Page 23 of Where It Begins
“He has a son,” I tell her before she finds out through social media. “He’s a little older than you. A junior I think.”
Her thumb stills for a moment before continuing to tap along her screen. “Okay. It’s b-u-t-t-e-r-s-o-n, right? Spelled like it sounds?”
“Yup, spelled like it sounds.”
“Cool. Huh, there are more Buttersons in the world than I realized. The top hit for Sidney Butterson looks like a hockey fan.”
“That’s him.” I grip the wheel nervously. My daughter’s approval is important. We’ve been a pair for a long time, and I don’t want to upset the balance. These years before she goes to college and becomes a strong, independent woman are pivotal. I brake at the four-way stop.
“Oh, hey now.” She whistles and holds up her phone. “Is this him?”
“Yup, that’s Sidney.”
“And the beefcake must be his son. He’s a junior in high school? He’s freaking huge.”
“He plays competitive hockey.”
“That’s unsurprising.”
I don’t tell Violet about the situation Sidney and I walked in on this evening. I don’t want to taint her view of his son before she meets him. And I’m not even sure if that will ever happen. Besides, she’s had enough of her own nonsense tonight. She doesn’t need more stress on top of the Michael situation.
CHAPTERSIX
YOU KNOW BETTER
Sidney
“Well.” I cross my arms. “What do you boys have to say for yourselves?”
“Your date was hot, Mr. B.” Randy runs his hand through his hair.
I glare at him.
He drops his gaze to his feet. “Well, she was.”
“Shut the F up, dude,” Miller mutters.
“I understand that your hormones govern many of your decisions and that it can be a challenge to exercise control over your impulses, but at no point is bending a girl over my couch acceptable. It’s damn well disrespectful.”
My son’s eyes widen, and he glances at his friend.
Randy’s cheeks are turning red. “I’m sorry, Mr B. We got carried away.”
“Ya think?” I rub the back of my neck. Randy doesn’t have it the easiest. His parents are divorced, and his dad is a grade A jackass. Not that I would ever say that to Randy, but his dad isn’t much of a role model. “Are you being safe at least?”
“Sir, yes, sir. I always use condoms,” Randy says. “I don’t want to mess up my future or anyone else’s.”
I glance at my son. His face is stop sign red. He tucks his hands in his pockets. Then untucks them and clasps them together. “I have condoms too, but I haven’t had to use them yet.”
Miller is shy compared to Randy, who is proving to be quite the ladies’ man. Until last year, Miller had a significant overbite, which we were correcting with braces. And then he got his front teeth knocked out when a puck hit him in the face. For whatever reason, after his front teeth went missing, the girls have been calling a lot more often. It might also have something to do with his massive growth spurt and the thirty pounds of muscles he’s put on over the past year.
I point at my son. “Miller, you’re grounded for the next two weeks. The only time you’re allowed out of the house is for hockey and school.”
“But dad—”
“Don’t ‘but Dad’ me. You said you were going to a movie and instead you brought girls home while I was on a damn date. I look like I don’t have a handle on what my kid is up to when I’m not around. And maybe I don’t.” I pace the kitchen. “Randy, you should go home.”
“Are you gonna tell my mom?” His eyes are wide with worry.