Page 32 of Halo

I have a son. A little boy with my hair, with my smile. He's inquisitive and quiet and likes dinosaurs.

My own flesh and blood.

And he’s not doing well in school.

Damnit.

Is this because of me? Has my absence screwed him up irrevocably for the rest of his life? Could he sense that there was a part of him missing? Did he just assume that his father didn't want him?

Then again, if I had been there, would I have even made a difference in his life? Or would I manage to fuck everything up?

Opening up the glove compartment, I uncover my emergency pack of Marlboros. I don't smoke—well, at least not habitually. Nasty addiction honestly, but there are worse vices. The burn serves as my penance for a good time, and the nicotine quiets my thoughts.

After the day I’ve had, I'm hoping it can do something about my guilt and regret.

Tucking a cigarette between my teeth, I light it, the ember glowing in the darkness. Smoke catches the turbulence inside the cabin, swiftly carrying it out the window. After a few long pulls, I recognize where I am. An idea sparks, and without thinking, I take the next exit.

In a perfect world, there is no question on what I should do: I'd step up to the plate and be a real man—and not only that, I'd spend the rest of my life making up for the years I have already missed.

But all I can think about is the possibility that everyone would be better off if I stayed exactly where I am. Tiffany gave me an out, and the worst part is no one would blame me for taking it. No one would expect me to fight it to stay.

If I walk away, I never have to find out whether I'd be a good father. I never have to risk disappointing Grady or watching that look of excitement disappear from his face when he realizes his father is … well, me.

He might be better off without me.

But now that I've met him, I can't even pretend that I'm better off without him.

I turn right onto the next parkway then a left to a quiet block of luxury condos with manicured lawns.

I need to see her. I need confirmation from her that despite my shortcomings, despite my stupidity and failures, despite my unforgivable mistake of leaving her when she needed me the most, maybe—just maybe—I can do this.

“Nick?” Jonathan opens the door cautiously.

“H-hey, Jon.” I sniffle, pushing through my tearful haze to give him a smile. “I'm sorry to bug y'all, so late, but can I—?”

He doesn't hesitate. He invites me in, his curious dogs, Tank and Arbogast, welcoming me with sniffs and wagging tails. “Is everything okay?” he asks.

I drag my fingers through my windblown hair, the grit from the road rough on my palms. I work my jaw, unable to find the words. Biting the inside of my mouth, I slowly shake my head.

“Alright. Coffee or bourbon?”

I don't know why I was expecting a scolding or a lecture or an I told you so. But Jonathan didn't do any of those things. For almost an hour, we sat outside on his balcony with the hum of the city traffic as I told him about Tiffany and Grady, about my fears and irritations, regardless of their rationality. My friend just sat there and listened carefully, nodding and taking in the situation.

The dogs jolt up, interrupting us.. They race inside through a pet entrance of a specialized thermal curtain that keeps bugs out and head straight for the front door. They whimper and bay in excitement as a feminine squeal joins their chorus.

Tatum.

“Would you mind if I chatted with Tate about this?” I ask.

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. Finishing his drink, he nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You know? I think she'd actually appreciate that.”

Tatum pops her head through the glass door to the balcony. “Hey, sorry, I—oh, hey, Nick. I didn't know you were here.” She takes a seat on a lounge chair, her wet hair piled on top of her head from a post-shift shower. “Sorry I'm late. My case ran long. What'd I miss?” She glances around, her gaze bouncing back and forth before growing stiff. “Oh God, you guys are so serious. Is everything okay?”

“It will be.” Jonathan stands up, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Nick needs to chat with you.”

“Oh?” She raises her eyebrows, her eyes meeting mine.

Jonathan gives us a quiet nod before closing the sliding glass door and leaving us alone. To my surprise, however, Tatum promptly slips the door back open wide, ensuring that we are visible through the protective curtain.