Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

20. Ian

I openedthe car door and puked into the neatly edged grass along my parents’ driveway. I swiped my arm over my mouth and climbed out of the car, careful not to plant my Doc Martens into whatever had been in my stomach a minute ago.

My father pulled in just as I finished shoveling the last of my lunch behind the rhododendrons along the property line.

The door to his truck swung open and he stepped out, still wearing his postal uniform. “Hey there, son. What’re you up to?” He lifted his chin and aimed it at the shovel in my hands.

I stared at the funky wet edge and figured I’d best hose it off before putting it away and wondered how to explain to my father that I’d ralphed in his grass because I’d just learned that I was having a kid.

How the hell could I be a father. I could hardly parent myself. How was I supposed to parent another person?

“I…uh…” I stammered. I wanted to tell my parents together that I had the results of the paternity test. No reason to suffer through it twice. “Upset stomach. Kinda took me by surprise. I…uh…” I pointed toward the hedgerow. “…took care of it.”

His brows deepened into a V. “I thought all the side effects from that concussion had gone away. Have you called the doctor?”

“Nah, I’m good. I think I ate a bad clam.”

“Bad clam?” His face scrunched. “Maylene’s cookin’ up clams?”

I was about to tell him Beau and I had gone to lunch in Morgantown but Beau had taken Brooklynn to his place on Tybee. This was going to get out of hand if I didn’t shut it down. So instead of answering, I just shrugged. I’d come clean soon. Soon as I cleaned the damn shovel.

“Go on inside. I’ll be just a second.”

He grabbed the handle of the shovel and tried to take it from me. “You head in and let me clean up. You’re not feelin’ well.”

“Dad, I got this. I’m okay. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Boy, you’re lookin’ like the north end of a southbound pig. Gimme that shovel and get inside. Have your ma give you some of that ginger tea of hers. You’ll be right as rain before long.”

His grip was strong and my stomach was threatening another uprising. Ginger tea didn’t sound half bad.

“Yes, sir.” I relinquished my grip on the shovel and went inside, feeling guilty that he was cleaning up my mess, but glad that the shovel would be back in the garage when I told him and Ma how badly I’d fucked up. At least he wouldn’t be able to hit me upside the head with it.

“Danny? That you?” Ma called from the kitchen as the screen door slammed. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“It’s me,” I called, giving our old coonhound a scratch behind his ears and a kiss atop his wizened brow. “Hey there, boy. How ya doin’?”

She poked her head into the hall, a huge smile on her face. “Hey there, honey. I wasn’t expecting you. If I’d known you were comin’ I’d’ve made you more porcupine balls. We’re having meatloaf. That okay?”

My sisters were right. I could deny it all I wanted, but I was a mama’s boy. I knew damn well if I told her I wanted something else, she’d whip it up right after she fed my father. That was just proof I couldn’t parent a kid. I was a six-foot, four-inch kid myself.

After pulling off my shoes, I grabbed a plate and some silverware and set a place for myself at the long farmhouse table in the kitchen. There were only the three of us, but I set my plate at my usual spot at the far end of the table while my parents would sit at the other end.

Good thing Ma still cooked for a crowd or there’d be no meatloaf for me tonight.

“Could you be a good boy and grab that pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge? Your father should be home any second.”

“He’s home,” I said opening the refrigerator. “He’s just clean— um…” I caught myself.

Her brow furrowed. “Cleaning what?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. He’ll be right in.”

The screen door slammed in the front entry.

“Siobhan,” my dad called from the front hall where I assumed he was removing his shoes. “I think I’ll have some of that ginger tea too.”

My mother tossed a glance over her shoulder at the sound of his voice. “Ginger tea?”

Seconds later, he appeared in the doorway with a smile and kiss on the mouth for my mother. I shuddered. They’d been married nearly forty years and they still greeted each other at the end of the day like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks. It was kinda sickening because they were my parents, but as a songwriter, I could appreciate the romantic side of a decades-long relationship.

“You finish up there. I’ll pour it myself.”

He grabbed a mug from the tree next to the stove and fished a teabag from a canister on the counter. When he reached for the teapot to pour what he expected was boiling water into his mug, he was surprised at the room temperature water that flowed into his mug.

“Didn’t you make Ian his ginger tea? The boy was just hurling on the side of the driveway.”

Jesus.

My mother turned to me, horrified. “What? Why didn’t you say something?” Wiping her hands on her apron, she scooted across the kitchen and yanked the kettle from my father’s hands and turned on the faucet to fill it.

“Ma, sit down. Please.”

“No, you sit down. Just gimme one second, and I’ll have that tea ready right quick.”

“Sit,” my father demanded. “You’re lookin’ green around the gills again.”

My mother flew to my side and pressed her hand against my forehead. Not trusting her hand, she pulled my head down and used her cheek next, just like she’d taken our temperatures when we were kids.

“You’re not warm, but you sure are clammy. Is it the concussion?” She looked at my father. “Is it the concussion?”

“How the heck would I know? I work for the postal service.”

“Please sit,” I muttered. “It’s not the concussion. But I do need to talk to you.”

My mother dropped onto the long bench beside me and grabbed my hand. “Oh my stars. Is it a brain tumor?”

A brain tumor?“What the…? No. It’s not a brain tu—how did you even come up with that? A brain tumor. Jesus, Ma.”

Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. My father took his seat at the head of the table. Slow and somber. Shit. A baby was better than a brain tumor, right?

I coughed a few times, then cleared my throat. My mother’s grip on my hand tightened.

Here goes nothing. “I just got the results of the paternity test. Looks like I’m gonna be a father after all.”

They’d known this was a possibility, despite my swearing up and down the paternity test would clear me, so I was surprised when they just sat in silence and stared.

“I’m as shocked as you are.” I let my indignation rise. “I always wrap it up. Always. Hell, I’ve been with hundreds… a few… I mean a few chic—young ladies and never, not once, did I forget to wrap it up.”

I took their continued silence as solidarity with my shock and indignation.

“Honestly, when she reached out to me at Beau’s engagement party, I figured she was just looking to get something from me. Money or a wedding ring. Who the fu… fudge knows? So, naturally, I denied it. She claimed she hadn’t been with anyone else, but I figured that was bull, so I deman?—”

The thump against the back of my head surprised me.

“Ow! What the hell?” I rubbed my head, expecting to find another goose egg there. “You tryin’ to give me another concussion?”

“Ian! What the hell is wrong with you?” Ma hollered. “You have four sisters.”

Staring me down with intense, laser focus, my father worked his jaw.

“Is this how we taught you to treat women?” he snapped.

“What are you talking about? I love women. I treat them damn well. I even leave them a Star—” I recalled Liane’s horror over the whole Starbucks gift card thing and shut my mouth before my mother hit me again and my father went out to retrieve his shovel. I rolled my lips together and sat there, waiting for their anger to pass. When it didn’t look as if that would happen, I took a chance at speaking.

I stared at a nick in the table. “No, sir.”

“Hundreds of women, Ian? Really?” Ma was horrified, and I was pretty sure Pop wasn’t about to high-five me either. He looked more like he was gonna give me a Five-Finger Death Punch. Great band, by the way.

“I’m disgusted and disappointed,” he said, shaking his head. “I can hardly look at you right now.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” It’s just what? I wanted to defend myself, but I couldn’t. Fuck.

“Let’s put all the aside for the moment,” Ma suggested. Bless her heart. “Tell us everything.” She patted my hand and gave me a wobbly smile. “You’re going to be a father.” Turning to my father, she added, “And we’re gonna be grandparents again.”

My father looked far less benevolent.

“Tell us about your baby’s mama,” she said, encouraging me, even though the last thing I wanted to do was discuss my baby mama. Jesus. Baby Mama. I needed that damn ginger tea after all. I rose to put the kettle on, but my mother beat me to it.

“Sit. Talk,” she insisted.

“There’s not much to say. Her name is Madison Enright and she owns the PR company where Liane works.

“Liane? Oh, she’s lovely,” my mother said as she bustled around the kitchen and set a platter of meatloaf, potatoes, and vegetables on the table.

Lovely? Liane was a drill sergeant with the temperament of a rabid racoon.

When the kettle whistled, Ma poured me a cup of ginger tea and stirred in two teaspoons of honey, just the way I liked.

As soon as she set the mug before me, I grabbed it and took a huge gulp to stave off the growing nausea, only to burn my tongue and my mouth in the process.

“Fuck!”

“Watch your mouth,” my father warned, spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

My mother took her seat next to my father’s right. “How long have you been dating?” she asked.

“Dating?” I asked after soothing the burn with a sip of sweet tea. “I…uh…wouldn’t exactly say we’re dating? I met her in Philly, and afterward, we kinda went our separate ways.”

If the look my father was giving me wasn’t a clear warning to shut my piehole, then I don’t know what was. Honestly, none of this was my fault, but I sure as hell stepped in it every time I opened my damn mouth.

The exhaust fan over the stove filled the kitchen with a steady hum while my folks watched, waiting for me to say something not stupid. I slowly spooned peas and carrots onto my plate.

“How we met doesn’t matter. We’re not a couple. We’re not dating. We’re not going to date. She only told me she was pregnant out of a sense of obligation. I don’t need to be involved. She doesn’t even want child support.”

I glanced up at my parents to find my mother wearing a look of absolute horror and my father one of extreme disappointment.

“C’mon. It’s no secret that I never wanted to settle down and have a kid. That’s never been on my bucket list and her getting pregnant doesn’t change that. I don’t know if I have it in me to be a dad or if I could offer the kid anything other than money without screwing it up. Madison seems like a decent enough person. If she wants, I’ll even sign over my rights. That way, if she gets married someday, her husband can adopt the kid and no one would be the wiser.”

My father rose so quickly his chair slammed into the wall, causing me to jump and my mother to clutch her chest.

“Excuse me, Siobhan. I’ve lost my appetite. I have some work to do out back.” He stuck his plate in the refrigerator and stormed out the back door, the screen slamming hard enough to set old Duke howling after him.

Although confessing to my parents had allowed my appetite to return, like my father, my mother must’ve lost hers. She pushed her plate back.

“Ian,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “You need to think long and hard about this. You’re going to be a father. Whether or not you sign away your rights—and I pray to God that you won’t do that—that child will still be here in the world, with or without you. Five, ten, twenty years from now, do you think you’d be able to walk down the street and see a little boy with reddish brown hair and not wonder if he’s yours? Do you want your daughter to grow up without a father? Without someone to teach her to ride a bike or read her stories? And what if your son has your musical talent, but Madison has none? Who’ll teach him to play piano or guitar?”

Chewing on the inside of my lip, I listened to my mother pour out her heart. This was her version of tough love. My father was ready to take me behind the woodshed, but Ma? She disciplined with words. And love.

“You talk a good game, Ian, and I’m sure you’re scared, but I know in my heart that you’ll be the best daddy ever ‘cause you had the best daddy. We raised you to be a better man than this.”

Her gaze bore into me, so I looked away, cut a piece of meatloaf with my fork, and crammed it into my mouth.

“Madison can hire people to do all that.”

Ma stretched her arm across the table and placed her hand over mine.

“Oh, honey, you can’t pay people to love you. And you can’t pay them to love your children for you.”

“Look, Ma. I get that you want more grandkids, but I’m not cut out to be a father. Not now, and more than likely, not ever. It’s just not something I’ve ever wanted. I like being able to pick up and go whenever I want. When I buy toys, they’re for me, and they’re expensive and nothing a kid would want to play with anyway. Hell, I’d probably be one of those parents who’d drive off and leave their kid on the roof of the car or something. I can barely keep myself alive. No one in their right mind would give me a kid to raise.”

I removed my hand from hers. “The universe made a mistake with this one. Madison and that kid will be better off without me. Maybe she can’t pay someone to love it, but she can sure as hell pay someone to keep it safe and raise it right.”

I wiped my mouth and tossed my napkin on my plate.

My mother rose quickly. “Where are you going?”

“Home. Back to Savannah. I’ve been back in Ashwood too long. I need to get back to my regular life.” I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her cheek.

“Tell Pop I said goodbye and that I’m sorry I disappointed him.”

“Oh, Ian.”

“It’s fine.” I tried to smile. “I can’t be the golden child all the time.”

She followed me to the door and stood over me as I sat on the bottom step and slipped my boots on. “Tell Fiona, Ellie, and Bridget I said goodbye. I’m gonna head back to Maylene’s; pack up my shit. I’ll probably head out tonight.”

“There aren’t any flights tonight.”

“That’s the thing about being rich and famous, Ma. When I want something, I can usually make it happen. Which is exactly the kind of thing I couldn’t do if I were somebody’s father.”

Was I sorry to be leaving this way? Yeah. But I couldn’t handle anyone else’s disappointment.

I was already plenty disappointed in myself.