Page 43 of Smitty

I had a daughter.

A beautiful, precious daughter.

Her first smile. Her first word. Her first laugh. Her first bad dream. Her first scraped knee. They’d all come and gone, and I’d missed it. Every single one of them.

If I’d known she was pregnant, I never would’ve done it.

I ran my hand over my face, trying like hell to make sense of it all. My thoughts were starting to spiral when Brooke whispered, “I’m sorry. I know this is a shock, but I can explain everything.”

“Then explain.”

She glanced up at the house, and it was no surprise that Ryan was still standing there, watching us like a hawk. He had to wonder why the woman he loved was crying. He didn’t know me. He didn’t know what Brooke and I had been. And if I had to guess, I’d say he didn’t know that the little girl he was holding was mine. But he would know soon enough.

“I can’t do this here… It’s too hard.” Her voice was strained as she said, “Meet me at our place… tomorrow at one.”

Our place.

She remembered.

“I’ll be there.”

I didn’t trust myself to say anything more. So, I turned and walked back over to my bike. I kicked my leg over the seat, and when I glanced back at Brooke, she was still standing where I’d left her, watching me as I pulled on my helmet. I held her gaze as I shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine.

Eventually, I forced myself to focus on the road ahead and pulled away from the curb without looking back. Because if I waited a second longer, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave.

I felt lost as I left her neighborhood.

I didn’t know where a man went when he’d just found out he was a father, eighteen months too late. I drove for a while, hoping to clear my head, and when that didn’t work, I decided to go to the clubhouse for a beer.

When I got to the bar, Rusty and a couple of the brothers were playing pool and shooting the shit. I could’ve joined them, filled them in on what had just gone down with Brooke, but I just didn’t have it in me. So, I grabbed a six-pack from the cooler and made my way outside.

I popped the cap off the first bottle before I stepped out the back door. I walked over to one of the old picnic tables and sat down. It was tucked far enough away that the music from inside was nothing more than a dull hum. I took a long pull from my beer and looked up at the stars.

It was funny. I'd spent the last year and a half thinking the biggest thing I'd missed was Brooke. It turned out I’d missed a whole lot more than that. I didn't know anything about my own little girl, and that thought hollowed me out. I took another drink and tried to figure out how we’d ended up here.

My mind wandered back, drifting to the one place it always seemed to go whenever I thought about Brooke. Our place. It wouldn’t look like much to anybody but us. It was just an old gravel road that led straight to the water. I'd found it on one of those lonely nights when I was sleeping in my truck.

I’d gone to sleep thinking I’d found a great little hideout and woke to find the most beautiful, serene place I’d ever seen.

The water stretched out forever, smooth as glass most evenings, with the mountains standing watch in the distance. It reminded me that there was still something beautiful in the world, even when life was kicking the hell out of me.

The first time I took Brooke there, I was embarrassed. I couldn't afford fancy restaurants or movie tickets. Most weeks, I barely had enough to pay for gas, so I did what I could.

I packed peanut butter and banana sandwiches, a couple of bags of chips, and two bottles of orange soda in an old cooler I'd found in the back of my truck. Brooke never once made me feel cheap for it. As soon as I parked, she hopped out and looked out across the water like I'd taken her somewhere exotic.

“Oh, Bray… It’s perfect.”

Perfect.

Nobody had ever used that word to describe anything that had to do with me, and that was the start of my demise. I fell for her in ways I couldn’t begin to describe.

After that, we'd go every chance we got. Sometimes, we’d grab a sack of burgers on the way or hot dogs that we cooked over a fire. Sometimes, we’d skip dinner altogether and just watch the sunset. We talked about anything and everything.

The garage.

Her classes.

We made plans for the future. She’d be the world’s best social worker, and one day, I’d have my own garage. And we’d have a house of our own. Nothing too fancy. Just a few bedrooms with a backyard and a front porch swing.