Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
So it was a steady shift with Remy’s dad between iron control, which was a form of mental abuse, and casual neglect, which was not at odds with what Remy got from his mother, also iron control in the form of emotional abuse, mingled with casual neglect.
Although some words had been shared with our kids about Remy’s history while they were growing up, once they started maturing, not much had to be said. Guillaume and Colette didn’t hide from their grandchildren how they were with their son, and in Colette’s case, she treated them all exactly as she did her own child.
Truth be told, that was the same with me. Remy didn’t talk about his parents much to the point of actively avoiding the discussion. There were words shared, but they were the bare minimum.
However, they were enough, because I didn’t miss it either and I felt there was no need for him to have to go through it again by dredging it all out for me. Not if he didn’t want to.
And although Guillaume treated me (and eventually Manon) like he treated his wife, with urbane adoration, Colette abhorred me and put very little effort into hiding that.
So, the three of our children had been told of their father’s less-than-loving upbringing, they’d witnessed it and they’d been given a taste of it.
Therefore, when I took in my kids and all three of them looked like they’d been slapped, I knew they were belatedly realizing their mistake.
Because there was one thing Remy Jacques Gastineau had never fallen down on in his life.
Being the loving, supportive, attentive, kind, funny, protective parent he’d never had.
I stood too, touched the back of his hand and whispered, “Honey.”
He looked down at me and I drew in a sharp breath at the pain in his eyes.
“Dad,” Yves called.
Remy’s head jerked that way, and he growled, “Get over here.”
Without hesitation, Yves moved toward his father, and when he was in reach, Remy’s arm shot out, he cupped the back of his son’s head and yanked him the rest of the way.
Their bodies collided. I swallowed a sob. Manon let one loose. Sabre grunted. Yves wrapped his arms around his dad and Remy kept his hand on Yves’s head, pushing it into his neck as he curled his other arm tight around his son’s upper back.
“I will love you always, Yves. Always,” I heard him say.
“’Kay,” Yves pushed out, that syllable thick, and now he was clutching at his father’s shirt, the material bunched in his fists.
A tear slid down my face.
“Get this, son, there is never anything you can do and definitely never anyone you could be that would make me love you any less,” Remy stressed.
“I’m sorry I thought—” Yves began, voice still hoarse.
Remy cut him off. “No, Yves, I’m sorry I lost it like that. That wasn’t cool.”
“I get it,” Yves said.
“I know you do. It still wasn’t cool.”
He was kinda right, he was kinda wrong, and I was far from just kinda crying.
“Love you, Dad.”
“I’d step in front of a bullet for you, Yves.”
Yves’s back hitched powerfully.
Remy held on.
Okay, no, I was sobbing.
I then found myself caught at the waist by my daughter, who immediately pushed us into the two-man huddle that equally immediately accommodated to fit us in, and within moments, Sabre shoved in on the other side.
We were all holding together tightly, our heads touching and our arms around each other like we were in a scrum. Yves’s breath was loud and coming fast and difficult. Manon was whimpering. I was holding my baby boy’s gaze and trying to smile at him through my emotion. Remy was holding us all together with his long arms.
It was Sabre who broke the moment.
“We are such huge-ass dorks.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Manon shot back.
“We are dorks,” Yves agreed and tore his gaze from mine to look at his father. “Dad, I’m so sorry.”
“Not another word, kid,” Remy returned.
Yves shut up.
“It has to be said, Dad, we totally blew this,” Manon pushed it.
“Baby girl,” Remy replied.
It was gentle and sweet.
It was also a command to stop talking.
She did as her father not-quite told her.
“Okay, so what do you need from this, honey?” I asked Yves. “Should we go out and buy champagne or something?”
“Do I get a party because I’m hetero?” Sabre asked.
“Sure,” I answered.
“Me too?” Manon queried.
“Of course,” I said.
“Can I ask for a Nordy’s gift certificate instead?” she inquired.
I smiled at her.
Then I said, “No.”
She rolled her eyes.
We started to edge back, because we were close, touchy and affectionate, but we weren’t weird, and that was when the next strange thing came from Remy.
He stopped us from completely disengaging by clamping down hard on my hip and keeping me tucked to his side.
The kids did move back, not far.
But I couldn’t move away, at all.