Chapter 3 #2
“Toughen yourself up, boy. Get ready for anything, good or bad. And then choose the woman that you want. This way you’ll know how to be a real man for her and yourself.”
He narrows his eyes at me, holding a knowing smile, the way he used to when he set me up as a kid.
“Why didn’t you do it?” he asks.
A cold shiver races down my spine.
“Why didn’t I do what?” I murmur, buying some time and leveling with myself, knowing exactly what he is about to say next.
“You’ve seen the worst. If your theory stands, why didn’t you find another woman?” he murmurs, his stare trained on my face to gauge my reaction.
“You want me to replace your mother?” I retort to disconcert him.
“You can’t replace her. She was what she was.”
He pauses before delivering the next blow.
“You’re preaching to me, Father. And while I’m tempted to believe you and give you credit for what you have just said, you, yourself, are not keen to follow your own teachings. Why?”
I take a deep breath, mulling over a good reply.
“See,” he says. “Life is not as clean cut as you think it is. Even though you’re right, things don’t always happen the way we want them to.
The same thing happened to me. I didn’t plan for all this.
The woman in Colorado lied to me,” he says, and a muscle throbs in his tense jaw.
“It hurt,” he adds, and I see the pain in my own flesh and blood.
“The woman here is trying to help me. She likes me, and I like her, but I don’t have a thing for her.
I don’t want to hurt her. And I want to be her friend, but she won’t want that from me when she learns the truth.
Eventually, I’ll be off to my next destination, and none if this will matter. ”
I use the brief pause to give him an answer.
“I didn’t find a woman to replace your mother, nor did I want to,” I say in caustic little drips of painful truth. “I’ve done this once. That part of my life is over. It didn’t end the way I had imagined, but regardless, it is done. I don’t want to revisit it, and I’m fine the way I am.”
“You’re always pissed,” he argues.
“I’m pissed with you for getting in trouble. You were lucky this time… Even the doctor admitted it,” I comment, and my voice trails off as footsteps shuffle behind the door.
He pushes upright, and I rise from my seat.
The girl knocks on the door.
“May I come in?” her sweet voice comes to us.
“Please behave,” Ezra says. “I don’t want you to scare her off. And by the way, I need a favor.”
“What favor?”
His hand goes up.
“Yes. You can come in,” he says in a loud voice, and the door starts sliding open.
Why do I have a feeling he’s about to set me up again?
Amanda carries a bottle of juice and a cup of coffee. I pivot to the door and hold it for her.
“I didn’t get you anything,” she says, apologetic.
“I’m fine,” I say, putting forward my best effort not to ruin the evening for my son and his new friend.
Ezra makes the introductions, and I find myself holding a small, soft hand in mine. It feels like a restless dove. I can tell she can’t wait to stay closer to him and farther away from me despite my innocent smile and low-energy attitude.
She puts the drinks on the side table and fishes out a pack of peanut butter crackers and a whole-grain cereal bar.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning,” I say to him.
“You don’t need to. We’ll manage it,” he says, tossing me a stern look from behind her.
His manhood is in danger, so I pull back.
“Okay. You know where to find me if you need anything,” I reply. “You were saying something about needing a favor.
“Yeah…”
He touches the woman’s arm, and I get worried.
Why is he pussyfooting around this?
“Amanda,” he says in a sweet voice that makes the girl melt into a puddle.
Women are so easy at this age.
“Yes,” she says promptly.
“Can you bring the duffel bag for him?”
Now I really start to get worried.
“Sure,” she chirps and reaches behind a partition screen.
We both watch her come back with a basic, zippered, gray duffel bag.
“What is this?” I ask as she sets it on the bed.
“I had just picked it up from a store before I got hit by the car.”
I notice the nuance.
He’s still prepping me up.
Giving me the backstory, something to feel bad about, and I expect him to deliver some kind of unpleasant news.
“It’s a Santa suit,” he says as I pull the zipper open, and something red and daring peeks at me. “It will probably fit snugly, but I’m sure you’ll rock it.”
I have been set up.
Aside from the unfortunate circumstances and all the trouble he is in, I have a feeling our entire conversation has been about getting me to this point.
“What?” I push out.
“It’s about little Colton,” he says, unfazed.
My heart rushes like a scared rabbit.
“What does Colton have to do with this?”
I haven’t seen Colton and his mom, my sister-in-law, in a while.
We’ve all made a pact––Callan, Alistair, Duncan, and I––the Bard brothers––to stay away from those family members who haven’t been involved in a life of crime.
Our pact began when our parents got killed, and we stood by it.
We thought it would be better for everybody, and it worked. Colton, Elisa, and her husband are some of those people.
We didn’t want to drag them into the mud and make their existence miserable by constantly fearing for their lives or getting a hard knock on their door at six o’clock in the morning from the authorities.
Life is stressful even without that.
“The people at his school have organized a Christmas party. And the kids need to meet Santa.”
The reality starts to slip in, and I feel like throwing up.
Me?
At a Christmas party with little kids?
I could drink my enemy’s blood while dripping from their slashed open veins.
Put me in a room with a bunch of bad guys, and I’ll take them out one by one.
But kids?
Little kids?
And a Christmas party with parents and songs and little awkward dances?
No booze? And no way out?
Please, no.
I’d rather have the barrel of a gun to my head and ten seconds to come up with an escape plan.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, horrified.
Amanda starts to get nervous. It’s like she’s about to witness a rocket launch live in ten, nine, eight…
“Who asked you to do this?”
“Elisa.”
“When?’
“Today?”
“Wha? Why?”
“The guy they hired to play Santa got pinched.”
“Where did they find him? The top ten most wanted list? What did he do? Killed the real Santa?”
Nobody’s laughing.
Especially me.
“Booze and illegal substances while driving.”
“He’s a fucking peach.”
I drag my eyes down, stare at the bag, and inhale slowly while looking for a way out.
“I’d hurry if I were you,” Ezra says, and I almost notice a pang of amusement in his voice.
I hurl a glare at him.
“When is the…?”
I stop, biting back the bad word, as my son chides me with his eyes.
“The lovely party?” I go on.
“It started…”
He looks at some digital clock pinned to the wall.
“About an hour ago. And I was supposed to be there ten minutes ago. I’m sure they blew up my phone with messages, but my cell is busted, as you know.”
He points at a pile of broken stuff sitting on a towel.
His eyes hold mine. He’s the only soul in this room who’s not afraid of me.
“They’re at Bradley’s,” he says in even cold syllables. “I wanted to do a good thing,” he adds, sealing my fate.
How can anyone walk back from that?
Grunting, I pick up the duffel bag and toss it over my shoulder.
“You’ll forever owe me for this,” I mumble before gesturing at his smashed phone. “I’ll send someone with a new phone. And you can use my driver in the morning. Just leave the address so I know where to find you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” he says while I peel my eyes away and push out of the door, hating my life.
Oh, fuck.
Wait a minute.
I spin around and go back in. I find them where I left them, only looking at each other as if they have narrowly escaped an atomic blast.
“Does anyone know where I can find some mints at this hour?” I ask in their general direction, ignoring them.
“I have some,” Amanda offers––good girl––and later, I leave with the whole tin, cursing under my breath all the way to the hospital exit.