Twenty-Four
Kaiden
“He’s got my stubborn streak then,” I manage, and I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a joke or an observation, but it comes out sounding like both.
Aspen nods, and I catch the ghost of a smile before it vanishes. “Among other things. He watches people. Notices details no one else sees. Processes everything before he speaks.”
Each trait she lists is like a punch to the gut because I recognize them all. They’re mine. This kid I’ve never met, never held, never tucked into bed at night - he’s me. And I’ve missed every single moment of him becoming who he is.
“I want to meet him.” The words come out rougher than I intend. “Properly, I mean. Not just...” I gesture vaguely at the street where I nearly watched my son die. Where I held him for the first time without even knowing who he was. “I need to know him, Aspen.”
She’s quiet for so long, I think she might refuse. My hands curl into fists against my thighs, every muscle in my body tensing for a fight I don’t want to have but will if I have to.
“Okay.” The word comes out so quietly I almost don’t hear it. She’s still not looking at me, her gaze fixed on something in the distance.
“But not today. He’s already shaken up from what just happened, and you...” She finally turns to face me, and the exhaustion in her eyes is staggering. “I think you need time to properly process this, too.”
Process. Like finding out I have a nine-year-old son is something I can just work through with a few deep breaths and maybe a stiff drink.
But she’s right, even if I hate admitting it. I’m barely holding it together right now, my emotions swinging wildly between rage, and wonder, and grief for everything I’ve lost. The last thing Kai needs is me walking in there half-unhinged.
“Tomorrow then,” I say, because I’m not waiting any longer than that. I’ve already lost ten years. I’m not losing another day.
Aspen nods slowly. “Tomorrow.”
Kai Brooks. Born November third. Age nine. Son of Kaiden and Aspen Brooks.
Sitting in the same austere, cell-like room I’ve inhabited at the Cosa Nostra compound for the past eighteen years, I stare at the information I’ve jotted down on the unlined pad in front of me.
I don’t know why I did that. It’s not like it’s anything I’m ever going to forget.
Those details are burned into my memory forever.
I think I just needed to see it in black and white. Something physical that makes it real.
Despite the similar spelling, the inflection is different. My name is pronounced like Jayden, whereas Kai is pronounced like lie.
But it’s not a lie. It’s real. And even if Aspen is guilty of a lie by omission, I understand her motives.
Doesn’t make me feel any better about it, though. I’m still angry, and betrayed, and in mourning for everything I’ve missed.
Is this how Aspen felt after I left?
Is this how my mother felt?
The whiskey - my third or fourth - burns going down, but it doesn’t burn away the questions.
My mother.
The ghosts of my past don’t leave easily, even when they’re not actually dead. At least, I assume they’re not, but what the hell do I know? I guess it’s inevitable that all this soul-searching regarding my own child should bring back memories of her. My Ma.
The name feels foreign in my mouth. After all this time, I barely remember her face. The memories have shriveled along with the years. A consequence of me pushing them away when I was young because it hurt too much.
Now all that remains are impressions. Dark hair, tired eyes, hands that trembled when she thought I wasn’t looking, but which soothed and comforted me as best she could. We may not have had much, but I knew I was loved.
While I didn’t appreciate it at the time, I understood just how much I was after it was all ripped away. When one day, those protective, reassuring hands weren’t there anymore.
Does she wonder what happened to me? Does she even know I’m alive?
I tried finding her once. Right after I married Aspen, when I still believed love could fix the broken parts of me.
But we were barely scraping by, so there was no money for any real investigation.
My attempts amounted to ringing a number that came up as out of service and posting a letter to what used to be our address when I lived with her. Another dead end.
And then I’d been trapped back in the Viper’s hell hole, deprived of my wife, and thoughts of finding my mother were swept away on a tide of despair and survival.
But things are different now. I have resources.
Money. Connections that could track down a ghost if I needed them to.
The question is, do I want to open that door?
Do I want to risk finding out she’s dead, or worse - that she’s alive and never bothered looking for me?
That she got the letter I sent and simply never bothered responding.