Thirty-Six
THIRTY-SIX
Saying goodbye to Dagen this morning was pure hell. She cried fat tears that stained my shirt as I held her tight. Her arms were locked around me and for a minute, I didn’t think she’d let me leave. Though it wasn’t like I was trying very hard. I would have been perfectly fine staying there forever with her, but things need to be taken care of back home.
We stayed in the hotel all weekend and talked about our future, what it will possibly look like. We were in agreement that I need to be closer since she has school to finish, but she insisted that the move wouldn’t be permanent. She knows my businesses are important to me, along with Malik and Danté, and Dagen thought it was best if we made our home there. She made the tough decision to withdraw from grad school and will look into the programs offered at University of Southern Mississippi. The drive from Cattywump Bay to the main campus is little more than an hour and that worries me, but it’s a topic we’ll revisit once we speak to her parents.
I get within thirty minutes of home and decide I need to clear my mind a bit.
“Hey Cherry,” I call out, using the name I’ve given my car. “Call Mal.”
The car echoes my request and the phone begins to ring through the car speakers after a short moment.
“Yo Henny! What’s up brother?”
“Hey Mal. Wanna ride?”
“Hell yeah. You know I’m always up for a ride. I can be there fifteen,” he says, already moving about his house.
“Nah. In about an hour. I’m almost home, but I could really use some fresh air.” I run through the ways in which to tell my brothers.
I worry about Danté’s response to this news making the weight on my chest even heavier.
“Cool. I’ll call D and see you in an hour.”
“Later,” I reply and hang up.
The rest of my drive home is spent rehearsing lines and how to tell Danté and Malik that they’re going to be uncles. I pray that the night doesn’t end with me back in a cell. Who knows what’s going to happen when D hears that I’m moving, too.
The night is warm as we fly along the highway. Malik is dancing like a fool, cars honking at him as they go by, and Danté is showing off with tricks, front tire high in the air as he stands on the tank. It’s crazy, I know, but what kind of biker men would we be if we didn’t pull at least one illegal death defying trick.
The engine of my Duc screams as I release the clutch and open up the throttle, zipping faster down the dark road. I wonder when the next time will be where I can just let go of any thoughts or feelings and ride. How many more nights like this will I have with my brothers?
I decide not to worry about any of that right now and let loose. I turn off wheelie control then power up in first, and quickly shift to second as I reach the top. My bike lifts up beautifully as I keep control of my elbows, staying nice and straight.
Putting her down gently, I speed up to catch D and Mal. I don’t reach the full torque and power of the 998 cc V4 engine –I don’t need to be opening up to two-ten on the freeway– but I give it enough to hit ninety, smoothly. I get a flashback to the night a distracted driver cut me off, causing me to veer and wreck my blue Yamaha YZF-R1. A broken arm and leg, bruised ribs and gnarly road rash had me off my bike for five and a half months. It worried Miss Shirley into such a panic that I didn’t put up a fight when she insisted on caring for me.
Thinking of the look on Miss Shirley's face when she came to see me in the hospital is vivid enough to have me slowing down. I imagine that being Dagen’s face and how she would have reacted seeing me like that. Then I think of something worse happening and my child never getting to know me.
My heart begins pounding in my ears and I feel like I’m about to fall apart into a fucking panic attack. The weight of everything that has happened in the last three days hits me like a freight train, and the shocked excitement turns to pure dread.
How the fuck am I supposed to be a dad when I don’t even know what one looks like?
I place my toe under the shift lever, lift the gear shift to the next position, and release the clutch, sending me flying past Danté and Malik. I don’t motion to them that I’m exiting the freeway, just hope that they follow.
I weave in between cars on the off ramp and barely make the yellow light before it turns red. I spot a strip mall up ahead and pull into the parking lot. I don’t downshift or ease to a stop. I brake hard and hit the kill switch as my feet fall to the pavement, skidding to a halt. I flip the kickstand and jump off.
It gets harder to breathe with my helmet on, and I struggle to pull it off, making my chest tighten. I finally break free and toss it down on the ground, then bend over, bracing my hands on my knees and gulping for air. I hear the revving of engines and screeching of tires and assume it’s the guys finally catching up with me.
The sound of what seems like a dozen horses grows louder.
“Hen! What’s wrong?” Danté places his hand on my back and tells Mal, “Call 911.”
“No!” I gasp. “No. I need…sit…down.”
D lifts me to standing and Malik rushes over to bracket the other side. Together they guide me to a light pole and prop me against the concrete base. My head lolls back and my eyes are too weary to keep open.
“Henny. Talk to us. What’s going on?” I crack open one lid to see the two of them squatting in front of me.
“Dagen. She’s pregnant.” Both of them jump to their feet with eyes wide as softballs.
“You serious?” Mal asks, and I nod my head.
Sweat beads along my forehead and upper lip, and my body feels weak. It isn’t long before a cold sweat rolls over me, causing my body to quake. Danté rushes to me and scrambles to get my jacket off.
“I’m c-cold, not hot D,” I explain.
“No, you’re not. You’re crashing. Get this off. You need more air.” Malik scurries to help D, and they work to yank my arms free.
The jacket gets tossed and I feel my face being fanned.
“How do you feel?”
“A little better,” I pant.
“Not physically feeling. How do you feel about the baby?” Danté clarifies.
I inhale a steady breath and open my eyes. “Up until about ten minutes ago I felt excited. Shocked, but excited for a future. Then the reality all came crashing down and I realize I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do with a baby. The only kids I’ve been around are the fosters and Dagen’s little brother and sister a couple of times. I don’t know how to care for a child of my own.”
“It’ll kick in. You’ll hold your kid and instinct will take over.” I arch a brow at Malik as does Danté. “So I hear. I don’t know first hand.”
“I bet Dagen feels the same way. I imagine caring for a child, twenty-four seven, is much different than watching a sibling for a few hours.” For such an asshole, Danté seems to be tapping into his emotional side lately.
We grow silent, only the sounds of the passing cars filling the air.
“So I guess you’re moving then, huh?” Danté’s face falls, realizing the one thing he worried about most is coming true.
“Temporarily. We decided that I’m going to split my time between here and Waco –mostly there– until she graduates. Then we’ll move here.”
Dantè’s melancholy eyes fill with a little light.
“Fucking sweet! I call dibs on babysitting.” Malik, like I expected, is far too excited about this new development.
“I told Dagen you were going to be annoying about it.” Mal sticks his tongue out at me, but returns to smiling.
“I know you’re scared but I think it’s really great.” I hurt my neck with how quickly my head flies back at Dantè’s word. “Yeah, yeah. Not what you expected me to say, but I mean it. If any of us are going to be a dad, it should definitely be you.”
“Hey. I take offense. I’m a fucking teacher,” Mal protests, crossing his arms like the children he spends his days with.
“Making flowers from coffee filters and story time are a bit different than being a responsible parent. Think about it, Mal.” Danté sits on the ground, knees bent and arms hanging over them. “Who’s the person that has always made sure we have everything we need? Which one of us is the first to take the others to the doctors when we’re sick? Who watched out for us and protected us when we were in trouble, even though it landed him in even more trouble?”
Malik nods his head, deep in reflection. “You got a point there, D. I kind of ick out thinking about changing shit diapers and throw up. And interrupted sleep? Yeah, not my jam.”
“Well it’s not really mine either, but it’s happening either way,” I add.
Danté grips my shoulder and squeezes. “We got you, brother. You won’t go at it alone. I dare anyone to try us.”
The three of us exchange a silent solidarity to always have each other’s backs. Just like it’s always been and always will be.