After an unbelievable day with Yael, Haustin felt renewed, invincible—which explained his call to Lindsey on Monday morning, out of the blue, asking if the kids could come to his place for dinner. His request had startled her, but she didn't say no, surprising him in return. The kids' reaction, on the other hand, couldn't have been more defeating. Even now, they sat at the kitchen table with their phones; Miles playing some game with pigs and birds in it and Luna texting as if her life depended on it, probably complaining to the world what a loser her dad was. He wondered why the pair even had phones. Who did ten-year-olds have to call?

He alternated between trying not to scowl at them and watching the lasagna in the oven, the constant tap-tap-tap of their fingers on the screens grating his frayed nerves. He hoped their favorite meal eased the awkwardness. Haustin might not be the world's best cook by any means, but he'd perfected his mom's recipe over the years. According to her, there was nothing her legendary lasagna couldn't fix.

With a bittersweet grin, he thought of his mom, her heart-shaped face, and the way she kept her hair in a tight bun, except for the nights he caught her dancing in the kitchen with his dad. Those nights her curls fell down her back in blond waves, and the smiles on their faces held what he imagined was the secret to happiness. Their successful marriage had been an inspiration, and his chest ached whenever he dwelled on how drastically he'd shamed them.

Determined to keep the night from traveling dark roads, he ensured his tone was light when he said, "Luna, honey, why don't you set the table and Miles can pour the drinks. This is about ready."

She rolled her icy blue eyes and went about the task in a huff. He prayed to God for the patience to guide him through her teenage years. She'd done something different with her hair since the last time he saw her, too. It was full of different colored highlights, blond and light brown. A pang jolted through his chest.

He felt very, very old at thirty-six.

His struggle to maintain the conversation during dinner turned into an epic disaster, and he found himself grasping for things to say.

"It's been hot this month," he said.

Luna remained quiet, but Miles threw himself into the conversation. "I heard on the news that it's supposed to get worse. Jimmy's dad thinks global warming is a conspiracy."

"Who knows." Haustin took a bite and chewed, scrambling for an intelligent response. "Most people who go around calling everything a conspiracy are just paranoid."

"His dad is a physicist."

"He's smarter than me, then. All I know is sure, weather changes, but it's impossible to deny that humans are hurting the planet in ways we've never done before. Doesn't mean some billionaire is messing with it from the basement of his mansion so people will buy more of his snow tires or petroleum."

"Is that a movie?" Miles's demeanor brightened.

"No. I don't think so."

"It'd be good. Kind of like an evil Tony Stark. Except Stark made weapons until he became Iron Man. I heard they're expanding a lot of the Marvel comics into movies. Captain America, then Thor and even the Avengers. It's going to be so cool."

"Superheroes," Luna mumbled before sipping her water.

Miles ignored his sister and plowed on. "Putting their lives on the line for good. Sort of like you and other firefighters."

"He's not super."

Haustin ignored Luna's grumble and changed the subject. "What are your plans for the summer?"

Miles answered, his eyes lighting up. "Mimi got me a Lego set of the Death Star. It's four thousand pieces!"

"Nice, how long will it take to build?" Memories of introducing a very young Miles to the original Star Wars movies hit him, filling him with nostalgia. Could he recreate it sometime? Find a new way to bond? Didn't they make more films?

"Not too long. I'll probably stretch it into a couple weeks. Then, I don't know."

"Maybe we can go camping when you're finished, later this summer."

Miles nodded enthusiastically, but Luna snorted, "Yeah, right."

Haustin's quick temper lapped at the edge of his patience. "Do you have something to say?"

She flashed him the cutting glare older than her seven years. "You always cancel. How can you expect us to believe you when you constantly bail? Camping will turn into a huge zero like our trip to Coney Island, the weekend at the beach, the Yankees game, and Miles' awards ceremony."

Shame crawled up his throat as words failed him. As usual, when he found himself in a situation such as this, he latched on to the easiest emotion—anger.

"Look, I realize I've been a pretty shitty dad lately, but you don't understand the demands of my job and the things I go through on a daily basis. What I do for a living doesn't exactly allow me to be the happy dad at soccer games. That's how it is." Even to him, his excuse sounded pitiful, but it was too late to take it back.

"You've never been a happy dad. At least not that I can remember. So, sorry if we don't get all excited when you say you're gonna hang out with us. You'll blow it off and blame it on work." She rolled her eyes again. "And don't use your job as an excuse. There are like, tons of happy, functional firefighters in the world."

Luna tossed her fork onto the table, cementing the fact they shared the same prickly personality, and stomped off to the room she shared with Miles when they were at his place.

The desire to succumb to the rage beat inside his chest as a fiery bird with razor-sharp wings battered against his flesh. Haustin itched to go after her, but he didn't have the energy. He peeked over at Miles, who stared at his plate with intense concentration. Why did he even try? They'd never understand.

A sniff caused him to look closer, and he noticed a lone tear fall from his son's eye. It pierced his heart, a lance of guilt ripping it in two. Slumping into his chair, he watched Miles across the table, struggling to find some comforting words.

"I don't know what to do," he muttered.

"I..." Miles paused, sneaking glances at Haustin's face.

"You can say whatever is on your mind. I hope you know that."

"I can tell you're trying," his voice cracked. "But you're a stranger sometimes, too."

Haustin swallowed his disappointment, and his insides quivered so violently he felt sick. "I don't want to be a stranger anymore."

"I see it. Luna probably does, too. It's scary to hope, you know?" Miles's chin trembled, and he pushed the lasagna around his plate.

"I do know."

Haustin loosed a breath and ran his hands over his face as if to scrub away his failures. Staring hard at Miles, he placed both palms flat on the table and leaned closer. "I'm not going to give up on you two, not again. Now go get your sister, I'll take you home."

As soon as Miles left, Haustin got up and stalked over to his stash of pills. He held the bottle in his shaking hand, the oblivion inside rattling. Footsteps in the hallway had him tucking it back in the silverware drawer.

Later, after a silent ride to Lindsey's, he returned home and sulked on the couch for a while. The pills called to him from the kitchen, sinister whispers offering to take the edge off his crippling inadequacy, to fill the bottomless pit of loneliness opening underneath him. Instead, he picked up the phone.

"I wanted to make sure the kids were okay," he said when Lindsey answered. Her shock was evident by the beat of silence on the other end, so he added, "Tonight didn't go so well."

"You can't expect to fix everything with one meal, Haustin. Even if it is your mom's world famous lasagna."

"It hurts." The words came in a choked whisper, not entirely sure which 'it' he was referring to—his kids and their indifference, his failures as a father and a husband, the road he faced if he wanted to get clean.

"Good."

"Thanks," he grumbled.

"What I mean is if you're hurting then I know you're sober. Feeling is the only way you are going to be able to make peace with your mistakes."

"I don't know what to do," he repeated the statement he made to Miles earlier.

"I don't either. Not anymore." She sighed sadly. "I have to go."

The walls pressed in around him, and he stared at the phone, wishing he had the answers, any answer. Instead of dwelling and wallowing, as usual, he made another call, one he hoped cured his spiraling mood.

"I was just thinking about you," Yael greeted.

It was the right decision; her voice instantly soothed his hurts and lowered the failure thrumming in his veins. She made him feel needed, like he was capable of experiencing something besides pain. He would've loved to go over to her place, but he didn't want her to see him this dejected, not so soon after their time together.

"I'm a lucky man." He finally managed to unclench his teeth. "It's good to hear your voice."

"Rough day?"

"Rough night. I thought I'd attempt a nice family dinner for me and the kids. It ended in yelling and a silent car ride home. I need a miracle."

"Keep trying and letting them know you love them."

Her words filled his mouth with acid. Grimly, he tried to remember the last time he'd told either of his children he loved them. Damned if he could remember. Jesus, it got worse and worse.

"You're right," he lied. "I wish I could somehow prove I'm still a good dad. It's like we need a mediator or something."

"Let me help," she suggested without a breath of hesitation.

He paused, considering her offer. On the surface, it wasn't a bad idea. Sure as hell couldn't go any worse than it had tonight. Yael made him softer. Maybe it would carry over into a difference his kids could witness. But what if it backfired? He didn't want to isolate Miles and Luna anymore than they already were. And what would Lindsey think? The notion turned his insides to ice.

"I can't ask you to do that. Too soon."

"It doesn't have to be as complicated as you're making it in your head, Haustin. Control the setting, the explanations. Tell them I'm your sober buddy. Make it as simple or truthful as you think best."

"What I think is best?" He snorted. "You make it sound as if I'm about to be nominated for father of the year. I don't know what is best, I thought we established this."

"If the last few years have been as bad as you've told me, your kids are more mature than you give them credit for. The idea is to let them see you're changing, or attempting to reconnect. You want that, right?"

"More than anything."

"Then let me meet them. I'll be a buffer, show them you're not a monster all the time. Give them something to focus on besides watching your every move."

Haustin sighed, running out of objections, especially when her arguments were so logical. "Are you sure? I mean, isn't it a big step?"

"There's nothing conventional about us. Maybe we're one of those couples who skip steps."

"Couple?" A slow, happy burn licked his body.

"What else are we?"

"I didn't want to put a label on this too early, but couple works for me, very much."

"Good."

"Good," he repeated.

"Of course, it's up to you to tell your kids what we are. Whatever you think is fair to them."

Easier than it sounded. "I'll set up something for this Saturday, I'm off all day. Hopefully, you can convince them I'm not as evil as they think."

"I'm not Superwoman," she joked, causing his smile to widen. Haustin loved how she didn't treat him as if he were a time bomb waiting to explode.

"What's the rest of your week look like. I missed you today."

"Missed you, too. It's going to be a busy one. I've got to prepare for this press conference next week, get the final plans approved for the improvements to the building, play referee between Casey and Peter. Plus, I want to pop in to see Miriam as much as I can. It's looking pretty full. Might be able to squeeze you in later this week. What about you?"

His mind was filled with all kinds of dirty images when she mentioned 'squeezing' him in. He almost got up and went over to her place right then, but he had to head to work soon.

"Just finished my forty-eight hours off and I'm back on nights until Friday, when I'll have three days off. In fact, my shift starts in about an hour. I should go, but your voice is too tempting."

"So I shouldn't tell you what I'm wearing?"

"Yes." He groaned. "No. If we start that I'll never get out of here."

"Use your imagination and tuck it away for a later date. Be careful."

They said goodbye, and he sat in the dark for a few minutes before stalking into the kitchen and pulling the bottle from the drawer. Carrying it with him down the hall, he set it on the dresser as he changed, took it with him into the bathroom. Yael had diffused some of the bomb, but not enough to erase Luna's damning words or the sight of the tear slipping over his son's cheek. The pain was too much. He wanted to numb it away, smother it until only a dull burn remained, but Lindsey had been right. Pain might be the only thing capable of saving him.

For nine years, he'd gone through life unleashed, a car careening into a crowd with no brakes. Since Yael, he felt grounded, more connected to life, but not even she could chase away the bone-crushing guilt plaguing him every day. It'd been tattooed on his soul, and he was afraid removing it would leave worse damage. Hell, he'd already abandoned one woman for selfish reasons.

Being sober forced him to look at a very ugly reflection, and he was far from ready to let go of the anger. Hopefully, it didn't cost him a fresh start and a new chance at happiness. Haustin left his apartment, the bottle of pills still sitting on the bathroom counter. Maybe it was time for him to man up.