Chapter 12 Piper
PIPER
I sat at the kitchen table I cleared and put my head in my hands.
Gavin was sound asleep upstairs, and I was left with nothing but the raging sound of my thoughts.
It was still hard to believe that Rock knew he was a father.
That he knew we had a son together. And in some respect, it bothered me still.
Seeing that determined look in his eye to prove he deserved a shot at being in his son’s life made me wonder what he would force me to compromise in order to get his way.
Rock was nothing, if not stubborn. It was where Gavin got his personality.
That same stubborn glare that etched itself into Rock’s face a few moments ago was the same look my son gave me every time I said ‘no’ to something he thought he deserved.
Thinking about it made me exhausted.
Part of me wanted to keep it a secret from Rock.
To deny that Gavin was his son and keep on trucking.
And now, part of me wanted to deny Rock access altogether.
I had to protect Gavin. I knew better than anyone the antics those men got up to when they were together.
Running shit and selling shit and laundering money to line their pockets.
I knew Rock was always hacking into something as well.
Jails. Police offices. Traffic cameras to spy on people for the crew.
He was brilliant when it came to technology, despite his rugged appearance.
For all I knew, he had cloned my cell phone before he left.
I didn’t want Gavin involved with all of that.
I had my wild years, and one day he would have his.
When he could make that choice himself and deal with the consequences that came along with it.
I had to protect my son, and at the moment Rock was someone I needed to protect him from.
And whether or not he wanted to admit that, I knew he knew I was right.
Rock was stubborn, but he wasn’t an idiot. He listened to rational thought when his anger wasn’t clouding his judgment.
But now that Rock knew he had a son, I also knew he wouldn’t stop until he proved himself worthy to be in our lives.
And after figuring out that he went to jail protecting Brewer, I wouldn’t put it past him to protect myself and Gavin despite my acceptance of that fact.
Rock had this way about him. This demeanor that drew people in.
And he wouldn't relinquish them of his gravitational pull until he was done with them.
I knew he wasn’t done with Gavin and I.
Raking my hand through my hair, I started for the stairs.
I wanted to peek in on my son. I wanted to make sure he was sleeping soundly.
When my nightmares caught up with me and my worries as a single mother started to cloud my judgment, watching my son sleep peacefully always put me at ease.
I reached for his doorknob and slowly opened his door, then peeked in and smiled at the comforter rising and falling with his even breaths.
Gavin was safe for another nap.
Safe for another day.
I sat in the doorway of his bedroom and crossed my ankles as I stretched my legs.
I folded my arms over my chest and closed my eyes, taking in the small breaths of my lungs.
A part of me knew this was a terrible idea.
A part of me knew that letting Rock close could result in the destruction of what he was attempting to pursue.
But I saw him with Gavin. How great he was with his son.
I saw a light in my son’s eyes whenever Rock took his hand that I’d never been able to bring about in his stare.
Gavin wanted his father. A father. Any figure to be his father.
He needed that. Craved that. Constantly talked about it with me whenever we laid down at night.
And it was that small plea in the back of my mind that made me consider the idea that Gavin should know his father.
“Tell me about Daddy.”
“What, sweet boy?” I asked.
“Tell me about Daddy.”
I looked down into the eyes of my son and was immediately hit with the memories of his father.
“What do you want to know?” I asked.
“What’s he like?”
“He’s strong,” I said. “And brave.”
“Does he fight a lot?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because I want to fight a lot sometimes. And you never fight.”
“Why do you want to fight a lot, sweet boy?”
“Because other kids have dads and I don’t.”
A tear rushed down my cheek as I opened my eyes.
It was the first time Gavin had ever asked about his father.
Ever inquired as to what he might have been like.
I expected the conversation eventually. Especially once he hit school age.
Seeing kids being dropped off by their fathers and seeing fathers at picnics we were invited to was bound to bring up some questions.
But the admission that Gavin wanted to fight because it made him upset was new.
My son was loving. Caring. A nurturing spirit.
And the idea of his small body encasing anger towards a situation like that made me sick that night.
It kept me up with my own thoughts and made for a hellish residency schedule that next day.
As much as I wanted to keep Gavin safe, I knew he deserved to know his father.
And even though Rock led the kind of life he did, he deserved to know his son.
My job as a mother was to keep him safe, and that wouldn’t ever change.
If I smelled foul play for even a millisecond, I’d rip Gavin from the situation and make sure his life and innocence was spared.
But my own hesitations and my own fears shouldn't dictate whether or not Gavin had a relationship with his father.
After all, it didn’t mean I had to have a relationship with Rock.
I stood up from the floor and closed Gavin’s door behind me.
My body was a swirling storm of confusion and dichotomy.
I had no idea what the right choice was.
I had no idea what the outcome would be with either of them.
The rational part of me screamed that this was a bad idea.
That Rock needed to stay as far away from us as possible.
He admitted to still being a part of the Dead Souls.
He admitted to still running with them. Despite his comment about ‘cleaning up their act’, whatever the hell that meant.
The fact that they had an act to clean up in the first place meant they had a history that would follow them wherever they went.
How could I expose Gavin to that?
And on the other hand, didn’t Gavin deserve this?
To know his father after being so angry and confused about the topic?
He was five. Intelligent for his age and quiet, though sociable.
He yearned for stories about his father.
He yearned for memories I had of him. He yearned to know as much about the man as he could.
Didn’t he deserve the right to make his own memories with Rock?
To have his own stories to tell one day about his father?
Didn’t he deserve those father-son picnics and being picked up at school with his father waiting at the end of the driveway?
My son deserved those things.
But I had no idea if Rock could provide those things.
That was what being a father meant. It wasn’t about protection and money.
Not completely. Yes, a father needed to provide.
But ‘provide’ meant more than money. More than being there when shit went sideways.
It meant cleaning up puke at two in the morning when Gavin came down with a virus.
It meant wiping his ass at five years old whenever he had diarrhea.
It meant emergency doctor’s appointments and punishing Gavin whenever he repeatedly did something he was asked not to do.
It meant setting boundaries and sticking to them no matter how many times Gavin screamed ‘I hate you’.
It meant washing more urine and fecal matter off clothes than one individual would have ever imagined in their entire life.
It meant sleepless nights when he had nightmares and early mornings when Gavin woke up before the sun. It meant fighting with him to do homework and cooking an entire meal only for him to want something else. Being a parent--being a father--encompassed so much more than Rock realized.
More than I realized until I’d had my son.
I fell down onto the couch and was immediately surrounded by Rock’s musky scent.
The cologne and sweat unmistakable and were etched in my memory forever.
I pressed myself into it. I nestled into the couch and allowed the cushions to swallow me whole.
I reached for the blanket that had been used to cover him up and wrapped myself within it.
I closed my eyes and imagined him in my home.
Running around with Gavin and smiling as they came around corners.
I imagined my house rattling with those gigantic footsteps of his while Gavin ran away, screaming and laughing as Rock tried to tickle him.
Only an hour’s worth of attention, and so many good memories already filled my small childhood home.
Was it possible? Could we really be some sort of a family?
I’d tossed the idea away. The second I found out I was pregnant, I knew I’d never have the family I’d always wanted deep down.
But so much had changed in the span of twenty-four hours, and I found myself wondering if it was possible.
Could Rock and Gavin and I somehow become the family I’d always dreamed of?
Was it possible for me to fall into his arms again and feel the type of love we had during our summer together?
If I was being completely honest with myself, I wanted it to be possible.
If I tossed every if, and, or but out the window, I begged for it to be possible.
The idea of being back in Rock’s arms and watching him play with his son for the rest of my days brought a smile to my face that ached my cheeks.
Tears of happiness at the thought of it sprang to my eyes as I pulled the blanket underneath my chin.
I was so tired and completely overworked.
My life hadn’t stopped since I entered medical school and it would never stop until I retired.
But in Rock’s presence, my world paused. In Rock’s presence, I was able to breathe.
And I clung to the feeling of that memory as I laid myself down on the couch and fell asleep.