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A Heart to Heart

After last night's echo faded, the nothingness of the sound reflected the darkness. Yet within it Miles felt himself awake. His body ached from yesterday's training regimen but a sensation he had been accustomed to. It would no longer be exhaustion for him, his body unimpeded in the process of waking up. In that process was recalling the day after his first rigorous exercise.

Back in the comfort of his own home, he experienced an uncomfortable sensation where his entire body trembled, muscles burning and unable to move. And the gradual memories after where he found himself sitting up with relative ease, and then in another where he got off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. The last was a much older Miles, a year before his adulthood, moving through the morning with no difficulty whatsoever. And so it was now, except his white fur now cooled by the present sensation.

He was still in his swimwear, underneath an old sleeping bag whose patchy cotton interior had been ripped with age, exposing it to the cool nylon exterior. Wolf fur was enough but he would need a new sleeping bag nonetheless. That said, he checked his claws for any tangling threads, or clumps of fabric tied onto them. Maybe he had been rolling too much in his sleep? Alas there was no such thing. He ought to tell his father who was huddled in a larger sleeping bag beside him, but the older black wolf slumbered on.

Miles wriggled himself out of the sleeping bag, and stood upright on smooth stone. One thing about sleeping to loud noise, it didn't seem so if you slept through it and awoke not even paying it any heed. Only then, once he stretched his arms, did the sound of a crashing waterfall become a constant noise. Still soothing despite its loudness, oneness with nature and all. He peeked out of the standing tent's flaps, the low glow of the horizon highlighted the silhouettes of a cliffside, as did it twinkled the droplets of water that fell from it.

It certainly was far different than the Canadian suburbs he grew up in, and upon looking around was still shadows of an empty jungle. Save for the brush of birds, or bats perhaps, against palm tree to palm tree. The tropical wildlife that cooed and squawked at the distance but dared not get close around the presence of predators- them. Even in darkness, Miles could make the shapes in his surroundings. Crescent bananas hanging from trees, the round-shaped durians with their putrid insides, and the spherical coconuts that he could distinct from the palm leaves at the top. He couldn't tell the color though, and it only ever mattered for berries and mushrooms, otherwise he'd be set day or night.

The white wolf stepped out onto the damp stone, his paw pads relishing in the cold. As was the wind that danced around him for a moment, reminiscent of his mom who he always felt was there with him and his father. God bless her soul. He went over towards the running water, further down from the waterfalls. Apart from the cold, his throat felt dry and did not hesitate to dip his hands into the water before taking a scoop of them and gulping it down. The natural drink was very cold, almost like it was chilled in the fridge. Its invigorating properties were much more apparent as he felt energized from that. He took another handful and drank from it.

"That's the best water I've ever drank," Miles said, kneeling in front of the river. His eyes were more focused, the aches within his body had gone. It was like an energy drink but without the sugar, chemicals, or coloring formulas. To his dismay though, he'd miss it. Even the less-than-fragrant scent of the wilds. It wasn't even a trade-off. It simply felt natural. And he understood the aspect of his father finding himself here, and what it meant to him then.

He thought about his father. Imagined him in the same position he was, perhaps undergoing this self-discovery. Miles turned to the cave he meditated in yesterday, where his father did long before he was born. And he turned back down to the running water. With the backdrop of a pale blue dawning sky, devoid of clouds and almost looking like the ocean, his white form intruded on it as did those red eyes sloshed in the rushing water looking back.

Miles brought up his arms, knowing his father would've done the same then. He flexed them, like he did with Chase yesterday. He stood up, setting his arms aside first. Taking deep breaths as he rolled his shoulders looking forward. They were still alone, in this darkness as the slow rising sun hadn't peeked but cracks of light seeped between the jungle's trunks. The gentle orange tinted his white fur, shining it even, and sparkled by the waterfalls.

He glanced down again and started flexing his muscles. He used it as a means to boost his confidence, which was miniscule at first. But as his muscles grew over time, the higher the confidence he gained. And it was supported by the reps he did throughout his exercises. From twenty, to fifty, to a hundred, and closer to the values that his father and godfather set yesterday.

And like yesterday, certain thoughts lingered.

Miles turned to the tent, his breathing was deeper as his conscience swirled doubt within. His doubts from yesterday echoed again, strongly against his godfather's words that tried to assure him.

"You're almost as good as me at my best," Chase's words echoed.

"He's only saying that to make you feel good," a hostile inner voice said. It matched his tone whenever Miles spoke in frustration but with the added distortion as it was in his mindspace.

"That's not true!" His own inner voice retorted.

"Miles, you're going to be a great soldier." Chase's repeated. "You're already a great son. And a great godson too!" He spoke enthused.

But the sinister voice added, "Wrong. You are not good enough yet." It was louder, overlapping his godfather's tone. "Your father only pities you."

Vicious, seemingly true, he felt its impalement through his heart. Tears started welling up in his eyes.

"Tut-tut Miles," his other self reminded. "No tears. Those are for the weak." And he shrouded him in that sentiment. A hushed choir of his own voice, in his head, repeating the last sentence over and over.

Miles looked around in panic, recalling their exercise yesterday as a means to calm him down. Himself, his godfather and father, and how his numbers were closer to the former of the two. But in this emotional pressure, Chase had his numbers increased tenfold, his father, Dexter, increased a hundredfold. The young wolf's heart thumped at what seemed to be more true though deep down he knew it wasn't.

Facing back down onto the water, he could barely make himself in the stream. There was only a white blob, with tiny distorted crimson spheres. He felt himself unsure, and was aware that he had been. The lie of the exaggerated numbers that his mind refused to let go of.

Miles didn't want to go back to cause worry to his father, but he needed to deal with this issue presently. Given he was still in his speedo, there was only one proper way. He looked into the water and dipped his hand, the current acting strange as if it pulled him downward and not along that led towards a rocky decline. It then acted strange that his reflection disappeared, and the water did not mirror the sky, rather a dark blue depth that darkened the closer it was in the middle of the lake.

With how strange everything was, he decided to take the dive. No need to be graceful, nor thoughtful. Rather wanting to wash himself of this issue, he went head first into the cold water.

It did not sting his eyes unlike saltwater from beaches before. And it was significantly colder than anywhere else he swam in, and it wasn't because of the water alone. Though Miles dove not too far from the surface, he turned to see that he was farther away than the rushing water. He's descended below the lake's bed too, and he kept going lower. With this dream-esque sequence, he didn't feel the loss of breath while bubbles escaped his nose.

In the lower depths, closer into the darkness, he heard thumping noises that matched his own beating heart. It vibrated through the eerily still waters. Miles stopped and twirled around in it, wondering if he could even find what's causing it. He could not make out the darkness too well, only see the jagged walls of this pit's depths. He looked up and did not see the surface anymore, yet, he did not panic. With that, a gentle light emanated from him that illuminated within arm's reach, fading into obscurity much farther. There were bits of minerals that moved away from the vibration with each beat.

He looked deeper downwards, the dark blue hole became pitch black. This was unlike those documentaries of space where they showed nothing yet emphasized everything. Here, he saw nothing but knew there was something below.

Miles swam lower, the cold had gone away as did the water pressure. He saw an outline of a wolf's head, scruffier than himself, but retained a few features that resembled him except far older. Far more... damaged? Amongst the lines there resembled a scar on his cheek. Could it be his father? Not likely because this wolf was the source of the thumping, and it matched his own heart, hastening upon that realization.

The outline of the wolf stared at him, disappointed and resentful. His mouth moved, about to speak, but ended up sighing. From that, a sudden chill surrounded the waters he swam in. Freezing, yet, he was not frozen. And it spoke to Miles, "Hello, me."

So it was him, and he waved at his older-looking self. "Hey," he spoke underwater. His voice was unobstructed, echoing past the outline. "What are you?" He mumbled, afraid to incur its wrath. For something that seemed dreamlike, it felt very real.

"The future you want, scar included." The outline spoke, a morbid chuckle after. It unsettled Miles and he noticed it, as did the sudden calm after. Both wolves knew the risk of being a soldier. Nonetheless he remarked, "You should know the consequences sooner. It is unwise to stagnate after all."

Miles shuddered at each word. Every syllable was a cold brush as he felt himself sink. "I'm doing my best, okay?!" He retorted, picking up Chase's and his father's words to warm him. He echoed them in his mind but his inner voice from earlier continued to linger. And he could feel its presence swirling around him.

"If you see your father as the best, then it means you have found a limit." The outline reiterated. "I am the result of exceeding that expectation."

But how could this be? Miles wondered. And he knew the outline knew he was wondering too. How could he know the future that didn't happen yet? Or was his perception of his future self always like this? He wanted to be a great soldier to impress his father, and a part of him felt the need to go beyond him too.

"Time is of the essence, Miles." The outline said.

And there it was, the urgency. It clicked that that was the cause of that unpleasant feeling. The source of his ambition- to be better than his father before he even started. But the career was what made him. He realized that he could not be better than his father until he lived through it.

The outline sighed, "While that is true," he said having read Miles' thoughts, "You mustn't use this as an excuse to stagnate." He persisted, "The only way to make him proud is to push yourself further. His white lies only serve to make you complacent. But I know better."

Miles swam backwards, seeing his head expand. And before he would speak back, his hostile inner voice spoke once more, far more vicious.

"Deep down you know you are not enough. And this back and forth is getting you nowhere, Miles." It hissed.

"That's not true. You do not know better!" Miles retorted, but his own voice was far weaker than his intention to yell back. What his inner demon said was a lie and they both knew it. And he would rather such sentiments remain a lie. "I will not stagnate, but I will not overwork myself. I am only a mortal!" He declared. There was strength in knowing one's weakness after all.

"But you best not forget to work hard regardless, pup," the outline said.

But his inner demon was less friendly with his words, "You will die and be forgotten if you keep making those excuses."

"They are not excuses!" Miles retorted. "I know myself better than either of you. I know when I'm tired, I know when I'm at my weakest." He concluded, "That way I know when it is time to be strong."

"Kid me's got fight," the outline mumbled to himself. "But as it stands, it's not enough to overlap your father. You've got a long way to go."

"I know that!" Miles yelled back, his own voice much louder. "And I will get to that point where I'm going to be better than my father. Hell, I'll even be better than you." He pointed at the floating head, laughing in approval of such sentiments.

"I like him," the outline changed his tune.

"I don't!" His inner demon manifested itself in the shape of Miles, with scruffy body fur, and scars traced across his body.

Miles saw and rather than fear, he felt pity. He could look into what had caused those scars, as well as the bruises and tears of his demon's muscles underneath. Overexertion made him weaker, and comparing themselves, he felt himself already in the right. He was only a quarter weaker than him, yet he saw a wider potential where his inner demon had squandered it.

But it wouldn't be a demon if it wasn't stronger in another way. His twisted self smiled, possessing the singular outline head that bode him farewell as he was. The lines started to bubble at a high intensity, heating the water surrounding it. "You think you could just feel sorry for me, Miles?" He separated himself emotionally, glaring at the retreating wolf.

Miles slowly swam upwards while staring him down, "I'm already better than you!" Confidence welled inside him upon saying that, only for it to last a moment. The bubbling was rapid, and the creature slowly waded itself towards him. One of the things he learned here that he would take into the academy was understanding the environment. While he focused solely on the intangible forms of his inner voices, only then did he notice the lake's walls closing in on him. This was not his domain.

And his inner demon was not done, now chasing after Miles rapidly swimming upward. The bubbling masked its changing head. More scruff, and a larger proportion than the last, this time with red hellish eyes peering through the water with an ominous blood glow to it. Darkness shrouded the lines, save for the glare, and the aura he felt from it reminded him of his father.

"I thought you wanted to be a good soldier!" A distorted voice of his father enveloped him, bouncing off the walls. "I thought you were my son."

Miles cried, picking up the swimming pace as he went upwards. But ahead was darkness, matching that of the depths below, just behind the imitation of a father he never had. "You are not my dad!" And he kept up the truth. "My dad loves me, regardless of what I become."

"White lies."

"He's proud of me no matter what," Miles could see the crevice, a widening deep blue of the sky, surrounded by the retreating pitch black.

"It's a safety net for your mistakes."

Miles looked back to see how close the slanderer and defiler of his father's honor was. The distance was far considerable but what he shouted felt like an incision through his chest. His joints slowed, almost paralyzed as the slanders gripped him. He whimpered under his breath, but at the realization of him doing so, he floated himself higher to colder waters.

"An alpha wolf does not cry, Miles." Faux Dexter yelled out, chasing after with bubbles escaping between growling gritted fangs. "You will never be a real soldier like that. I thought I raised a proper wolf."

"You did not," Miles snapped back. "My real father did. You are a pathetic excuse for a soldier." He never looked back after. Those insults and lies fired upon him like bullets, but all of those shots miss. He could see a protruding darkness from the edge of the opening, with gentler red eyes looking back down. It was his actual father, and seeing him relieved him while calming his heartbeat.

Curiosity, however, had gotten the best of him, glancing back down. Miles saw the jagged rocks of the lake's bed. Smaller fish swimming between or hiding inside them. And he let out a long exhale, which emptied his lungs at that point. Finally, he swam upward onto the surface, gasping for oxygen the moment his snout reached the air.

"Easy there, son," his actual caring father crouched closer, arm reaching out. Dexter's eyes looked at him with great worry, scanning him and the surrounding if he had been hurt or had open wounds. "Come up here and let's talk." He sensed something off from his son's eyes who looked up to him tearfully.

Miles took deep breaths, his lungs cold as his body was still submerged underwater. He looked around, the cliffs were kissed by the sunrise with a subtle rainbow stretching from the peak to the base of the waterfalls. Admiring its beauty, he hadn't realized that he was still crying and that his father saw him doing so. His mind raced back to the memory of the faux-father in the depths of this lake, worried he possessed his actual father. It was deceiving, and maybe he was stuck in a nightmare that happened to feel very real.

He'd be proven wrong though, Dexter lifting him up after reaching out and immediately pulling him into an embrace. "It's okay son," he said to him. "I meant what I said yesterday, even the part that I envied you." Patted his back, adding, "Even if I made it easy for you, you still managed to work harder than me at my age." He recalled his son's eagerness to get into training, that even when he had those days where fatigue got the best of him, the more enthusiastic he grew as it waned. Further back in time, he had a few lapses of giving up but Miles never had.

Miles embraced his father tightly, clutching onto his drying fur, while tears dripped against his arms. He wanted to tell him what he saw down there but worried that he'd be ashamed. To even believe a lie that went against what his father just said and did. His father was very compassionate, treated his people like actual people. Whereas his own concept of a soldier was that of an unstoppable machine, but in an odd sense he never saw his dad like that despite knowing him as such for almost his entire life. Having thought of that made him feel guilty, urging him to then ask, "I'm not doing anything wrong, right?"

Dexter pecked him on his forehead and stroked his arm across his son's back, drenching his own fur in the process. "Sonny, Miles, no." He reassured him, gesturing to the ledge to sit down, which they did. The current kept running, but their reflections were more coherent than how Miles saw it earlier. They both saw their muscular selves, himself having more gains than his son, and their red eyes looking back. "I was half your muscle mass when I was your age. Younger me would envy you."

Miles took the compliment and wagged his tail to it. "I know, thanks dad." There was a pause that left his mouth open. His father was about to speak but noticed and would instead wait until he was ready to speak up. A minute passed and his father reassured him with more pats on the back. And when he finally could, he said, "I still can't shake the feeling that I'm going to disappoint you during my cadet training, or that I could hurt your reputation." He went on, looking up to his worried face as tears slid down his own, "I don't want you to be disappointed in me if I can't be a good soldier as you, dad." He caught his breath, trembling, and holding onto his father's arm for balance. Part of him envied it, and his encounter with his inner demons echoed the sentiment that he would never be as good as him.

Dexter swapped it around, this time it was his own paws holding his son's arms. He felt how muscular they were, "Who are you?" A simple question, which he hoped would help his son understand.

Miles was baffled, but he soon realized a hidden explanation to it. A part of him knew where this was going but answering it would give a definite answer, "Miles Fennix, sir."

"That's dad to you, son," he rested a hand on his shoulder, the other holding his hand. "Please say that again."

So Miles did, "Miles Fennix, dad."

"Are you going to be Chase?"

"No?" Miles raised a brow.

"Are you going to be that classmate, uh, Ricky was his name?"

"No, dad." He chuckled, recalling the dog-fox hybrid and how much he made a fool of himself. Certainly didn't want to be him.

"So are you Miles Fennix?" Dexter asked.

"Yes, I am." Miles repeated, "I am Miles Fennix."

Dexter clapped his hand once and hugged his son, "That's all I could truly ask for, sonny."

Miles hugged him back, overwhelmed with such joy, and in this outburst he also teared up. And in doing so, his worry swelled, asking the question, "What if I change? What if I didn't want to be a soldier anymore?"

Dexter let him grieve and wail for a while, rubbing his son's back. This ordeal had become something great for him, but it shouldn't be overdone, "You will still be my son regardless." He kissed his cheek. "That's all I could ask for: my son."

"Even if I was a teacher?" Miles muttered.

"Mhm."

"How about a logger?"

"Mhm."

"Car salesman?"

"Mhm." And Dexter entertained him for a few more examples before concluding with, "All I could ever ask you to be is my son. You're not going to disappoint me at all. Everything you've done thus far speaks of honesty and will. I have been proud of you ever since you were born, Miles." He parted themselves momentarily so that he could see the seriousness in his own eyes. They were stern, that contrasted his son's still tearing eyes with a trembling face that slowly calmed as he smiled at him. "And I mean all of it because I love you."

"I love you too, dad," Miles answered instinctively and sincerely. His doubt subsided, but he worried about it coming back so he asked, "What if I worry about you being disappointed in me again?" And for a moment, what had subsided arisen once more.

Only for Dexter to whittle it down with a simple, "I love you, sonny." And closed the space between them in a warm embrace, rubbing the top of his head. "And I will always help you, no matter what."

Miles' worries had died down for now, and he was confident that his next tango with these negative emotions would easily go in his favor. But he had to ask him one more time, "Even if I'm not a soldier?"

Dexter sighed, chuckling, "Of course, Miles. You are my son no matter what, and I'll always look after you. Soldier or not."

It was a start for the white wolf, and he stroked his father's back fur in sync with him doing it too. Any shadow of doubt he had had gone then and there. He inhaled deeply, taking in the natural jungle scent of exotic flowers, wet stone, and wet soil. The kind you'd find in a rainforest even though the sky above was a pristine light blue now that the sun had peeked over the palm treetops.

After the Fennixes shared a lengthy embrace that Miles held onto and needed, Dexter did his morning stretches on the opening between the ledge and the tent. Miles took part in it and stretched with nearly the same grace. It was Yoga as it turned out, and the young wolf had only seen it in movies or on gym adverts that he never grasped its significance. Dexter gave him a quick explanation on how it was beneficial for the muscles and keeping good form, that the army recently incorporated more of it into their exercise to increase endurance and reduce cramps.

This, in turn, gave Dexter a fun idea to help ease his son in. He asked him, "Hey son, do you still follow on that whole Power Rangers thing?"

"Mhm!" He explained, "Currently it's Jungle Fury. Not as interesting because only a few of the rangers were animals. It has a Wolf Ranger but he's purple and it doesn't fit him."

"Do you wanna do that pose that we did when you were younger? Because it is reminiscent of 'Warrior B', but we'll tuck our arms in after." Dexter could tell his interest by his wagging tail.

Miles had already done the leg-work for 'Warrior B' immediately after his father did it; one bent knee forward and the other slanted behind. "Like this?" Miles stretched out his arms in anticipation of where they would be as Yoga seemed to involve a lot of stretching both your arms and legs, or finding yourself in a very simplistic pose.

Dexter chuckled, having aligned his stretched out arm with the direction of his knee, and the other with his slanted leg behind. Their bodies fronted each other, both wolves feeling like martial artists themselves. "Just like this son," he said to him, taking a deep breath after. Miles followed suit, and exhaled alongside when he did as well.

Miles could imagine the resemblance it had with the Silver Wolf pose, and after a lengthy minute of holding up 'Warrior B', they both transitioned into a wide squat as their arms curled inward, and on top of the other just in front of their bodies. Their claws extended from their nails, and both red eyes glared upon each other as means to intimidate, but in this case an expression of fun with each other.

"And don't forget to growl from your chest, like this," Dexter inhaled like he would with Yoga, but with gritted teeth he let out a low snarl that came from his chest, and vibrated through his throat.

Miles' first attempt in the longest time had his growl come through his vocal chords, and he shook his head immediately before his father pointed it out. The second one was lighter in tone, due to his youth, but it was straight from his chest. Dexter gave him an approving nod.

*CLICK*

It came from their tent, both Fennixes turned to the entrance to see Chase holding up a camera taking a shot of their morning exercise. Both wolves were somewhat embarrassed being in this position initially, but Dexter turned towards him first and growled from deep within. Miles looked on and would never not be impressed by his father's impressive display. Though the old man was not one for his particular interests, he surely had the makings of the Silver Wolf, both in effort and theatrics. The white wolf mimicked his movement, and growled just as deep from within too. And Chase snapped a few shots after.

For a moment, Miles felt like his father- both ferocity and proportion of strength to his age. He felt like the strongest teen in the continent right now, seeing all those muscles on himself. From a power pose, he switched to flexing his guns, and Chase taking a few shots of him showing off. After several different poses, he started feeling the heat of the sun touch his back, and realized that it was already well above the treetops. Light bounced from his fur, and the water that glistened brightened him while Dexter's was so dark it could almost absorb the light.

Chase remarked at the latter, "Even the New Moon sniper makes his own shadows." He snapped photos of the wolves flexing against each other. Afterwards, joined in and took selfies while flexing his own muscles. A few more wacky photos in which Dexter carried him on his shoulder, and the last set which was a shared family hug in front of the waterfalls.

The last one was also directed by Dexter who knew where to rest the waterproof camera, and which angle brought out the rainbow of the waterfalls while cresting over their heads. Or the good color mixture of having Miles between them so his white fur contrasted the shadows of the water behind, while he and Chase contrasted the sunlight and its brightness bouncing off the waterfalls.

When Chase took the camera back in hand and reviewed these shots, most of them were frame worthy. It brought out the color of the Fennix's eyes, the trace of their muscles through the fur, and even the glistening droplets that sparkled on his and Dexter's fur. "Dang, Dex, where'd you learn how to take these shots?"

Dexter chuckled, waving him off, "I'd say hidden talents like my son here." He strode to the tent, changing the subject. "I'm hungry, let's have ourselves some breakfast alright?"

"Yeah, breakfast!" Miles chimed, his exclamation scared a few birds off the trees. He spoke in a hushed tone, "What's on the menu?"

"Breakfast MREs, and a few coconuts." Dexter opened the tent for them, and they settled themselves on their sleeping bags. Miles brought it up with his father that his bag's insides were tattered and uncomfortable, which he agreed to replace the moment they were stateside.

For now though, Miles got his rucksack that had most of their food and pulled out MRE's with its components scrounged up rather than uniformed in its box. Dexter and Chase saved space in that way while they were on tour, and the majority of the time local provisions were readily available. This island had an abundance of it. Their breakfast consisted of dehydrated oats, milk and berries, which they rehydrated with the river water; powdered egg, which to the young wolf seemed like sorcery. It's yellow powder in a bag that they poured their bottled water into, and he was instructed to shake it vigorously. In front of his very eyes he could see the mixture solidify to resemble that of actual scrambled eggs.

But Dexter wasn't done, he took the bag with the mixture, compressed it in a flameless ration heater with a bag of poutine, and poured water into the heater. A chemical reaction resulted in heating up these convenient meals. Chase cracked open some of the coconuts with his bare hands and they had their morning beverage.

Their breakfast was not exactly up to hotel standards. Chase and Dexter were so used to it that they enjoyed the egg as if it was a freshly cooked meal, making umami noises as they chewed. Miles always enjoyed a poutine with such desire that the only bad one is a spoiled one. And they all washed it down with coconut juice, and then clawed off the meat inside its shell and ate it for dessert. After breakfast, they packed up their things to venture off to another island. But not before Miles begged his dad to go pick some bananas. The next half hour was spent finding a bunch that's ripe enough for them to eat along the way, which they did in five minutes, and Miles climbed the tree quite slowly and descended even slower with ten pieces all huddled up in his arms. All three of them had one to celebrate his success, and it was sweet, far better than the grocer's.

Back at the boat, still grounded, they stowed their things away into it, and had Chase helm it. Miles untied the rope that held it down during the night prior, and Dexter used his strength to push the boat from its side so its propellers could kiss the water the moment they would start pushing it to the shore.

When Miles joined his father at the bow of the boat, he was pulled into a hug first which he felt the need to hug back just as tight. He even said to him, "Thanks dad for today." Those negative voices he felt were there still lingered, but he knew to confront these demons soon enough, and with a smile on his face.

Dexter caressed his son's back, assuring him that it was going to be alright. "And thank you for being my son, Miles. I would never ask for more than who you already are." He reiterated that point. It's what he and his wife would've told him too. And he missed her so. "Thank you so much," he said in a hushed mumble that had him on the verge of tears. But a deep inhale and exhale, he regained his composure.

After their lengthy embrace, they separated but Dexter still gripped his son's shoulder. Miles said it first, "I love you dad." He glanced upward and said, "I love you too mom." And it's as if a gentle gust blew past their heads, leaving a cool kiss despite the sun almost at its peak.

Dexter smiled, letting a tear dribble down his cheek as he looked up and let off a light howl. He then said, "I love you, Lex, you've given me a wonderful son." And looked back at him, smiling as wide as ever, "I love you too, my son."

****

Happy Father's Day!