29. Huxley
29
HUXLEY
The days at Starfire Ranch swept past, carried on gusts of laughter and ranch dust. Savannah’s joy is still vivid in my mind, a contagion that has reset my understanding of ‘home.’ It’s now more than a place where my family is and where my heart belongs, but it’s where I truly feel what it’s like to be loved by a woman.
The hiccup at the old foreman’s quarters didn’t dampen the rest of our stay. I silently hoped my efforts to smooth over that unsettling moment were successful. I had no desire to deceive Savannah. Rather, it felt right to postpone confronting deeper truths. Her smile, her happiness, they were my imperative. Unraveling my inner conflicts was a risk I couldn’t take, not when it meant potentially shattering the peace she so richly deserved.
My return to Red Mark has been a gentle one, thankfully. I haven’t been assigned any missing persons cases yet, only routine training and logistics. I spend the last week brushing up on our new training modules and hashing out plans with Chase for our expansion into Bozeman. As Mark told me, the investors are keen, and our bosses are pushing ahead with setting up a new headquarters there. It’s a lot, but manageable.
Home for the day, I drop onto the couch as my phone buzzes with a message from Marta Rojas. The grandmother must be wondering where I’ve been, given my silence.
Rodolfo wants to talk to you.
I wince, recalling how I missed Rodolfo’s birthday while I was at Starfire. A twinge of remorse twists through me, but that time with Savannah was priceless. Now I have to make it up to Rodolfo. It’s been a while since we caught up, with the recent cases and having Sav in my life. Kids are sensitive to changes around them, and after everything he’s been through, I don’t want to be the one causing him any more upheaval.
Marta’s text is a reminder of our usual online game nights, a tradition since Rodolfo figured out how to hold a game controller.
Before I can reply, my phone lights up with Sav’s name.
“Hux!” She’s practically bubbling through the speaker, all end-of-day energy and smiles I can hear. “What got you so busy today?”
“Just the usual. Still training.” I sink deeper into the couch, feeling the day’s weight lift a bit. “Though the head of ops decided to crank it up a notch today. Turned the course into a real beast.”
She laughs, and I picture her eyebrow arched in amusement. “So you were all in your singlet, getting sweaty, looking every bit the hero, huh?”
“Something like that.” I chuckle, playing along.
“Wish I could’ve seen that.”
“Oh, you’d definitely mess with my concentration.”
“But isn’t that what makes it real training? Managing distractions?” Her tone is aloof, as if it’s just a minor detail.
I picture her there, her presence a delightful challenge. Savannah is undoubtedly my Achilles’ heel, and resisting her would be futile.
“What are you wearing now ?” she purrs suggestively.
My cock twitches at her question, eagerly plotting its course to penetrate Savannah. “Um… a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.”
“I was hoping you’d say ‘nothing.’” She exaggerates her disappointment. “Next time, I guess.”
I fix the tightness in the crotch of my shorts and change the subject. “How did your meeting with the education minister go?”
“It went really well. They’re planning to invest in additional staff so we can run the animal therapy sessions more than just twice a month. Looks like there’ll be more funding, too, maybe for expanding the facility.”
“Well done, sweetheart.”
A new message pops up from Marta’s number, though clearly it’s Rodolfo behind the screen. Are you chicken? is followed by a parade of chicken emojis.
Savannah’s voice pulls me back. “Hey, I was thinking, why don’t you come over for dinner? Dad’s making a roast.”
The mere thought of Al’s cooking makes my mouth water. “Ah… um…”
As I hesitate, another message pops in, more pleading this time. Please, Huxley, please play with me . Rodolfo’s situation, his loneliness, tugs at me. He’s hiding after his mother’s tragic death, isolated from friends, relying on me for a semblance of normalcy.
Sav catches the pause, her voice dipping in understanding. “I get it’s last minute. No sweat if you can’t. It’s just that I’m off to Kalispell in the morning. Gonna be wrangling yaks for a couple of weeks. Totally off-grid, you know?”
The image of her out there, among the mountains and yaks, fills my head. But something weighs on me. How can I choose between Savannah whom I will miss dearly, and Rodolfo, a young boy clinging to every bit of familiarity and affection he can find in his fractured world?
“It’s cool, Hux,” she jumps in before I can spiral. “Really.”
“I’m so sorry, Sav. Tonight’s packed,” I manage, feeling a mix of relief and regret. “Raincheck?”
“Sure thing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?”
“I miss you all the time, you know.”
She sighs, a bit of seriousness seeping through. “I should’ve told you sooner about the gig. Mark recommended me, and it was too good to pass up. Plus, after Starfire, I’m just itching for a real challenge.”
“I’m really happy for you,” I say, meaning every word despite the ache. “Just spill all the stories when you get back, okay?”
“Deal!” Her voice lifts.
I suggest, “Hey, why don’t you swing by when you’re back? I’ll attempt Micah’s meat pie. Could be fun. And we can spend the night, you know…” I stir her.
“Ugh, Hux! I’m regretting this job already!” she complains, a smile audible in her tone. Perhaps she’s picturing herself without me, laying out under a blanket of stars, trying to get some shut-eye while surrounded by a bunch of snoring yak herders.
“Well, you always said you wanted more adventure,” I banter.
“I’m half-expecting to spend my days playing tug-of-war with a yak who’s got a mind to test my ranching skills. Those critters can be as stubborn as a mule on a cold morning.”
I can’t help but laugh, imagining Savannah with her rancher’s grit .
She adds, “I won’t have to worry about you getting distracted with someone else?”
“I’ll only cheat on you with you, if that’s even possible,” I insist.
“You have my blessing! I’ll be imagining what you’ll be up to.” Her tone becomes seductive again, perhaps envisioning me pleasuring myself while thinking of her.
Then I hear Al calling her in the background.
“I’ve got to go,” she says.
“Go kick some yak butt, okay? And show those cowboys how it’s done!”
“Will do, Hux. Will do.” Her laughter rings out, clear and bright, and stays with me even after we hang up.
Sitting in silence for a moment, I gather my thoughts and log into my game console, spotting ‘RodeoRod’ already buzzing in our usual lobby. I dial his number, hoping to make our play session as lively as the ones before. “Hey champ, ready to play? What’s it gonna be tonight?”
“Overwatch or Rocket League?” Rodolfo’s voice pipes through, brimming with an eagerness that almost masks his newfound slice of maturity. His mother had taught him English since he was a young toddler, but now his skills have improved leaps and bounds, thanks to the private tuition he’s been enjoying.
“Your call, buddy,” I say, giving him the reins.
“Rocket League,” he responds. “And just so you know, I’m totally going to kick your ass today!”
His English is good for kids his age, though his grammar falters occasionally—understandably so. But the words he just said sounded like a rehearsed line. His tone is cheeky, and I can almost see the grin spreading across his face through the phone .
“Rodolfo!” I hide my laugh, but I need to nudge him about the language. “Where did you learn to talk like that?”
“Secret.”
I sigh. “Let’s try to keep it friendly, okay? No need for ass-kicking talk.”
He giggles. “You’re my friend, right? Friends can say anything to each other!”
“Yes, but remember, being friends also means respecting each other, and there are better words to choose,” I remind him.
“But you’re not my dad. I can still beat you in the game and say whatever I want!” His tone shifts, a touch of defiance threading through.
The change catches me off-guard. “Sure, you can beat me in the game,” I agree, trying to steer back to safer waters. “But part of being a good friend and a good gamer is about having fun, not just winning, right?”
We dive into the game, and for a while, everything just clicks like old times. Laughing, joking, celebrating ridiculous goals, and even more ridiculous misses. But then, as the game heats up, so does Rodolfo’s intensity.
“Take that, sucker!” he taunts.
“Whoa. Easy, tiger.” I’m not sure if the boy understands what I mean, but he should pick up on my tone, warning him to rein in his intimidation. I clarify, “That’s not a nice word. You’re doing great, but remember?—”
“You are not fun anymore!” He cuts me off. “You always want to teach me lessons. You are not my dad. You cannot tell me what to do!”
His words hit like a freight train, stopping me cold. “Rodolfo, I’m here to have a good time with you, but I’m also here to make sure we respect each other. I might not be your dad, but?— ”
“You are not my dad! You will never be!” The words are sharp, slicing through the playful facade we’d built up around our games. He sobs, his voice cracking under the weight of emotions far too large for his age, and then silence falls as he hangs up.
Stunned, I sit back, the game console slipping from my hand. Despite the sting of his anger, I detect a deeper longing beneath his outburst. Isn’t it often so with children? They don masks of defiance while, internally, they’re falling apart.
Had Valentina, perhaps without meaning to, suggested to Rodolfo that I might step into the role of a father? Or had he, driven by his own longing for a steady paternal figure, constructed that expectation himself, fueled by my presence and his need for stability?
I sigh, a deep, weary sound. The responsibility weighs heavily on my shoulders. Raising a boy is not new to me. Micah was just a baby when our father’s health rapidly declined, and we lost him when Micah was only four. I became his father figure.
Children grow up, their perspectives expanding and shifting. Sometimes painfully, like tonight. But Rodolfo is different from Micah. He’s not just a carefree child who loves video games. He’s a boy struggling with grief and adapting to change.
I contemplated the possibility of taking him with me. But he shares a much deeper bond with his grandmother than he does with me—we’ve only seen each other in person a couple of times, and he was only four years old then. When we lost his mother, I was in a state of disarray, both physically and mentally. His grandmother became his safety and continues to be so. Not pursuing my adoption of him was the right decision.
I dial Marta’s number, hoping the boy will pick up. The call connects for a moment, then abruptly cuts off. I’m sure it’s him, still harboring anger toward me. I send a text, encouraging him to start over.
As I glance at the paused game, waiting for ‘RodeoRod’ to reappear, I realize this is not just about guiding him. It’s also about defining my role in his life without overstepping or retreating. And how will this fit into my relationship with Savannah?
Life is about to get more complicated.