Page 28 of His Wild Storm
“You know,” I backpedal swiftly, “I shouldn’t have judged Knox without really knowing him. We’ve talked a lot about how the way someone looks doesn’t tell us anything about the person they are.”
“You forgot for a moment,” Wilde offers with far more kindness than I deserve.
“I guess I did,” I admit with a frown. “Thank you for reminding me.”
Wilde nods in a way that feels like a punch to the center of my chest. It’s a glimpse into the man he’s going to become. And I know it’ll happen far faster than I want it to. Hell, it’s happening right in front of my eyes, even if the process still has years to go.
Every moment feels like sand slipping between my fingers. Some might say he’s only four. While true, now, it won’t always be the case. Suddenly, he’ll be 14 and I’ll be dreading the years in front of me because every day is one step closer to him going out and making this life his own. It’s what he’ll need to do, but still.
I take a deep breath and try not to get ahead of myself. Wilde’s eyebrows pull together in the way they always do when he’s thinking hard about something.
“Is it wrong that I judgehim?” His voice is quiet and cautious. The weight he puts on the word ‘him’, lets me know exactly who he’s talking about.
I freeze for a moment because this is the first time Wilde has mentioned him directly. I’m almost not sure what to say. But being his mom means having hard conversations and not running scared from them. He deserves nothing less.
“No,” I assure him. “It’s different when someone has scared you. You don’t owe someone like that anything.”
“Not even my kindness?”
He looks into my eyes, and I can see how much he needs to hear my answer, how much this has been weighing on him. “No,” my tone is fierce. “You don’t owe him your kindness. Not after everything.”
Wilde swallows hard and nods before snuggling deeper into my side. “Good. I didn’t want to give him kindness.” His voice drops to a whisper, “He hurt you. I’ll never forgive him.”
My eyes slide closed as I fight to hold back tears. None of the past should have touched him. I hate that it did, but I also can’t change it now. Ignoring it won’t do anyone any good, especially not Wilde.
Hopefully, those memories will fade as we make new ones.
“You don’t owe him forgiveness if you don’t want to give it. You just have to make sure not giving it doesn’t hurt you,” I speak gently, hoping his heart doesn’t harden too much too soon. He deserves the freedom of ignorance, of peace, of bliss.
“I don’t think about him very much anymore,” he admits sheepishly. I breathe through the pang of regret in my chest because it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.
“That’s okay,” I reassure him while hoping, again, for a day when he doesn’t remember any of it.
Quiet wraps around us and I’m thankful when he doesn’t pull away. I’m sure it’ll be coming soon, but I soak up this moment for a little while longer. Is it for him? For me?
Does it even matter?
“You like Knox,” there’s no accusation in Wilde’s words, only truth.
I startle slightly and my son giggles like he knows he’s just thrown me off completely and it amuses him. The little bugger. When I tickle him in retaliation, his shriek of delight is one of the best sounds ever.
“Mommy,” he admonishes through his laughter. “I’m serious.”
When I stop tickling him, it takes him a few moments to get his laughter under control. I’m hopeful he’s forgotten all Knox related conversation, but I should have known better.
“Knox likes you too,” there’s still amusement filling his little voice.
“The only guy I’m worried about is you,” I try and deflect.
Wilde isn’t letting that stand. He looks up at me with his face all screwed up indignantly. “Mommy,” he holds the word out like I’m the one being insufferable. “You need someonenice. Someone who really likes you.” He looks away and admits quietly, “Knox likes me, I think.”
My heart sinks as I squeeze my son against my side a little tighter. “Of course he likes you,” I insist. “You’re the most amazing kid I’ve ever met.”
He lets out a groan and rolls his eyes like a teenager instead of the four-year-old he is. “You have to say that because you’re my mom and you love me,” he points out simply.
“But that doesn’t mean I’ll lie to you,” I point out. “We’ve promised each other honesty and that means all the time. I’ve met some pretty cool kids this last year and I am your mom, but to say you’re the bestest kid is me telling you the truth.”
“Is bestest a word?” He challenges me, but I can see the happiness dancing in his eyes.
