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“She’s overreacting,” he says.
“Why did you mention a PI?” I press.
“It’s nothing. It’s just… I wanted to send her flowers, so I hired a PI to get her address. Now she’s acting like I’ve tried to rob her or something.”
I clench my fists and breathe slowly, trying not to flood with rage. He’s my son—my baby boy. Holding him in my arms for the first time was the happiest day of my life, even if I knew I had to return to work soon. I’d have to become cold soon.
“She doesn’t sound like she wants you to send her flowers again,” I say slowly.
“I don’t get why she won’t give me a second chance.”
“Why do youwanta second chance?” I growl.
“Because… because…” He shakes his head as if he hasn’t given this any thought. He can’t give me a reason. I could give a thousand for why I want her, need her. “I just don’t see how thatonedate has to define me. She thinks I’m some asshole. I was nervous. I wasn’t very nice. I get that, but I can be better.”
“But what about her?” I say. “I hear a lot ofme, me, me. What abouther?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You must have reasons for wanting her, specifically,” I say. “It can’t just be about proving something to yourself.”
“She’s a nice person,” he shrugs. “She’s friendly. She’s pretty. I don’t know. Is it that bad, sending her some flowers?”
“If she’s asked you to stop—”
“I’m not some stalkingfreak,” he snaps. “If she’s not interested, she can go fuck herself anyway.”
I have to physically turn away from him and look out the window onto the street. Surely, this is one of the most twisted positions a father could be in. I can’t let any man speak about my woman like that, but what if the man is my son? My only child?
“Don’t be cruel,” I say after a pause, composing myself.
“Whose side are you on?” he snaps. “You’re supposed to bemydad.”
“I am your dad,” I growl.
“Then act like it.” He stands up quickly and marches from the room.
I’m tempted to go after him, but I know nothing good will come of it. We’ve had similar arguments before. Less recently, but they happen from time to time. It’s my fault, I know. I was so distant for many years, letting Margot raise him when I should’ve been more involved, but how could I? I was overseas.
He’s left his phone on the table. Am I really going to do this?
If such a thing as the Worst Father of the Year Award existed, I’d be guaranteed first place. Leaning over, I pick up his phone. The screen hasn’t locked yet. From my Special Forces work, I can remember a cell phone number with a glance. It’s lucky. The screen auto-locks just as I commit the number to memory.
Taking out my phone, I wonder if I should call my woman and explain.Don’t think. A voice from the past snaps into my mind. He was an old martial arts instructor half my size and not extremely athletic, but his timing and positioning were superhuman. If he ever thought my attention was waning, he’d pop me with a stiff jab right on the end of the nose.
I take that same ethos now, walking to the bottom of the stairs, looking up for any sign of James. Is it wrong that I’m keener to ensure my perfect painter is okay than my son? Does that make me a terrible person? I’m not sure I’m ready for an honest answer to that.
“Hello?” she says.
“It’s me,” I tell her. “Fletcher.”
“Oh…” A pause. “Hey.”
“Are you okay?” I ask. “I heard what happened between you and James.”
“I’m fine,” she replies. “I just don’t want him sending anything else to the house, that’s all. I’m not interested.”
“Good,” I say fiercely.
