Chapter 26 #4
I follow behind toward Dash, even though Stacey’s already there. Nobody’s hurt, just wet, but Stacey’s eyes scan him, looking for damage.
“Put this on, Meyer,” Maverick says.
“Maveri—”
“Now,” he barks, a crazed look in his eyes, unwilling to take no for an answer.
Still don’t know what the fuck they have going on, but whatever it is, Bryce pauses. Maverick leans close to say something into his ear. Bryce nods, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
“Not here.” He uses his stone chin to gesture to the back of the restaurant where the washrooms are.
Bryce glares, but he obeys, and thankfully, shirtless Maverick follows after him.
Weird.
“Dad, it cool if I grab a shirt from the apartment? I didn’t bring anything, and no way am I okay with my husband giving me his shirt and walking around shirtless like Mav is. His body is for my eyes only.”
“Of course, take whatever you want.”
“Even the Creed t-shirt?”
“Even the Creed t-shirt,” I say. I’ll give him whatever he asks for this week.
The bussers are fast, already have the glass gone, working on the wine on the floor.
I’m about to take over for the few minutes he’s gone, but then I freeze.
Is my Creed shirt even up there? Yeah, it’s gotta be.
Dirk wouldn’t take that with him. If it were found outside of my apartment, we’d be found out.
Fuck.
But he was wearing it, and I don’t remember what happened to it after that.
Arousal spikes to stupid levels when I’m with Dirk, and my penis brain takes over, rendering my actual brain useless.
Even if it’s not on the hook where it usually lives, that could raise questions.
Hell, it’s a miracle we got away with it the one time Dash saw Dirk in that shirt.
Dash was too frazzled because of the whole thing with Stacey, but he won’t be this time.
I bolt through the kitchen and up the stairs to my apartment.
I’m relieved for half a second when I see that Dash doesn’t have the Creed shirt in his hand, it’s another long-sleeved one, and he’s already got the wine-soaked one off.
But then I see them—scratches all down his arms. In some places, it looks like someone tried to rip the skin clear off.
I get the same sensation as when he was a little boy and about to fall off of something. You don’t think in those situations; you rush to them and pray you get there in time. I grab his wrist, spinning him around.
You didn’t get there in time, Travis.
“What the fuck happened to your arms?” Violence swirls around me, not for Dash, but that probably doesn’t matter.
Dash rips his arms away, stepping back into Stacey for protection.
Or maybe it’s to protect Stacey. Smart. Everything is danger, and Dash needs to be removed from it.
I lunge for Dash—I’m taking him the fuck outta here. Far away.
“Dad, stop! I did this—not on purpose!” he adds when my eyes narrow into slits.
My hand catches his wrist again. I flip it over and over, staring at them, trying to make sense of what he’s said for myself. Then I take a breath, I’ve got to calm the fuck down. Hear him out.
“You two, sit,” I growl.
I point to the couch.
Stacey helps him shrug into my shirt, and I grab a beer from the fridge, which will have to do for now. Later, I’m having a cigarette—fuck my lungs. The hiss of carbon hits the air, and I take a long sip.
“From the beginning, Dash.”
Dash takes a breath. “It’s happened a handful of times—but not for a long-ass time!” he adds when the corners of my mouth flatten into a sharp line. I can feel the whole weight of my stare darkening; he must feel it, too.
“This happened before, and you never told me?”
“Yeah, because I knew you’d act like this. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, Dash.” My heart won’t slow down, it won’t stop feeling like it wants to pound its way out of my chest.
“I am,” he insists.
“Trav—” Stacey begins.
“No, babe.” Dash stands up, but he’s trembling, and Stacey frowns. “I’ve gotta do this. It’s important that it’s me.”
Stacey’s body clenches, a hair away from charging me. That’s good. I always wanted the guy who married my son to protect him from anyone, even me. Not that he needs to protect him from me right now, but I get why he feels that way.
“You have five minutes, Dash. If he doesn’t cool down in that time, we’re leaving until he does,” Stacey says.
Dash inhales the weight of everything he’s carrying. “Okay, so I’m not all the way fine, Dad, but I’m as fine as I’m gonna be in this era.”
“This … era?” In my defense, I’m working on calming down, it’s just not coming all that easily. It feels like I’ve fallen off a cliff and there’s nothing to grip onto.
“It’s something Billy and I cultivated—you know, Billy? The super awesome therapist you found for me?”
My chest puffs up a little. Stacey talked Dash into a new therapist, but I was the one who found Billy after a few more trials and errors.
“Anyway, when I get frustrated that I haven’t ‘grown enough’ yet,” he says with air quotes around the words “grown enough”.
“She reminds me of the different eras of my life. Like, the ‘when I slept with a night light’ era, I thought I’d be doomed to always sleep with a night light.
It took a while to get rid of it—even with Stace around,” he adds, because, yeah, I was gonna point out that he’d switched his night light for an Alderchuck.
“Right now, it’s this.” He pushes up the sleeves, I coil on the inside. I can look at all kinds of grotesque shit, but not my boy self-fucking mutilated. “I’m in my nightmare era. It happens in my sleep.”
“You can’t stop him?” I plant my gaze on Stacey.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “All the other times, he made sounds. He thrashed. This time, he was quiet and subtle enough that I didn’t feel him in my sleep until the damage was done. I’ve threatened him with oven mitts and duct tape if it happens again.”
“It won’t,” Dash insists.
“You don’t know that, baby,” Stacey murmurs.
“Yeah, you don’t know that, Dashie. I vote for the oven mitts,” I say.
“Dad.”
“Why? Is this because of him? Robin? Dammit, I thought you said you felt good about the precautions we were gonna take?”
“I do, but…” he trails off. “Yeah, I’m also fucking terrified. I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to worry. Worrying isn’t gonna help.”
Those words zip through me, electrifying my veins. He doesn’t feel safe. He should get his safe era. He’s right, though, worrying’s not gonna help, but I know what would.
Robin gone for good.
I can do that. I can make it happen.
“I repeat, this hasn’t happened in a long-ass time. Stace and I have handled this before; we’ll do it again.”
“I don’t like that you didn’t tell me, Dashie.”
“I’m sorry about that, and maybe I should have told you, but that’s what felt right at the time. Our relationship wasn’t what it is now. Do you feel better now that you know?”
“Better’s not the word I would use.”
“Kinda proves my point. Now you’re gonna worry, and you really don’t need to.”
He’s right on all counts except for the part where I don’t need to worry—of course, I need to. That’s what dads do. I’m not consoled, but I’m calmer.
“That was a shock and a half, kid.” I open my arms for him, and he collides with my torso.
“In my defense, you weren’t supposed to see.”
I grip him tighter. “Does not make me feel better, Dashie.”
“I know.” He sighs. “Please trust me?”
God, that rips my fucking heart open. It’s not him I don’t trust. I kiss the top of his head. “I trust you, I just—”
“No, no buts. You trust me or you don’t.”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“To me it is.”
“Fine, I’ll trust you, but no more hiding this from me, or hyper vigilant mode gets engaged. I won’t even be able to help it, Dash.”
“Fair. I’m not gonna leave Stacey’s sight, okay?”
Wish he wouldn’t leave mine either. I nod, not trusting my voice. He finishes buttoning the shirt.
“You cool if we go?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. Except I’m not, but he’s a married man now, which apparently means I’m not welcome in this discussion. Not really. I can tell when I’m being humored.
They leave quietly, as if they’re trying not to alert the big lion to their presence. The door clicks behind them. I down the rest of my beer and dig for the emergency cigarette pack hidden at the back of my kitchen drawer.
Gone. Dirk. Fuck.
Alright, so I’ve got to resort to my emergency-emergency pack hidden under the mattress.
Also gone.
I don’t give up, checking my last two hiding spots, wondering why I have so many damn hiding spots. Maybe ‘cause I knew one beautiful man would find them all and desecrate them. When I get to the last spot, the box is still there, but there are only two lone cigarettes inside with a note.
If you get to this box, I know it’s bad, and you fucking need one, maybe two. Please, please, come talk to me about it? I fucking love you.
Right. Talking. Guess I should. It’s the mature thing to do, but I don’t know what to say. I’m running on instinct right now. Can’t stop picturing Dash’s arms. I’ve entered a fog of violence and can’t quench the thirst for vengeance.
Leaning against the balcony rail, I suck back tar, letting the nicotine rush hit me. Maybe ironically, I also breathe in the fresh air as deeply as I can. They swirl together within me and manufacture a brittle calm. But the shaking, nothing I do stops the shaking.
My phone pings.
Dirk
Sorry, baby. I have to bail. Long story, but Hunt wants to do a camping trip. We leave tonight. Couldn’t say no. Also, maybe don’t respond? I’ll be with him.
My gut twists, and the words blur.
Not first place, just like with my son. Why would I be? I don’t deserve it.
And I can’t help comparing Hunter and Dirk to me and Dash.
Dirk has so much love and respect for his brother, he’s concerned about him.
Cares about what he thinks and feels. Of course, he would.
Hunter is a better dad than I ever was or will be.
Dash made sure to keep me out of his struggle with Robin.
As he should. I did a shit job of helping him the first time around—Stacey gets the medal for that one.
It was so fucking stupid, thinking I could make up for the years I lost with Dash through being a grampa, or by getting a dumbass tattoo. There is no making up for it, but there’s something I can do.
I have the power to give Dash his safe era.
And Dirk, I know he doesn’t like what I want to do to Robin, because of what it could mean for me, but he also said I didn’t have to choose. That means we’ll survive it, right? Just a bump in the road for us.
Dash is my only damn kid, and I’ll die to protect him. Or risk going to jail, I guess. Dirk will come around. He’d want Dash to feel safe. Besides, if I can’t keep my own kid safe, I don’t deserve a man like Dirk—he deserves the best of everything.
Stamping out my cigarette and wiping away the lone tear squiggling down my cheek, I pull out my phone.
Me
Maxwell, you down for another spa day?