Who: Will, Amber & June What: Talking shit out (aka...Will McCall is still a horrible father). When: Monday night. Where: Limbo
Will would never lie.
He was a shit dad.
He barely managed life with Cinnamon and Bambi. Loose parenting, sometimes over-protective. There'd be times when he sat on the roof of the building he managed smoking a blunt to get the edge off of dealing with the two girls yelling across the two bedroom apartment. He wasn't suited for it. He didn't think he was. There'd been plenty of times when Cinnamon would have to pull him from where ever he had passed out. Truth was, he was a terrible father. Not as bad as his own old man, but he was rivaling him. Dead beat dad, drunk, insulted his kids, disappeared from their lives. What was he supposed to do? Go to every chick he fucked to see if he'd gotten them knocked up, input himself into a life that he just helped create. He knew the names. He kind of remembered the faces of some of his kids. The ones he'd seen over the years when he was sentenced with his child support he would have to pay.
Or he chose not to pay. Will would never claim to be a good dad. But for the kids that he had around him, the ones he knew. He tried to protect. It was harder in the Regiment. He hadn't gotten around to the chance to ask Mike or Hazel if they were okay with him contacting Cinnamon and Bambi at the youth facility they were kept at. He didn't have a relationship Buck or June. It shouldn't hurt as much as it did. Buck called him an asshole, insulted him at every chance he got. But isn't that what he did to his old man? The dead beat one that would come home every now reeking of alcohol and women. Will remembered those moments.
He wandered to the door when Amber came, reeking of alcohol and whatever stank ass weed he got ahold of during the week since he'd talked to Dagan and Winter. Nothing tasted good. Nothing felt right. He hadn't had the chance to be a father to Buck, who resembled and acted like him so much more than he was willing to admit. His death was just a reminder that he couldn't protect them. His kids. Cinnamon would turn eighteen within the Regiment and be transferred to facility. Junebug would have to kill people. Would have an opportunity to be killed if she wasn't one of the lucky ones. Once again...he was failing them as the father he could imagine in his head. Only this was much worse. He leaned against the door frame, an easy smile on his face. He didn't deserve to feel a loss from hearing that Buck was dead. He hardly knew the kid. But it still felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest.
When he touched door frame, power radiated a little from the palms of his hands, cracking the wood along the door before walking to June's room in silence. Hands tucked in his pockets as he did. "How does this work?"