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Slowly, I nod. “Okay. Yeah.” A strange numbness takes over. “Time.”
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17
Everett
This isn’t fair. None of it is.
Those thoughts bounce in my head along with the bounce of my truck. I drive to the Slide Mountain Wilderness trails, because the forest is the only place where anything makes sense. I need the fresh air and exertion that comes from rucking.
When I get to my trail, it’s a frigid, snowy day on the mountain. There’s no cell service, and that suits me just fine. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Just me, my rucksack, my thoughts, and nature.
My boots are top of the line and keep my feet dry, despite the snow. The trees are barren—perfect kindling, if campers aren’t careful. But at least there’s a lot of snow. Snow slows a fire down from expanding too fast.
Cormac is right. It’s easier to think about work when you want to ignore your life.
I gulp and trek deeper into the woods. The shock of last night’s news hasn’t worn off yet. It’s too bizarre and too painful to think about. It doesn’t feel real at all. More like it’s happening to some other guy. Some poor schmuck who didn’t use a condom right.
I have never had a problem with them before. That I know of. Oh, fuck. What if I have a bunch of kids out there? What if I’ve never used a condom right? There could be dozens of kids with no fathers, and—
No. Aria’s the only person I gave my middle name to. All the others know exactly who I am, and if they wanted a payday, that’s a quick way to get it. He has to be the only one.
Owen. Owen Bueller. Not even Owen MacMillan, and it’s all my own fault.
If I hadn’t been such a chicken shit all those years ago, and just told my parents what I wanted to do instead of sneaking around like a coward, then I would have given Aria my real name that night. I would have known I had a son. My son would have had a father all these years…
But is that even true?
Back then, I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s father. Hell, I don’t think I am now, either, but I’m more capable of it now than I was then. That’s for damn sure. The only thing on my mind was my enlightenment. My own edification. I wanted to be someone people thought well of, like a chill guru type. Someone who was calm and collected, and understood how the world worked. A world-weary traveler, always on the move. A sage.
All I ever thought of was what I wanted. No father should be able to describe himself that way.
My rucksack is heavier than usual, baring down on me with every step. Or maybe it’s the weight of reality crashing around me. I wonder if that’s how Aria felt when she found out she was pregnant.
I let loose a hot breath and murmur her name.
It’s not fair to be angry with her for the lost time. I know that. But she saw me at the party two and a half weeks ago, and she didn’t say shit about my son. Not a damn word. And she’s had plenty of opportunities. Hell, I had texted her yesterday morning on Lily’s advice.
Just like that, it hits me. Lily knew the night we were sitting in the lounge. She wasn’t counting to ten to calm down. She was counting the years when I told her we hooked up almost six years ago. She was doing pregnancy math. That’s why she got so invested in what I was saying.
I want to be angry with her, but I can’t. She’s known Aria forever. Her loyalty is with her. If anything, that’s a good sign. It means Aria is someone worth being loyal to, even in harsh circumstances.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m super pissed with her.
Maybe that’s not fair of me, but none of this is fair. If I were a better person—the enlightened person I wanted to be—I could let this go and just be glad to have a son. Only, I’m not that enlightened person. I’m just a guy who found out he has a kid he’s never met. I’m not even sure I want to be a father. Or how to be one.
When most people have a kid, they know it’s coming. They can prepare themselves, read all the books. Most of the time, they want this kid to come into their life. They planned for it. I didn’t plan for any of this. In fact, I planned for the opposite of this.
Having a kid was not supposed to be in the cards for me. My life was supposed to be fighting fires and finding love. It’s one thing for a person to be a smokejumper and have a spouse. That spouse would be an adult who went into the situation with their eyes wide open. They know it’s possible for their partner to never return after a fire. They may not like it, but they accepted the risks when they said, “I do.”
Kids don’t get that option. There’s a reason so many smokejumpers never have children. It’s too much of a risk. Kids don’t come into the world accepting that their parents could easily die at their job. It’s not fair to put that on their tiny shoulders.
I cannot imagine the fear the kids of smokejumpers have, every day, all day. My father’s worst days at the office could include a paper cut. Mine could mean that I die of smoke inhalation, a bum parachute, or worse.
And Owen is only five. How could he understand any of this?
For that matter, do I?
