him play baseball,” Max bickers.

I look at my youngest and pull up patience. Mitchell has always done what’s asked without question, when his brother has had a question for everything since he was old enough to form words into a sentence. My boys couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. The only thing the two of them have in common is baseball. Where they got the love for the game, I don’t know, because I didn’t have any interest in the sport growing up and the only reason I do now is because of them.

“When you turn ten, we’ll talk about you being here alone for a few hours.”

“Flipping great. I only have to wait another freakin year.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Mitchell scolds, and Max turns to glare at him.

Knowing what will happen if I let this shit carry on, I cut in. “Cut it out, Max. You know I cannot leave you home alone, and Mitch, I don’t need your help.”

Both boys look at me, each with a look of remorse. Fuck, I love my boys. They are good kids, even after dealing with the shit they have in their short lives. Like all kids, they push boundaries, but they tend to listen without too much of a fight.

“Tonight is takeout, so figure out what you want to eat and send me a message. I’ll pick it up before I come home.”

“Pizza,” Max says.

“Chinese,” Mitchell puts in.