Unto Us the Time Has Come (2 page)

He took a few deep breaths, on the verge of throwing himself the biggest pity party in the world, and that was not how he wanted the kids’ classmates’ parents to find him. They’d be opening the doors to the auditorium soon enough anyway, he’d bet.

Annabelle Dawson, one of the PTA moms came over. “Kenn, right? Micah’s dad. I’m Yvonne’s mom. Where did you leave your bake sale goodies?”

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

“I’ll go get them.” From somewhere.

Kenn stood, turned, and walked right into someone.

A big hand landed on his arm, keeping him upright. “Careful, I’ll drop the box.”

Wow, now he was hallucinating—that had sounded just like Chris.

Annabelle was all smiles. “Oh, are those for the bake sale? And are they actually from the Paris Bakery downtown? Those will sell like hotcakes.”

Before his stunned eyes, Chris handed over two big bakery boxes. “There’s a variety—something for everyone.”

“Oh God. Cool.” How had Chris known? Kenn had passed on the information for Chris to come, but nothing about the bake sale, which he was fairly sure he knew nothing about. Hell, he was shocked Chris had managed to show up at all.

“Micah said something about it on Sunday,” Chris told him when he continued to stare.

Sarah caught sight of her da and came running over, squealing all the way into Chris’s arms. “Did you bring me a cookie, Da? Daddy didn’t let me finish my nuggets!”

“We’ll buy you something from the bake sale, baby girl.” Chris looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “She’s still the slowest eater on earth, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, and I didn’t get off ’til ten minutes after. Micah got here on time, so it’s good.”

Suddenly he saw himself like Chris—and everyone else—had to: a man in a coffee-stained uniform shirt, bandages all over his hands from opening boxes, looking like worn-out, exhausted death, while Chris stood there in a pressed suit, looking like an ad from GQ Magazine.

“That’s good.” Chris touched his elbow and pointed. “They’re letting us in. We should sit in the front row so he knows we’re there.”

“You think?” He guessed it would be easier for Micah than trying to search them out separately.

Chris stiffened. “If you’d rather sit apart, that’s fine.”

“Don’t. Okay?” He reached out, touched Chris’s hand just once, careful not to mess with his clothes. “Sarah’s waiting.”

Chris nodded tightly, and they headed to the auditorium doors together, Sarah bouncing and telling them, “Hurry, Daddies!”

They were able to get seats in the front row, near enough to the center, with Sarah sitting happily between them. She didn’t even complain about being hungry again, just sat there, chattering to them both, hardly taking a breath.

Kenn shook his head but didn’t stop her. Hell, he was pretty sure he actually fell asleep about seven seconds after his ass hit the chair.

The play seemed to go on forever, but Chris dealt with Sarah, thank God, and then nudged him hard when Micah’s part came up, letting him see his boy’s recitation and clap harder than anyone. Micah was grinning like a monkey, so tickled, and it made everything worth it. Everything.

They milled out when the show was over, Chris going over to the bake sale and buying some things at Sarah’s direction as they waited for Micah to join them.

“Not too much, baby girl.” If she got home and wouldn’t go to sleep, Kenn was going to have a psychotic break.

Micah finally joined them, looking as happy as he’d seen Micah since Kenn had left.

“Hey, that was wonderful.” Chris gave Micah a hug.

“I remembered all my lines. Did you see? All of them. The choir teacher says I should take vocal training, I’m so good.”

Kenn bit back his immediate response of
When? When can I do that?

“That’s great, son.” Chris looked so proud, and his praise made Micah puff right up.

Kenn had forgotten somehow that, while Chris wasn’t always there in person, when he was, he was a great father.

A couple of Micah’s friends came over, and the talk immediately turned to video games, and Kenn shook his head and smiled. When his friends left, Micah turned to Chris. “Could we go out for ice cream, Da? Please?”

“Ice cream! Ice cream!” Sarah bounced in place.

Chris looked over at him.

“I…. It’s up to you guys, I guess. To celebrate.” Kenn wasn’t holding his breath, though, and he knew it was going to make going home and getting to bed a huge drama.

“I say let’s do it. There’s a Dairy Queen down the street from your place, isn’t there?”

Chris was spending time with them. Voluntarily.

Kenn managed to nod. “Yeah. Yeah, there is. Did you want to drive or walk?”

“I’ve got my car, and somebody doesn’t need a car seat anymore.” Chris grabbed Sarah around the waist and tickled her.

“I’m a big girl!” Sarah squealed.

“I’m going to get my bag, Dad. I’ll be back.”

God, Micah was getting so big.

“When did he get so grown-up?” Chris asked, like he’d read Kenn’s thoughts.

“I have no idea. I keep waiting to figure it out.”

Chris sighed, so softly Kenn wasn’t even sure he’d really heard it.

Making sure the kids didn’t hear, Kenn asked, “Do you want me to meet you at the apartment or come with?”

“Just get in the car.”

He could almost hear the “butthead” under Chris’ breath.

“Bossy old man.” God, Kenn missed him.

“Uh-huh.” Chris got them to the vehicle and opened the back and passenger doors.

Once he and the kids were seated, Chris slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Kenn leaned his head back, his eyelids going heavy, and far too soon they were pulling into the little parking lot at the Dairy Queen. Chris took Sarah’s hand, leading the way into the restaurant.

Okay. Ice cream. Then home. Sleeping. The good stuff. And in two days, Chris had the kids for a week. A whole week. Too bad he was going to be working four hundred fucking hours.

Kenn didn’t even pay attention as Chris ordered and paid for their ice creams, just following along as they moved to a table. Sarah and Micah talked a million miles an hour, and Chris was laughing at them, playing along, and it was all he could do not put his head on the table and sob. This would be so much easier if Chris was a mean, nasty ogre.

Everyone was still in a good mood when they were ready to leave the restaurant, and he figured that would last until it was time to leave Chris in the car.

“Da, do you want to come up and see my science project?” Micah asked. “It’s really cool.”

“And you can see me write my letters, Da!” Sarah added at top volume.

Chris checked his watch and winced.

Kenn looked at his own and tried not to groan. It was almost eleven—so far past the kids’ bedtime, it wasn’t funny.

“I could help put them to bed,” Chris suggested, surprising him.

“You could. Sure.” The apartment was in… relatively good shape. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Okay, I can come see your projects.” Chris held his hand up at their excited cheers. “But only for five minutes and then it’s bedtime—no arguments.”

“Cool.” Micah bounced and Sarah pouted.

“What’s the matter, baby girl?” Chris asked as he piled them into the backseat.

“I want you and Daddy to live in the same house again, so you could be here every day.”

Chris sighed. “I’m sorry, Sarah. That’s just the way it is.”

Kenn had to admit, Chris had never thrown him under the bus with the kids, had never blamed him in front of them.

“But, Da! I miss you. So much.” Sarah grabbed Chris’s hand. “And Daddy is sad all the time and there’s no more paintings. Not ever.”

Chris’s lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything until he was sitting back in the driver’s seat, taking them to the apartment. “In two days you’ll be finished with school and I’ll come pick you up. You’ll get to see me for a whole week.”

“I’m sorry,” Kenn whispered. He couldn’t tell if Chris had heard him, his words lost in the sound of the engine starting.

He was miserable on the drive home, but it was only a couple of blocks. Disappointment and tiredness were beginning to wear on the kids, and he could tell tantrums were imminent if they didn’t get them to bed as soon as possible. Possibly even if they did.

“Come on, guys. Micah, show off your project, and I’ll help Sarah with her bath.” Kenn needed them in bed because he was too exhausted to think.

“But Da was going to see me write letters!”

“You can write me letters for a whole week, baby girl.” Chris gave her a hug. “Now go take your bath really quickly and I’ll come tuck you in when you’re done.”

“You can show him a couple of letters while he’s tucking you in, okay?” Kenn asked.

She seemed mollified by that, taking his hand and letting him lead her to the bathroom as Chris and Micah disappeared into his room.

He stripped his uniform shirt off and worked on hand washing it while Sarah showered.

By the time she was dried off and had her teeth brushed, Chris came in. “I put Micah to bed. He wants you to go say good night.”

Chris’s eyes were on his bare chest. Staring. He actually licked his lips before blinking a few times and turning to Sarah. “Okay, baby girl, let’s get you tucked in.”

“I want a story, Da.”

“Not tonight. It’s late and you have school tomorrow.”

Her bottom lip began to quiver, and Chris shook his head.

“I thought we agreed you’d go right to bed if I came to help tuck you in?”

“Uh-huh.” The tears started, though, and she was sobbing as Chris took her.

He could hear Chris talking to her, though not what was being said, as he made his way to Micah’s room to say good night. This was so damn hard.

“Hey, Dad. I did good, huh?” Micah asked as he went into his room.

“You rocked it, man.” He sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over, and kissed Micah’s forehead.

“Dad, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you still love him?”

Kenn didn’t even pretend he didn’t know who Micah was talking about. “I will always love him. He’s the love of my life.”

“Oh.”

He could see Micah working that one out in his head, and he waited for the inevitable follow-up question, but it didn’t come, Micah’s eyelids drooping.

“Night, son.”

He stood, turned around, and Chris was right there. Right there, staring at him.

“Is that true?” Chris asked, eyes burning into him.

“Yeah. You’ve always been my one and only.” Stupid, but true.

“Same here, Kenn.” Chris kept staring at him, their gazes locked.

Kenn’s heart began to pound, beating hard.

The sound of Chris’s phone was loud, both of them starting at its insistent beeping. “Damn it.” Chris took it out and checked his text messages. “I have to go.” Dark eyes flashed up to meet his. “I have to make sure my schedule is cleared for my week with the kids.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you Christmas Eve after you’re done at your folks.” He found a smile and was damned proud of himself for it too. “Night.”

“Right. Night.” Chris turned and was already on the phone before he’d walked out the door.

Kenn went to lock up and sat on the couch to take off his shoes. He managed to work one off before the tears began to fall.

C
HRIS
WOKE
with a groan, eyes going immediately to the clock. Eight forty-seven. Fuck. He sat up like a shot before he remembered he didn’t have to be at work. He had the week off so he hadn’t overslept. Nice.

Frowning, he tilted his head. Not that the kids were always fighting or anything, but it was awfully quiet for almost 9:00 a.m. He crawled out of bed, grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms, and slipped them on before going to find out exactly why things were so damn quiet.

The kids were sitting on the floor near the kitchen, a toolbox in Micah’s lap. Jesus, he hadn’t even known they had a toolbox. How the hell had Micah gotten a hold of it?

“Micah? What’s going on?” What was he going to have to replace?

“Nothing. Nothing, I was trying to make you breakfast and the sink did this thing and I didn’t know what to do, so I called Dad and he said he’d come before he had to be back at work.”

Frowning, Chris stepped into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was Kenn, under his sink. His stupid bright yellow shirt was on the counter, and Kenn’s ripped belly with a trail of light hair leading to heaven waiting right there.

“It’s nothing serious. Just a clog. I’ve almost got you fixed.”

“I could have called someone….” Everyone would put the thickness in his voice down to him having just woken up, right? Of course, he was starting to spring wood too. He went to the fridge and opened it wide, hoping the cold air would help. “Want some water?”

“Sure.” Kenn rolled up from under the sink, wiping his hands off. “There you go, Micah. All ready for you to make breakfast.”

Kenn had always loved this kitchen, had invented the best, goofiest meals for the kids. Chris fucking hated that his family was living in a piece-of-shit apartment Chris paid through the nose for—location, location, location—where Kenn slept on the fucking sofa. And working two fucking jobs from what the kids told him, barely there for the kids, no more art. Kenn was a fucking Artist, with a capital
A
. It wasn’t right.

Kenn washed his hands, muscles working, the tattoo of their initials and the kids’ names right there on his lower back. Chris wanted to lick it. He wanted to trace it with his tongue and have Kenn make that half-laughing, half-moaning sound.

“Okay, guys. Have a great day. Put the tools back where you found them, huh, Micah?” Kenn dried his hands, then hung the cloth over the handle of the drawer in a move so familiar, it ached.

Chris could hear Kenn saying, “I will always love him. He’s the love of my life,” over and over in his head.

God, how had they gotten here, then? How could both of them feeling like that not be enough?

“See you Christmas Eve. We’ll be home by eight.” He’d told his parents he wanted the kids in bed early so they weren’t grumpy Christmas Day. Lord knew they wouldn’t be sleeping in on Christmas morning.