Page 6 of Risk
I laugh because there is no reasoning with a three year old who’s as hardheaded as my boy is. It’s even harder because in this aspect, he is his father’s son. Getting vegetables into Risk is a tricky endeavor. I used to have to hide them in casseroles or mash them up and add them into the sauces I’d drizzle over his food. “I could try.”
Mom harrumphs before saying, “Don’t sound so scared, Kenna.”
“Psh, I’m not scared,” I respond. “I’m realistic.”
We talk about cartoons, his teacher, and artwork before time is up and I have to let him go. We blow air kisses at each other and as soon as his face disappears, tears stream down my face. I hate that I can’t be a part of his everyday life, but the situation is still too dicey for me to ask for more parental time.
“This is for the best,” I whisper to myself. “All that matters is that he’s safe. Marshall can’t find out about him or he’d use him as a bargaining chip against you. Or even worse, take him and use him as cattle. You’re doing the right thing, Kenna.”
Reminding myself of this should ease my conscience, but it doesn’t. If anything, it adds to my self-loathing. A stark reminder of why I shouldn’t be a mother. He’s at the best place he could be because my mom would move mountains and boulders for him. It’ll be a cold day in hell before she’d let anything bad happen to him.
It wasn’t my mother’s lack of love for me that had me running away, by no fault of her own, it was because there always felt like something was missing from my life. Something I could neverget a handle on. I had a lack of confidence in myself and I took that out on her.
Each time I left, she aged. Her hair got grayer, her wrinkles got deeper, and her eyes were always wary. I did that to her and as a result, the path my life has taken is on me.
There’s no one else to blame, not even Risk. I should still hate him for what he put me through, but I forgave him the day I looked into Phoenix’s eyes.
Risk may not know it, but in a way, he saved me by giving me one of the most precious gifts a man could give a woman. And for that, I’ll always be eternally thankful.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Risk
It’scomedy central here in the waiting room. Luna and Kodiak are putting on quite the skit. They aren’t being quiet with their squabbling. And Luna is descriptively announcing what everything she’s going through feels like. I’ve even heard Demi put her two cents in here and there. The one that had my brother cringing is when she publicly announced that Conan is getting fixed.
“My swimmers are safe because there’s no way in hell I’m voluntarily getting my balls cut into,” Conan confirms. “Luna’s a bad influence on her. They’re spending too much time together.”
I shake my head because no matter how many times he tells his old lady that she and Luna need a break from each other, it turns into an ear-piercing screeching match. Those two are thick as thieves and have had each other’s backs longer than they’ve known their old men.
“They’re a pair,” I muse, cringing as my president hollers in distress.
“Those are my balls, woman!”
“I know,” Luna yells back. “I’m putting them out of commission.”
The entire waiting room goes eerily silent as we digest what she just said. Many of my brothers grab their packages in commiseration with our pres and his perilous situation.
Me, however, I laugh so hard my belly begins to tighten and tears freefall from my eyes, trekking down my cheeks. “I’m gonna step outside for some fresh air.”
“I’ll come with you,” Tritan states, standing and stretching. “My balls feel bruised from hearing what she’s done to pres’ nuts.” I nod my head because I was thinking the same thing once I got myself under control.
“I’m gonna take the kids down to the vending machines. They shouldn’t be hearing this shit,” Regulator grumbles. “Come on troops, let’s go see what they have to munch on.”
“Have fun with that,” I tell him as he begins to wrangle kids. I’d rather stand witness to the abuse Kodiak is suffering from than deal with grumbling teenagers and exhausted toddlers.
“Asshole,” Reg mumbles, scratching the side of his face with his middle finger standing tall. “Paybacks are a bitch.”
“So is your mama,” I joke, reverting back to comebacks I used in junior high.
“That’s what I said to yours last night when she was down on her knees,” he returns.
“Ears!” Conan hollers, reminding us that there are youngsters surrounding us. “Jesus fuck, what’s wrong with y’all?”
“As if your mouth is any better,” I complain as I stroll toward the doors. “Come on Tritan, everyone’s getting grumpier by the hour, I need a damn break.”
“I need a coffee,” he says as he makes it to my side. “There’s a twenty-four hour coffee shop across the street. Want one?”
