17. Matteo
17
Matteo
“Any man can help make a child, but it takes a special man to help raise a child.” – Tony Gaskins
I watch as my mom walks into LPs, wearing a happy, dopey smile after she went to see my girls.
Jesus Christ! It’s been three damn weeks of trying to kick those words out of my head. Every day I’ve been convincing myself there are no “my girls.” I even took to repeating it in front of a mirror every morning and night, followed by a pep talk that I’m too young and free to want that.
That I love my one-night stands and that any day now I will jump back into the game.
If only I actually believed a word out of my mouth, it would be great.
But not only do I not believe it, I also started being jealous of my own mother who got to spend time with Zoe and Mellie. Became a scowling prick that patrons started to avoid and to top it all off, completely and utterly uninterested in anyone who’s name is not Zoe, is not a curvy blonde with dark eyes and who doesn’t have the most perfect daughter in the world.
Yeah…I’m fucked. And I don’t have a damn clue what to do with that.
It’s not like I can just walk up to her front door, knock, and say what? Can I have a play date with you and your kid? How about a sleepover, I can take the floor? Take me back, I promise, I’m potty trained?
Jesus, Matteo, you are totally losing it, aren’t you?
“Hey, son.”
“Hey,” I greet her without looking up from the glass I’ve been cleaning for the past two hours since I found out where my mom was headed and was not able to concentrate on anything at all.
“That must be the cleanest glass we have.” Mom smirks at me.
“Just taking care of our bar.” Her smirk vanishes, replaced by a scowl she’s been wearing ever since I walked out from the hospital.
“When you should be taking care of something completely different,” she says under her breath, but I still catch it. “I went to see Zoe,” she says louder, making sure I hear. As if I’d ever miss that name being called out.
My ears seem to be trained to it.
See what a good dog I’d make?
“Great.”
“Mellie is so adorable.”
I huff. “Of course, she is,” I tell her with a weird sense of pride I should not be feeling. Have no right to feel. But that little girl is the most perfect creation. Just as her mom is.
God, they were so beautiful when little Mellie was nestled on her chest right after she was born. My eyes still sting every time I remember that moment. Which is why I try to avoid any mention of those two.
“But she’s been fussy,” mom continues, and my spine snaps up. That’s the first I hear of Mellie not doing great and it’s partially because anytime someone around me started talking about them, I immediately left, not wanting to torture myself.
Despite tiny alarm bells going off in my head that I should leave like I always do, this time I stay. Silently listening for any nugget of information about my little watermelon.
“I guess it’s a good thing Jenny decided to call that guy to come and help Zoe.”
“What guy?” The question flies out of my mouth like a bullet after passing through my insides, grazing that hole that’s already been there since that day at the hospital.
“Oh, the one she was seeing before she left.”
Is it just me or is there an annoying ringing sound over here? It’s so loud I can’t hear what else my mother is saying. Did someone turn off the lights too? Why has everything suddenly gone dark?
Most importantly…did someone just punch me in the gut?
Some random guy thinks he can just show up and be what? Zoe’s boyfriend again? Mellie’s father? And what the hell is wrong with my mom and her friends for encouraging this?
The roaring in my ears intensifies and I have to grab onto the table, my knuckles turning white.
“Did she?” I grit through my teeth without looking up because I love my mom dearly but right now that fact seems small and unnecessary with all the anger coursing through my veins.
“Did she what?” Her voice is so calm like we are talking about next week’s menu and not about my life crumpling to the ground.
“Did she already call him?”
“Oh, yeah, I think she said he’s coming later today.” That’s it, that roaring in my head is a full-blown explosion now.
“What the fuck, mom?” I roar, snapping my eyes wide to her so she can see the bloody murder written in each speckle of my irises.
“Language, Matteo!” she snaps back. “And what does it matter to you, anyway? It’s not like you wanted a family ever in this lifetime, no?”
She’s baiting me. I know it. My brain understands it.
The only problem?
My heart doesn’t give a single fuck. Too bad it doesn’t get to call in the shots here. It doesn’t know what’s best for me. Or more importantly, what’s best for Zoe and Mellie.
So, I just hum in response, ignoring the tiny cracking noises coming from that glass in my hands.
It’s for the best.
That guy is probably older, has a respectable, stable job and doesn’t think monogamy is a curse word. Someone who can take care of Zoe and Mellie. He must have his shit figured out and knows what he wants in life.
Maybe he’s even the one who is the real father to Mellie.
Fuck, I pause for a second, breathing hard through the burn in my chest. Why do I feel so irrationally pissed right now? Of course there is a real father somewhere out there. The one who actually has the right to be there for Zoe and their daughter.
“I don’t,” I finally respond to mom, but don’t lift my eyes up. “Hope he can help her.”
I hear a long sigh from mom, but I don’t have the time to decipher it. I have to clean this glass.
Then I’ll clean one more. And another. I will keep cleaning these fucking glasses until the roaring in my head and the tremble in my hands stops. Until that simmering range settles down.
An hour and fifty-six glasses later a female voice calls out my name, pulling me from my destructive thoughts that haven’t settled one bit. I look up and see Linsey waving me over.
She’s wearing a too-tight-for-her top once again, the one that barely contains her tits inside. Her lips are painted a bright pink, the same color as her nails and she is looking at me like I’m to be her dinner tonight. Or she is to be my desert.
My very first thought is how fast can I run to make it to the bathroom to throw up, but then I stop. Maybe this is what I need.
Zoe is clearly moving on, so should I, right? Granted, Linsey is not the best choice for that but at this point I will do whatever it takes to stop that roaring in my head and burn in my chest. So, I stroll over to where this Barbie-wannabe is sitting, trying to concentrate on her tits. Because tits are tits, they always do the job for me.
Except the longer I look at hers, the stronger the urge is there to throw up. Unfortunately, Linsey interprets my twisted face as one for wanting her and leans even more over the bar.
Jesus Christ, I can see her nipples.
Breathe, Matteo. Don’t you dare leave. You need to get out of that stupid funk and get laid again. You need to get back to your normal lifestyle.
“Hey, Matty baby,” she says in her overly sweet voice.
“Hey, Linsey.” Concentrate on her lips. Maybe those will be better. Nope. They are not. “What can I get ya, darlin?
Oh hell, why did that taste so sour on my tongue? That is the most innocent line I’ve ever used on the ladies.
Linsey’s eyes light up and I watch as her chest expands, breathing heavier. “You, Matty.”
“Um, what?” What do you think she means, idiot?
“Come on, Matty, you know what I mean.” She draws her pink nails over her pink lips, and I feel my dick not only not getting hard, but I’m pretty sure he’s shrinking in size. “I knew you still want me the way I want you. I saw you checking me out the whole evening.” She giggles while I’m trying to figure out when did I look at her before a minute ago. “Let’s go up to your room, Matty.”
Well, talk about being straight forward.
Say yes, Matteo. Say fucking yes and get over whatever hang up you have in your stupid head.
Only the mere thought of touching her makes my skin crawl with disgust. I look up to the heavens, silently asking “why me” then sigh, and pinching the bridge of my nose, turn back to Linsey. “Sorry, that won’t be happening.”
“What?” she shrieks, loud enough for the whole bar to hear. “But you want me!”
“Um…”
“Um? What is um supposed to mean, Matty baby?” That stupid nickname.
“Jesus, stop calling me that. And I’m sorry, but you got the wrong impression, Linsey. You are a pretty girl and all, but I’m…”
I’m what? Hung up on someone who is never going to be mine? Thinking of being a husband and a father? I’m fucking what? None of that is what I actually want so why was is the first thing I’ve thought about?
“You need more time?” Linsey asks, her brows pulled together. “Because I’ll wait for you, Matty baby. I’ll wait forever.”
I wince. “Please don’t.” I’m a dick but no matter what, Linsey is not the girl I am going to sleep with ever again.
She opens her mouth to say something but anther voice from the other side calls me over. “Hey, son.” I know that voice and when I look his way, I see Zoe’s dad sitting on one of the bar stools, waving me over and I gladly take the escape he unknowingly provides.
I feel Linsey fuming in the back of me. What the hell was I thinking coming up to her and even considering sleeping with her again. Ugh , I fight that shudder again.
“Hello, Mr. Holsted. What can I get ya?” He’s been to the bar a couple of times since Mellie was born but he was always in the company of his friends, Rick Levine and Sam Colson, or with Mrs. Lovesil and we haven’t spoke again since the day he punched me.
“A beer would be nice, your choice.”
“Coming right up,” I tell him and go to pick one of those sparkling clean glasses, filling it up. “There you go.” I slide it over to him. “Anything else?”
“Yeah,” he says but instead of continuing he just looks at me long and hard.
Why is he looking at me like that? Is it hot in here all of a sudden?
Kevin Holsted is not a huge guy, more like a teddy bear kind and not someone you would find threatening, yet here I am, basically shivering from the assessing look he’s giving me.
The pause stretches, making me squirm under his gaze, and mind you, I’m not easily intimidated but I haven’t been myself in a long while so maybe I need to get used to this new version of Matteo. I’m about to turn around and flee when he says, “You can tell me if you are done being a chickenshit yet?”
“Um, what?” I gulp. That’s not what I thought he was going to say. I expected an order of wings with a side of fries, instead I got served a hot one myself.
“It’s not a hard question, Matteo.” He takes a sip of his beer. “You can even use only one word for the answer. A yes or a no.”
I look at him, sputtering over my thoughts inside my head. What the fuck does he mean am I done being a chickenshit? When was I ever one?
I feel the heat inside me rising up, bristling out of me.
“I’m not a fucking chickenshit!” I don’t mean to snap at him, so I take a deep breath and add, “Respectfully, sir.”
Kevin raises one eyebrow at me, taking another sip. “Good job reining yourself in there. You’ll need it in the future.”
What is he talking about? What the heck is going on here? But before I can ask anything, he continues. “Did you know Zoe is not my biological daughter?”
“What?” I frown. “No…no, I didn’t.” And I would have never thought that. From what I’ve seen—which granted, wasn’t much, he loves her like his own flesh and blood.
“Didn’t stop me from loving and taking care of her like she is,” he says while casually drinking his beer. “It also didn’t make me run away as fast as I could from her mom with my tail tucked between my legs. Even though that woman didn’t possess half the good qualities my Zoe girl does.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, was that a dig at me?
“I didn’t run away as fast as I could with my tail tucked between my legs, if that’s what you implied,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Oh? Sure could have fooled me.” The man is on a roll here.
“I’m not boyfriend material, let alone a father. It was never what I wanted.”
Kevin regards me with an assessing gaze, then turns back to his beer and keeps drinking like nothing is wrong.
“What? That’s it? No more comments my way?”
“No point. You are not the man for my Zoe, so maybe it’s for the best they called that other one.”
Again, with this fucking phone call bullshit. I don’t care. I don’t care. I. Don’t. Care.
“I knew it the second I saw her that she was my daughter. Zoe was peeking from around the corner, assessing me, when her mother invited me over, and just one look into those curious brown pools and I knew,” he says with a smile, clearly reliving that day right now. “Smart as a whip and cutest kid I’ve ever seen. Then she smiled at me, and my heart was hers from that moment on. I knew it.”
Fuck, why does it feel like there is not enough air in this bar? And my gut feels like I’ve been sucker-punched right through it again because everything Kevin just said? That’s what I felt. Those were the feelings that ran through me like a hoard of wild horses as soon as Mellie let out her first cry.
Those are the thoughts that I try to shoo away every morning and every night for the past three whole weeks. The thoughts I’ve been fighting since I first met Zoe because this is not just about Mel. This is about my family.
Mellie is mine. Zoe is mine.
Mine.
Kevin leans back, and I swear I see a small smile pull up in the corners of his mouth while I’m on the verge of a panic attack over here. “There. That wasn’t so hard now, was it, son?”
No. It’s all way too simple, actually. It was right there in front of me seven months ago, yet I was too blind or too lost in my ways to notice the gift that I was given. The gift that walked through my door.
Because yeah, I never wanted to dip a toe into monogamy. Until that ray of sunshine with an identity of a feral beast, parted my clouds with her mere presence and I won’t allow some uptight bastard steal my thunder. Or my family.
I have no idea what I’m doing or how to do it, what I do know is that no one will love my Mellie more than I do. No one will touch my Zoe the way I do. And I won’t give them the chance.
I don’t bother answering Kevin, I simply step out from the bar and run upstairs. Moments later, I’m headed out the door with a packed bag in my hands and determination written all over my face.
“Matteo? Where are you going?” I hear my mother call out from somewhere in the back.
“You better have bail money saved up, mom, because if I’m already late, I won’t go down without a fight.”