I'm Scott Malkinson (Scyde)

36- Maybe We're Not Broken, Just Bent

The next few weeks are difficult to say the least. As August drifts into September, Clyde finds himself swept up in the chaos of back to school nights, elementary school pickup lines, and the seemingly endless amount of paperwork his sons brought home for him—emergency forms, school handbooks, donation requests, class syllabi requiring parent signatures, and so on.

He begins to wonder if perhaps he truly had underappreciated all of the things Jade took care of for them.

Fletcher had refused to speak to him at the beginning, but just as Griffin had assured him, eventually his youngest son's anger dissipated, though it had left a vague, heavy sort of sadness in its wake.

At the beginning, Clyde often found his bed empty when he'd gone to wake him. Fletcher had begun crawling into his older brother's late at night seeking comfort, but that too passed and eventually he returned to his own room. Gradually they began to find a new sense of normalcy as a family of three.

Jade doesn't unblock his number, however she does send him divorce paperwork in the mail. Clyde sends a note back with an invitation for Fletcher's birthday party, though he doesn't receive any response.

He isn't so much surprised as he is disappointed when she fails to show. Fletcher, however, takes it hard.

Clyde's son looks utterly miserable throughout the entirety of his party, his mood falling further and further with each minute that passed in which his mother still hadn't arrived. He and Griffin exchange anxious looks all afternoon, until Fletcher finally snaps as Clyde attempts to coax him into the bounce house that he "ruined everything" and that he wished Clyde had been the one to leave instead.

Eventually, after the boys had gone up to their rooms for the evening, Clyde decided to go for a walk to clear his mind, and just like before he found his feet carrying to the church, Scott's church.

Clyde pushes the door hesitantly open, stepping inside the empty chapel. He can't quite say what pushes him to kneel before the altar—Clyde has never had much of a relationship with God, but nonetheless he feels drawn towards him now.

"Hey God," he says awkwardly out into the world, unsure exactly how to proceed. "It's me, Clyde. I know I don't speak to you enough. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a jerk who only comes to you when I need something, but well, here I am."

A weak laugh works its way out of his throat, breaking off into a sob, then he adds more quietly, "I feel like I'm failing as a father and I don't know how to fix it."

Clyde's body collapses in on itself, his forehead resting against the edge of the altar as he draws in a shaky breath. Behind him he can pick up the faint fall of footsteps approaching, then the cushion beside him dips and a hand circles around his own.

"Dear Lord," the second person starts. "Please bless this struggling family in their time of need. I ask you to give this man the strength and guidance he needs to lead them, to light his path and show him the way to a better future, in the name of The Father, The Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen."

Clyde lifts his head, ignoring the stinging in his eyes as he drinks in the image before him. Scott, dressed not in his prayer clothes but a gray T-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants, hazel eyes wrought full of concern. He gently rubs the pad of his thumb over the backs of Clyde's knuckles, an action so small yet so drenched in bittersweet familiarity that he finds himself overcome with emotion.

"Thank you," he breathes out, his voice weak. He turns his hand over and intertwines their fingers, giving Scott's hand a firm squeeze. "You've always been good at that."

A faint smile curls up at the edges of his lips as Clyde watches Scott's brows scrunch together in confusion. "Good at what? Praying?"

"At making me feel better. You always know exactly what to say."