Chapter 3 - Torch
"Do you want to read him a story?" Sidney asks, her voice soft as she smooths Max's hair back from his forehead. "It's part of his bedtime routine."
Such a simple thing. Reading a bedtime story, but it symbolizes everything I've missed, everything I didn't know I should be doing for the past two years.
"I, uh..." My throat feels tight. "I don't know if I have any kids' books."
Sidney smiles tiredly. "We brought some. They're in the blue bag."
I find the bag and unzip it, pulling out several well-worn picture books. The covers are soft from repeated handling, the corners bent. Signs of love, of stories read over and over again.
"This one's his favorite," Sidney says, pointing to a book about a dog who gets lost and finds his way home. "He usually asks for it first."
Max is already nestled in the portable crib, clutching his elephant. His eyes are heavy, but he perks up when he sees the books in my hands.
"Story?" he asks hopefully.
"Yeah, buddy," I manage to say, despite the emotion clogging my throat. "Story time."
I sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed, not sure how to do this. Do I just read? Is there a special voice I should use? Christ, I feel like an imposter, a stranger playing at being a dad.
Sidney seems to sense my hesitation. "You can sit closer, so he can see the pictures," she suggests.
I scoot closer to the crib, opening the book about the dog. "Once upon a time, there was a brave dog named Spot," I begin, my voice rougher than usual.
The story is simple: Spot gets separated from his family, has some mild adventures, and eventually finds his way back home to be reunited with the people who love him.
It's a kids' book, but the theme hits closer to home than I'd like to admit.
"Spot home," Max murmurs sleepily as I turn the last page.
"That's right, buddy. Spot found his way home." I close the book, strangely moved by the whole experience.
Sidney leans down to kiss Max's forehead. "Good night, sweetheart. Mommy loves you."
"Night, Mama," he mumbles, eyes already closing. Then he looks at me expectantly.
It takes me a second to realize he's waiting for me to say goodnight too. I'm frozen, overwhelmed by the simple expectation that I'm part of this ritual now.
"Good night, Max," I finally say, reaching out hesitantly to touch his soft hair. "Sleep tight."
He smiles sleepily, then rolls over, clutching his elephant. Within moments, his breathing deepens as sleep claims him.
I stand there watching him for longer than I probably should, trying to process that this is my son—my flesh and blood—falling asleep in my house. A little person I helped create but haven't helped raise. Until now.
"He goes down pretty easily," Sidney says quietly, breaking the spell. "But he sometimes wakes up in the night."
I nod, not trusting my voice. We move toward the door, and I take one last look at Max before we slip out, leaving the door cracked open a few inches.
Back downstairs, Sidney looks dead on her feet, dark circles prominent under her eyes in the living room light.
"You should get some rest too," I say. "You look exhausted."
She smiles wryly. "Thanks for pointing that out."
"That's not—I didn't mean—" I fumble for words. "Just meant you've had a rough few days."
"I know." She sighs, sinking onto the couch. "I should sleep while he does. It's just... hard to wind down."
I understand that feeling all too well. How many nights have I stayed awake until exhaustion finally beat out the memories and nightmares?
"You want a beer?" I offer, then immediately regret it. "Or tea? I think I have tea somewhere."
"Tea would be nice, actually."
I head to the kitchen, and while the kettle heats, I lean against the counter, trying to get my thoughts in order.
I have a son. I am a father. Those facts keep cycling through my mind, but they still don't feel quite real.
The kettle whistles, and I pour water over the tea bags I found buried in a cabinet. I have no idea how old they are, but tea doesn't go bad, right?
When I return to the living room, Sidney is staring at a photo on my bookshelf, the only personal photo I display. Me and Jamie in Afghanistan, arms around each other's shoulders, grinning like idiots in front of a Humvee.
"Here," I say, offering her a mug.
She takes it with a grateful smile. "Thanks. Is this you in the military?"
I nod stiffly. "Yeah. Afghanistan. Second tour."
She studies the picture. "You look different."
"Was different then." Younger. More naive. Less broken.
"Who's the other man?" she asks.
"Jamie."
She must hear something in my voice because she sets the picture down gently. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"He didn't come back, did he?"
I look at her sharply. "No. He didn't."
She nods, not pushing for details, which I appreciate. Instead, she sips her tea, grimacing slightly at what must be a stale taste.
"Sorry about the tea," I say. "Don't entertain much."
"It's fine. Hot liquid with caffeine. That's all I need right now."
We sit in silence for a moment. There's so much I want to ask, so much I need to know about the son I just met, but I'm not sure where to begin.
"So," I finally say, "You worked in medical billing?"
She nods. "For about four years. It was a good job. Steady hours, decent pay. Until they downsized and laid off half the staff."
"And you couldn't find other work?"
"I tried." Her voice takes on a defensive edge. "I applied everywhere. But Cedar Falls isn't exactly booming with opportunities, especially not with a two-year-old and childcare costs."
I hold up a hand. "I wasn't accusing you of not trying. Just trying to understand what happened."
She relaxes slightly. "Sorry. I'm used to having to defend myself lately. The job market there is tough, and I don't have a college degree."
"What about family? Friends?"
"My parents died four years ago. Car accident. It didn’t seem appropriate to tell you that when we just had met. No siblings. My friends helped as much as they could, but..." She shrugs. "Everyone has their own struggles."
Fuck. The picture becomes clearer: a single mom with no support system, no safety net. And when things went south, she had nowhere to turn except to find the father who didn't know he was a father.
Guilt gnaws at me. "I should have been there."
"You didn't know," she says simply.
"But if I hadn't been such a mess back then… If I'd stayed in one place, kept the same phone, you could have found me when you got pregnant."
She glances at me over the rim of her mug. "Would you have wanted to be found?"
The question catches me off guard.
Three years ago, drowning my PTSD in whiskey and meaningless sex? No, I probably wouldn't have welcomed the news of impending fatherhood. I'd have seen it as another burden, another responsibility I wasn't equipped to handle.
"I don't know," I admit honestly. "I was in a bad place then. But that doesn't change the fact that I should have been there for him. For both of you."
"Well, you're here now," she says. "That counts for something."
Does it? I wonder. Is showing up two years late better than never showing up at all?
"Tell me about him," I say suddenly. "Max. What does he like? Dislike? What's he afraid of? What makes him laugh?"
A genuine smile lights up her face, transforming her from merely pretty to beautiful.
"He loves animals, especially dogs and elephants.
He hates green vegetables but will eat them if I mix them with enough cheese.
He's afraid of the vacuum cleaner for some reason.
And tickling his feet always makes him giggle. "
She continues, telling me about his first steps at eleven months, his first word ("ball"), how he loves to splash in puddles and dance to any music with a beat. Each detail is a precious gift, a small piece of the life I've missed.
"He's smart," she says proudly. "The pediatrician says he's advanced for his age, especially with language. He can already count to fifteen and knows most of his colors."
"Gets that from you, I'm guessing," I say. "I was a terrible student."
"I don't know about that. You seem to have done alright for yourself." She gestures at the house around us. "This is a nice place."
I shrug. "The club pays well for what I do."
"And what exactly is that?" she asks cautiously. "The article I found mentioned something about security work?"
Right. She found me through news about the club, which means she knows at least something about the Savage Riders. Time to navigate these waters carefully.
"We provide security services," I say, which is true as far as it goes. "I also have specific skills from my military background that come in handy."
"Explosives," she says bluntly. "That's what you did in the military, right? You mentioned it that night we met."
I'd forgotten that detail. Clearly, she has a better memory of our encounter than I do.
"Yeah," I admit. "I was EOD—Explosive Ordnance Disposal. In the club, I handle... similar work. Legally," I add, though that's not always strictly true.
She looks skeptical but doesn't press. "And it's safe? For Max to be around?"
The question isn't unreasonable. The club has enemies, as the past few months with the Iron Eagles proved. But things have been quiet since Vulture disappeared, and we're legitimate now. Mostly.
"I don't bring work home," I tell her. "And the club protects its own. Max will be safer here than sleeping in a car."
She winces at that, but nods. "Fair point."
Another silence falls between us, but it's less tense now. The tea has helped her relax a bit, though exhaustion is clearly winning the battle. She stifles a yawn behind her hand.
"You should get some sleep," I say. "Take the bed. I've got extra blankets for the couch."
She hesitates. "Are you sure? I feel bad kicking you out of your room."
"I'm sure. Like I said, I sleep down here half the time anyway." Usually when the nightmares are bad and I don't want to go back to bed.
She stands, stretching slightly. "Thank you. For all of this. I know we showed up out of nowhere and turned your life upside down."
That's putting it mildly. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a free man with only myself to worry about. Now I'm a father with responsibilities I never prepared for.
"It's okay," I say, not sure if I'm trying to convince her or myself. "We'll figure it out."
She looks at me for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression. "Good night, Dean."
"Good night." I watch her climb the stairs, feeling like I should say something more but not knowing what.
When she's gone, I slump onto the couch, the weight of the day finally crushing down on me. I pull out my phone and see three messages from King.
*You OK?*
*Call if you need anything.*
*Club meeting tomorrow at 3. Be there if you can.*
I text back: *All good. Will be there.*
Then I grab a beer from the fridge. Just one, and drink it slowly in the darkness of my living room, trying to process how completely my life has changed in a single day.
Upstairs, my son sleeps in a portable crib. My son. The words still don't feel real.
I think about the picture book I read him, about finding your way home. Maybe that's what's happening here, in some cosmic sense I don't fully understand. Maybe Max was always meant to find his way to me, even if I didn't know I was waiting for him.
Or maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe Sidney just ran out of options and I was the last resort.
Either way, I'm a father now. And somehow, I need to figure out how to be a good one.
I finish my beer and stretch out on the couch, not bothering to change clothes. Sleep seems unlikely, but I close my eyes anyway, letting the day's events wash over me like waves.
Just as I'm drifting off, I hear a soft cry from upstairs. Max. Before I can fully register what I'm doing, I'm on my feet and heading toward the stairs. But the crying stops almost immediately, replaced by Sidney's gentle murmurs.
I pause, one foot on the bottom stair. This isn't my territory yet. I don't know the routines, the right words, the magic touches that soothe midnight fears. So, I return to the couch, but sleep eludes me for a long time as I listen to the occasional creak of floorboards above.
Tomorrow, I'll talk to King. Figure out how to balance club responsibilities with... this new reality. Tomorrow, I'll start learning how to be a father to the little boy sleeping upstairs.
Tomorrow. For now, I stare at the ceiling and wonder how I went from being nobody's nothing to being somebody's dad in the space of a single day.