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“Well. We’ll talk about the use of respectful language,” I tell him loud enough for her to hear. “And then I think I’ll give Mr. Post a call.”

“Good luck. Last month, he told his morning class that the moon landing was fake and that systemic racism was a democrat conspiracy to let minorities take over the world. A bunch of parents went into a meeting with him, and literally nothing happened.”

Nancy backs off very quickly, and I somehow manage to keep my shit together as I retract the ramp and shut the door.

“The other parents might not have any sway, but I have friends. Important friends. Scary friends,” I remind him as I shift into drive.

“Yeah. Send Easton and Cam into the room with him. Five minutes alone will change his mind,” Elio says sourly.

I have a feeling Easton and Camilo might like that a little too much.

And so would I.

“You know it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me what happened,” my mom says right before I excuse myself to shower, “but if there’s a reason your dad and I shouldn’t go⁠—”

“No.” I turn toward her and sigh as she sets her hands on my arms. “Amelie needs you, and I can handle this. The guys know about Elio now, so if I need backup, I have it.”

She looks relieved. She never did agree with my decision to keep them in the dark. She didn’t understand why it was such a bad thing that the other station knew about Elio.

And now that he’s older and now that I’ve been doing this for almost thirteen years, I realize maybe she was right. Elio is strong, and it doesn’t matter how much I try and protect him, eventually he’s going to get his feelings hurt.

Someday, he might have to face being even more physically disabled than he is now. I’ve watched the condition spread from his feet up to his hips. I watched as it curved his spine and now has crept into his fingers. At his last appointment, the doctor said that while he was stable, there was a good chance he wouldn’t retain full use of his hands, and though there are adaptive controllers for the games he loves, it won’t be the same.

And I will have to watch that heartbreak too.

So it was probably not the right choice I made, shielding him from that reality early on. Instead of talking him through it, I ran from it, and hell.

Maybe this is some kind of karma.

“Rune,” my mom murmurs softly. “You don’t look okay.”

“I am. Just realizing right now how all the ways I fucked up with my kid, and that sucks.”

She laughs and steps back. “I know the feeling. But it gets easier, and the good news is, when you’re a good parent who loves your kids and respects them, and a parent who learns from their mistakes, kids tend to forgive you.”

It’s hard to think of anything either of my parents really did wrong. My dad isn’t great at talking about emotion, but he never let me feel like I was alone in anything. He never hesitated to pull me in for a hug or kiss my forehead. He didn’t show me with his actions or his words that there was shame in being a good father.

And my mom has been a fucking warrior through all my triumphs and all my massive failures.

“I’m going to shower,” I tell her.

She nods. “I’m going to get Elio set up for bed, and then your dad and I were thinking about taking off early and running a few errands for your sister before the flight.”

“Sounds good. Tell Elio I’ll be in to say good night when I’m done.”

She tugs me in for a kiss on the cheek. “Call us if you need anything. We will come home immediately.”

I won’t, but I nod and then turn and slip into my room so I can shuffle out of my clothes that smell like Easton, but also still kind of smell like Neal.

The physical act of removing anything my ex touched from my body feels good. It’s hard to remember a time when I ever wanted Neal. I can remember what my early crush felt like and how he kissed me carefully, like I mattered.

But those moments didn’t last, and they’re so far eclipsed by all the ways he made me feel like shit about myself.

I shake it off. It’s hard to even care now. Not with the way that Easton makes me feel. Not with the way he curls into my arms like he fucking belongs there. Like he wants to be there. Like I’m worth something to him. Even after the way I was a dick to him for so long.

God, I have a lot to make up for.

Grabbing my phone, I step into the bathroom and open up our text thread. I didn’t talk to him much for the rest of the day, but he sent me a few photos of the ducklings, which I need to show Elio, and then one of his abs, which I will commit to memory before I delete it since my kid has a habit of going through my phone without asking.