36. Your Son’s an Idiot
36
YOUR SON’S AN IDIOT
FELIX
Palace By Matthew And The Atlas
W e arrive in Denver, and the moment I step off the bus, I head straight for Maggie’s. My phone screen is blank—no responses to my texts. She’s busy, sure, but silence? It’s not like her. My stomach churns, a tight knot of unease forming. I know I’m coming off like a clingy boyfriend, but fuck, I can feel it in my gut—something’s wrong.
As I approach the bus, I nearly collide with Kate as she comes down the stairs.
“Shit, sorry,” I mutter, stepping aside.
“If you’re looking for Maggie, you just missed her,” Kate says.
I glance at my phone again, as if somehow a missed message will magically appear. Nothing. Of course.
“Did she say where she was going?” I ask, running a hand through my hair.
Kate shakes her head. “No, sorry.”
“Thanks,” I say, though the word feels hollow. I stand there for a moment, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me. What the hell is going on?
Then I spot her. Across the lot, near the vehicles, I jog to catch up, the gravel crunching under my worn Converse.
“Maggie!” I call, reaching out to touch her arm. She flinches, startled, as I gently turn her toward me.
“Hey,” she breathes, her voice thin. Her face is pale, and there’s a tightness around her mouth that makes my chest ache. “I was just about to—” She gestures vaguely toward the vehicles, but I’m not letting her brush me off this time.
“You’ve got a few minutes to talk to me.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I get being busy, but I’m not an idiot, Maggie. What the fuck is going on?”
She hesitates, her teeth catching her bottom lip. “I’ve just had a lot of stuff to catch up on, and I need to grab a few things?—”
“That’s never stopped you before,” I say, crossing my arms. Her eyes flicker, avoiding mine, and she tucks her lip in further, a tell I know all too well. My stomach twists. “Something’s wrong. Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” she insists, finally meeting my gaze. But her eyes—those beautiful, stormy blue eyes—are wide and scared. Scared of me? The thought stings like a slap. “It’s just something I’m dealing with, but?—”
“You’ve been avoiding me. What is it? Are you—” My throat tightens around the words. “Are you over me?” I duck my head, searching her face.
“No!” she exclaims, her voice breaking with emotion.
“Then tell me what the fuck is going on, Maggie, because I’m going crazy here,” I plead.
She’s quiet for a moment, her gaze dropping to the ground. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. “I gotta go, Felix.” She pushes my hands away, turning to leave.
“Whatever it is, I can handle it,” I say, trying to steady my voice, though my mind is racing with every worst-case scenario imaginable.
“You can’t handle it, Felix,” she says, her eyes hardening like steel.
“Do your best, Maggie.”
She exhales sharply, her composure cracking. “Fine!” she snaps, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You want the truth? I think I’m pregnant.”
The ground feels like it’s been yanked out from under me. I stare at her, frozen, my heart hammering in my chest. Her words echo in my head, and suddenly, everything shifts. The parking lot, the noise, the sunlight—it all blurs into the background. All I see is Maggie, standing there, vulnerable and scared.
She’s been dealing with this—alone. The thought makes my stomach churn. I start pacing in front of her, pushing a hand into my hair. Fuck, I can feel my arm shaking with the movement. “Are you sure?” I manage to ask.
“I haven’t taken a test yet,” she admits. “But I’m never late.”
“What about the pill? I thought you were?—”
“I was,” she interrupts, her voice breaking. “I mean, I am. But with the chaos of the tour, I forgot to take it a few times.” Her shoulders shake. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I fucked up.”
I think about all the times we slept together without a condom. I know better than this and it pains me to think that Maggie is blaming herself. I scrub a hand over my forehead and give my hair another ruffle before looking back to her.
“See? You’re freaking out,” she says, backing away, her voice rising. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
I reach for her, and she holds her hands up to keep me at a distance. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.
“I’m processing, Maggie. You’ve had how many days…?”
She holds up two fingers.
“You’ve had two days to process this. I’ve only had two minutes,” I say and then shake my head. “We’ll figure this out,” I offer.
Her eyes narrow, doubt flickering across her face. “You can’t fix this, Felix.”
She turns away but I’m quick to grab her, my arms snaking around her waist. I’m freaking the fuck out but right now Maggie needs me.
“Maybe not,” I admit. “But I’m not letting you deal with it alone.”
Her resistance crumbles, and when she finally lets me pull her into my arms, she melts into me, her body trembling as she cries. I hold her tightly, my hand rubbing slow, steady circles on her back.
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because you thought I’d be angry?” I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing lightly over her damp cheeks. “This is not your fault, Maggie,” I say. “This is not your fault.”
She sniffles, her breath hitching as she swipes at a stray tear with the heel of her hand. The sight of her like this—so fragile, so unlike the fiery, stubborn woman I’ve come to know—makes my chest ache.
“I’m fine,” she says. “I’ll deal with it. You don’t have to worry about the show…”
“Fuck, Maggie. I don’t care about the show!” The words burst out of me.
“That’s ridiculous,” she says, her tone incredulous, as if the idea of me putting her above a damn concert is the most absurd thing she’s ever heard.
“What’s ridiculous is you trying to deal with this alone,” I counter. “This isn’t anyone’s fault. Fuck, Maggie, I’m the one who didn’t put a condom on. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.” Guilt hits me like a punch to the gut.
I exhale slowly, trying to rein in the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “Let’s just go back to my bus. I can talk to Dusty, reschedule the show.” My mind races, already forming a plan because there’s no way in hell I’m letting her out of my sight. Not now. Not when she’s like this. I reach for her, trying to pull her into my side, but she resists, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.
“You have fans, obligations… you can’t just drop everything for me and I’m not getting in the way of that for you.”
I run a hand through my hair and pace in front of her. “I fucked up, Maggie,” She looks at me, her brows knitting together in confusion, and I stop pacing, turning to face her.
I take her face in my hands—her beautiful fucking face, tilting her chin up so she has no choice but to look at me. Her eyes search mine and I feel the words bubbling up before I can stop them. “I fucked up and fell in love with you,” I blurt out, the confession hanging in the air between us like a live wire. Her eyes widen, the tension in her shoulders softening as my words sink in.
For a moment, she says nothing, just stares at me with those big, expressive eyes that always manage to undo me. Then, slowly, her gaze softens, and I see something shift in her expression—something raw and unguarded. I lean in, pressing a kiss to each of her tear-streaked cheeks, tasting the salt on her skin. “We’re gonna to deal with this, Maggie. Together,” I say, my voice steady and resolute. “Because I fucking love you.”
Her lips part as if she’s about to say something, but no words come out. Instead, she clings to the front of my t-shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric like it’s the only thing anchoring her. “I’m scared,” she whispers, her voice so small it almost breaks me.
“I know,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close. She melts into me, her body shaking as she finally lets go, her tears soaking into my shirt. I press a kiss to the top of her head. “But you’re not alone. I’m here.”
* * *
She’s still shaking, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as I guide her into my bus, seeking the sanctuary of my bed. Gently, I kneel in front of her, my hands brushing hers as I help her pull off her tank top. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, but goosebumps ripple along her arms. I unhook her bra with practiced ease, my movements careful, almost reverent. Without a word, I grab one of my black band hoodies and ease it over her head. She pulls the oversized material to her nose, inhaling deeply, and her eyes flutter shut for a moment.
“Better?” I ask softly.
She nods. “Smells like you.”
I help her out of her shorts next. Pulling back the covers, I gesture for her to slide in, and she does so with a small sigh of relief.
I stand and strip off my shirt and jeans, climbing into bed beside her. She feels so small and fragile as I pull her close, her body curling into mine like she belongs there. Her warmth seeps into me, her hair tickling my chin, and I press my lips to the top of her head.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I murmur, though the words feel like a lie. I have no right to promise her that, not when everything feels so precarious. But she relaxes against me and for now, that’s enough.
My mind won’t stop racing—spiraling with what-ifs, with the weight of everything that might change. Every thought feels heavier than the last until one slams into me like a freight train, stealing the air from my lungs.
I glance down at Maggie, her blonde hair spilling over the pillow. I push it gently away from her face revealing her soft, peaceful features and it hits me. I’m twenty-two years old. My career is finally taking off.
Maggie stirs beside me, her lashes fluttering as she opens her eyes. She looks past me to the book on my nightstand and asks, “Is that what you’ve been reading?”
I shift to grab it, holding it up for her to see. “It’s one of Gus’s,” I say, unable to hide the pride in my voice. The cover is bold and intricate, the kind of art that demands attention.
Her eyes light up with curiosity. “What’s it about?”
“Just a fantasy story. Not really your thing.”
She surprises me by taking the book from my hands, flipping through the pages. “This is important to you, isn’t it?” she says, more statement than question.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s my little brother’s book,” I reply.
“Then I want to know about it,” she says simply, her tone resolute.
“Alright. So, he created this character, Ryseth, the ice king. He has to choose between sacrificing his people or giving up his power to save the woman he loves. But it’s way more complicated than that. It all started back at the beginning of the series…”
As I talk, her head rests against my chest, her leg curling over mine. Her fingers trace absent patterns on my arm as she listens, completely absorbed. I hold the book in front of us, flipping the pages as I explain Gus’s world. For a little while, it feels like we’re somewhere else entirely—somewhere far from the uncertainty and fear that’s been hanging over us.
Eventually, her body grows heavier against mine, her breathing soft and rhythmic. I set the book aside, my gaze lingering on her face. She’s so beautiful it hurts, even with the dark circles under her eyes and the worry etched into her features. Brushing her hair out of her face, I press a kiss to her forehead before sliding out of bed.
The floor creaks under my weight as I grab my phone and step out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me. My heart pounds as the call connects, and after two rings, my dad’s face appears on the screen. He’s in his garage, as usual, tinkering with his Harley. His dark hair hangs in his face.
“Hey Dad,” I say with a shaky voice. “I think I fucked up.”
“What do you mean you fucked up?” he asks, not even looking up from his task.
Well, this is sure to get his attention.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “I may have… gotten someone pregnant.”
Sure enough, he freezes, then tosses his hair out of his eyes as his head snaps up, his stare sharp and unyielding. “You did what?”
I rub a hand over my face, groaning. “I think you heard me.”
He freezes, his jaw tightening as he takes a deep breath. “Just a sec,” he mutters, holding up a finger before stepping out of view.
A loud crash echoes through the phone, followed by a string of colorful curses. “Son of a bitch…” he yells, and I cringe. “Oh my God, I’m gonna hurt this boy…”
My stomach twists when I hear my mom’s voice in the background. “Jack, what the hell are you doing in there?”
“Your son’s an idiot!” he shouts back.
Oh fuck no… please don’t bring her into this.
“What?” I hear her call again.
“Nothing baby, I just screwed up the axle on the bike!”
I hear the door close and chance a look up, relieved as all fuck to see my father is alone. He’s rummaging through his liquor cabinet but he’s alone. It’s crazy how he can read my mind sometimes.
Returning to his phone, he has a bottle of Johnnie Walker and a tumbler with him that he sets down in the frame as he sits on his stool. He pours a hearty helping into the glass and knocks back a glug before putting an elbow on the top of the chest and resting his head against his knuckles.
I’ve seen this look many times. He’s pissed.
“Number one, you’re damn lucky I’m keeping your mother out of this until further notice. Second… walk me through this. Because I’m damn sure I taught you better than this, boy.”
His voice is low and ominous, like rumbling thunder before a storm.
I draw in a fortifying breath and gear up to dive in, but when I open my mouth, he’s apparently not finished.
“Because what about putting on a condom is so fucking difficult?!”
I settle in for more ranting. I rest my chin on my hand and wait for him to get it all out of his system.
He’s on his second glass of scotch when he finally sighs and levels me with a look of compassion. His voice is a touch softer when he sighs and says, “Alright… so what happened? I’m listening.”
I tell him everything—about the summer tour, about Maggie, about the mess we’re in. He listens quietly, nodding occasionally, his expression thoughtful.
“I don’t get what’s going on with you, Felix,” he says when I finish. “You’re jumping off stages, starting shows late, and now this?”
Before I can respond, Maggie appears in the doorway, wearing my hoodie. Her hair is messy, her eyes tired, but she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My heart stops as our eyes meet, the air between us charged.
“I love her,” I say softly, more to her than to my dad.
“I get that, son. Love will make you do crazy things. I damn near threw it all away for your mother. And I wouldn’t have regretted it. She was the one who wouldn’t hear of it, though.”
Maggie looks down, her fingers fiddling with the hem of the hoodie as she takes it all in.
“Your next move,” my dad says, his tone firm but kind, “is both the simplest and hardest thing you’ll ever do. You’re a musician, but before that, you’re a man. And right now, you need to be a man.”
“I know that,” I say, my hands clasped tightly together.
“Everything else is on hold right now. You hear me?”
“She’s my priority,” I say, my voice steady.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he says, his tone warm. “I’m here if you two need anything.”
We sign off, and I look back at Maggie, who’s still standing in the doorway. She steps toward me, and I pull her into my arms, holding her like she’s the only thing keeping me grounded. Because maybe she is.