Back to Willow (Back Series Book 1)

THIRTY-SIX

“Mummy’s not coming with us?” Dylan asks as I place the car seat in the back of my car.

He’s on my side, intently watching me as I struggle to put this stupid thing in correctly. Willow finally agreed to let me take him for a day without any kind of supervision.

And while it stings that I had to hound her for it for almost two weeks, I understand that it is a lot to adapt to. She’s been on her own for so long, and now, I just parachute myself into their lives, demanding changes in their routine.

A person with two brain cells knows that’s not how it works. Thus, I should just be thankful for this leap of faith.

It doesn’t help that I fucked up and she’s barely talking to me. Those words have been living in my brain rent-free, even though I regretted them as soon as they flew out of my mouth. I can’t change the past now. All I can do is prove myself to her.

Let’s just hope I can turn this day around already. It’s already started poorly. The initial plan was to stop at Willow’s place so she could give me the car seat to pick Dylan up. But one hour before my shift ended, an emergency came in, and Dr Shawn pointedly told me not to bother coming back if I didn’t stay for the surgery it entailed.

Apparently, I’ve not been working as many hours as I was in the beginning, and he’s disappointed. The asshole gave me five minutes to get my shit together and show up in the surgery room.

Thankfully, there is one thing that hasn’t changed about Willow after all of these years. She is not the kind to sabotage something just because she’s hurt or angry. And in full Willow fashion, she understood right away, telling me not to worry about picking Dylan up from school; she did it instead.

I’m relieved she didn’t try to raincheck because today is the day I’m taking him to enrol him in the local football team.

Everything is set, and we need to head out soon if we want to make it on time. If only the fucking car seat would secure properly. Fucking hell.

“It’s just us today, buddy,” I answer with a grunt, still struggling with the seatbelt. “It’s a boys’ day.”

How on Earth can I be sure he is securely attached? Last time, Willow walked me through it, and I got too cocky.

The joke’s on me.

Shaking the seat to make sure it’s good, it swivels too much to the side, and I frown. What the fuck am I missing?

“It goes underneath,” Dylan tuts with a bored tone.

“Huh?”

“The seatbelt. There is a thingy underneath to slide the seatbelt in. Then it should be done. At least that’s how Mummy does.”

I take it off and restart from the beginning, doing as he directed before I click the seatbelt into the buckle. When I try to shake it again, it barely moves, and I sigh in relief.

If my tanned complexion would allow it, I’d be blushing from embarrassment. Dylan knows how to secure a car seat better than I do. Bloody hell, and here I was last night, asking what could go wrong…Nothing like a six-year-old to humble you a little—or a lot.

There’s no time to wallow in misery. I can bitch about not being fit to be a parent later.

“Alright, bud. Let’s go.”

“Yes!” He jumps straight inside, sitting on the car seat. After closing his door and rounding the car, I get into the driver’s seat to rev the engine.

“Where are we going?”

Peeling off Willow’s driveway, we slowly head toward Porto’s junior team practice stadium. It’s on the opposite side of the city, and with traffic, a good thirty-minute drive.

“A little bird told me you like football…” I trail off. “I reckon it’s time to sign you up to play in a team. What do you think?”

“Porto?” The giddiness in his voice is audible, and I have to make a big effort to not groan. It’s definitely is not my favourite team.

“Unfortunately,” I grumble in distaste. “Hopefully, soon, I’ll be able to convince you Benfica is best.”

“Uncle Jake says they bribe referees.”

“That’s a load of—” I splutter, stopping myself before I curse. It is, though. “Do you even know what bribe means?”

“I asked Mum,” he answers proudly.

“Of course, you did. Anyway, how do you feel about going for a try-out?”

“Oh.” He looks down at his hands, picking at the seat’s buckle. “Good.”

I frown. “You don’t want to? We can do something else…”

“No,” he exclaims, eyes widening. “I just…”

“What’s wrong, bud?”

“All of my school friends play football, too. They told me their dads always takes them to the practices, and…” he stops, looking outside, and my heart twists in pain.

Bloody hell.

The way his voice is weak and low alongside his deep frown feels like a punch to my gut. My throat clogs up with unsaid words. The ones I want to say ever since I’ve known the whole truth.

And while there is a small chance that takes away from the certainty of me being his dad…watching him like this makes me want to blurt those words more than ever.

I’m your dad.

It’s what I want to say. But Willow and I have an agreement.

We can’t tell him until we’re sure, and I understand. His well-being matters more than our—my—feelings. I may be new to this, but I understand that perspective very well. After not being a priority to my own family growing up—not in the way that it matters—I have vowed to do better. To break the cycle.

And that means putting him above everything else.

“And…” I prompt him to continue, swallowing the forbidden words.

“I always thought by now,” he side-eyes me with a sad expression before looking back outside and continuing, “that mummy would have found my dad, and he’d be the one doing this with me…”

Fucking hell!How do I go about this without fucking it up?

“Bud.” I wait until he looks at me. “I’m sorry things aren’t going as you expected.” He huffs, looking away again, and I swallow as panic grips my throat. The words are ready to be spewed out and give him exactly what he wants. Your dad is right here. “You’re too young to understand, but sometimes, things are harder and more difficult to solve than we realise.”

“That’s what Mum keeps saying,” he snickers.

“If so, then she probably has a good reason for it. I’m sure that when the time is right, she’ll introduce you to him or at least let you know who he is,” I try, not knowing if my words are right. “Until then, you can’t stop doing what you love. But if you don’t want to enrol–”

“No,” he cuts me off. “I do.”

“And are you willing to be going with me instead?”

“I guess,” he shrugs. “I just hope my dad doesn’t get mad that I did it without him.”

“Oh, believe me.” I smile. “He’ll understand just fine.”

“That was awesome, bud,” I holler to Dylan as he runs down the field after scoring a goal.

My whole body is simmering with the pride travelling through my nerve endings. He’s pretty good and has excellent control over the ball. He still needs to learn when to pass it on or take the shot, but he’s barely six years old. I reckon he has time to improve.

He could very well be the next Ronaldo. I feel the smile on my face as the fleeting thought crosses my mind.

The try-out goes on for ten more minutes, and right afterwards, I meet the coach as he’s inside, getting ready to head back out.

“The kid’s good,” he comments nonchalantly.

They never like to sound too enthusiastic.

“And has great potential,” I add. “I hope he can join the team?”

“He sure should. Here,” he says, handing me a bunch of paperwork. “Bring this back by Tuesday at the latest, right before the next practice.”

“No problem.” I nod, eyeing the papers.

It requires the parent’s permission signature, as well as a monthly payment of fifty euros. It’s not much, but I know that amount doesn’t have the same meaning to me as it has for Willow.

Even though she didn’t seem concerned about it being an extra expense, it’s not lost on me that she needs to work on top of studying. I’ll pay for this myself—let’s just hope she’s okay with it.

“I hope to see you both next week.” The coach waves as he heads back out to the field.

Just then, I see Dylan emerging from the gate, excitedly waving at me. He runs up as I walk in his direction, and as soon as he’s within reach, he hugs me. My hand finds his head, gently threading my long fingers through the brown mop of wild, wet hair.

“You showered? By yourself?” I ask.

“No,” he grunts. “I just put some water on my head; I was hot.”

I nod. “You play way better than I could’ve ever imagined!” The praise rolls off my mouth naturally.

With a massive smile, he pushes away, holding my hand instead. “You think they will let me play more?”

We start to walk out. Our pace is slow as the little energy I had is slowly slipping away from me—from him, too, it seems. The tiredness is now taking a new kind of control over my body, making it feel slightly heavier.

“They’d be crazy not to. And besides…” He peers up at me. “I got the papers to enrol you right here. All we need is Mum’s approval.”

“Yes!” He jumps in excitement. “We need to go home and ask her to agree!”

Just then, my stomach growls, stopping the both of us in our tracks. It’s been hours since the meal break I had in my shift, and it’s taking a toll on me. We burst out laughing at the exact moment his stomach growls, too, as if in tune with mine.

“She’ll agree for sure.” I chuckle. “How about we go eat something and buy her a gift? I’m sure she’ll love that we thought of her today.”

That and it will hopefully gain me a couple of points with her.

With an eager nod, he pulls my hand in my car’s direction before walking towards it.

Thankfully, it’s only a ten-minute drive, and his non-stop excited chatter is enough to keep my low batteries running until we reach McDonald’s. It’s not like it’s the best place to go, but it’s what he begs me for, and I can’t refuse him.

Once our bellies are full of food, we stop by the florist to make her a personalised bouquet. Dylan chooses a whole rainbow of colours, and I make sure to add as many baby’s breaths as possible. Of all of the flowers in here, it’s the one that fits her the most.

“Should we add perfume to the gift?”

“Perfume?” His head tilts to the side in thought.

“Yeah,” I answer, pulling him with me this time around. “Come on; she’ll love it.”

The food was enough to keep Dylan’s mood afloat—no tantrums or even spunkiness has peeked out. It’s slowly giving me confidence. While I know an evening is way easier than having him for a night or two or even full-time, the time lets us get used to and know each other.

I’ve got this.

By the time we get to the store, I’m in automatic mode. I head to the shelves where I know the brand of perfume she used back in high school.

“Does she even use the same perfume?” I ask myself.

“Can I smell it?” Dylan pipes in, reminding me of his existence.

Fuck, I really am tired.

Spraying it on one of those white papers, I flail it to diffuse the scent before giving it to him. The slight crease between his eyebrows smooths down as he smiles and looks at me with a broad smile.

“That’s how Mum smells,” he assures me.

Somehow, I feel like I should know this. I’ve been around plenty by now, enough to know her scent by heart.

When I bring the paper to my nose, nostalgia hits me full force. It is Willow, for sure. And all of the memories of us together in school and after school quickly take over my brain.

“Alright, let’s pay,” I mutter, my shoulders sagging from the lack of energy.

My eyes feel heavy again, and the thought of sleep starts to ring through my brain like an alarm. Through the payment, the cashier flirts a little, noticing the flowers while Dylan is still walking around full of energy. Who does he get it from, anyway?

The numbers from the payment machine blur before my eyes— a clear sign that my body’s exhausted. It’s barely past eight, and I have around half an hour to get Dylan home before his bedtime. Somehow, it feels like I’ve been up for forty-eight hours.

“Thank you,” the girl chirps as she gives me the receipt.

When I finally have the wallet inside my jeans pocket and the perfume bag in my hand, I turn to the exit. Ready to walk to my car and drive to Willow’s. I’m five meters down the shopping mall’s corridor when I notice something’s wrong like I’m forgetting something I shouldn’t be.

I rack my brain for what it could be as I look at the flowers and perfume in front of me. Willow’s presents, they’re here. Everything’s good.

Now, I just have to get Dylan home, and—

“Fuck! Dylan!”

“Sir,” a female voice calls just as I turn around to get back in the store.

She’s holding Dylan by the hand, a panicked look on her face as I rush to them.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I rush out, hugging him to me and not even caring how I am crushing half of the bouquet.

I almost forgot my kid in the fucking store.

“Mum says those words are bad,” he chimes in, some sass in his voice.

“Fuck, you’re right.” The girl clears her throat, and I look at her as she widens her eyes in warning. “Shit–I mean…ugh!” Rubbing my face with the hand that’s holding the perfume bag, I stop to take a breather. “I’m sorry, bud. I, uh…I thought you were right behind me.”

The girl snickers and gives me a disapproving look, definitely judging me for forgetting Dylan inside. He just shrugs, unaffected, and adds, “Uncle Jake has done worse.”

The worker gulps and speaks before I even have the chance to ask what the hell Jake did that’s worse than leaving a kid behind, “Well, now he’s back with his father, I’m going back to work. Have a nice evening, sir.”

Crouching down to his height, I ask, “You good, bud?” My hands cradle his cheek for a moment to take a good look at his face. He nods with a smug smirk, and I sigh in relief, trying to expel the guilt that’s biting at me from within.

How could I have forgotten about him?

He is relaxed—too relaxed—and the smile he draws out has me on edge, even if it makes him look cuter with those chubby cheeks filled out. “Don’t worry,” he tells me, unbothered. “I won’t tell Mum if you don’t.”

With that, he holds my hand tight and starts walking, forcing me to follow him, slightly dazed.

I’m so fucked. Because being a responsible adult and a parent is harder than I was convincing myself it is. One thing I know for sure is I don’t “got this”. Not at all.

Not even close.