Chapter 6 - Sidney
"One day at a time," Dean says, and I find myself nodding in agreement.
One day at a time has been my mantra since Max was born. Since my parents died and I was left alone to navigate the world. Don't think too far ahead. Don't panic about next month's rent when you need to focus on today's meals.
But I'm tired of living that way. Tired of the constant uncertainty, the perpetual crisis management. I want stability for Max, predictability. A life where dentist visits happen before teeth become infected.
"Tea like yesterday?" I offer, not ready to end our conversation. "Or something stronger?"
Dean hesitates, then nods. "Tea is good."
I move to the kitchen, filling the kettle and searching for mugs while Dean settles on the couch.
When the tea is ready, I join him in the living room, careful to leave space between us as I sit.
There's so much we don't know about each other.
So much history crammed into the years since our single night together.
"Tell me about your family," Dean says suddenly, breaking the silence. "You mentioned your parents passed away?"
I nod, cupping my hands around the warm mug. "Four years ago. Car accident. They were coming back from a weekend trip when a drunk driver crossed the center line."
"I'm sorry," he says, and I can tell he means it.
"It was... hard," I admit. "I was nineteen, in my second year of nursing school. Had to drop out to deal with the funeral, the house, the insurance, all of it. By the time everything was settled, I couldn't afford to go back."
"No other family to help?"
I shake my head. "Only child. My mom's parents died when I was little. My dad's mom has dementia. She's in a care facility in Florida. His father left when he was young." I take a sip of tea. "What about you? You've never mentioned your family."
Something dark flashes across his face. "Not much to mention."
I wait, giving him space to continue or not. After a moment, he sighs.
"My parents were—are—lawyers in Pine Valley. Big house, country club membership, all that shit. They had expectations. Law school, joining the family practice, carrying on the Ford legacy."
This surprises me. I'd assumed he came from a rougher background based on his current lifestyle. "But you joined the military instead?"
"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "Left the day after high school graduation. My father said if I didn't go to college, I wasn't welcome back." A bitter smile twists his mouth. "So, I didn't go back."
"Not ever?"
"Once. After my first deployment. Thought maybe time and distance had changed things." He shakes his head. "It hadn't. My father called me a disgrace to the family name. My mother cried and asked why I was determined to break her heart."
"That's terrible," I say, genuinely shocked. "You were serving your country."
"Didn't matter to them. The only acceptable path was following in their footsteps.
" He takes a drink of tea. "I stayed away after that.
Then when I came back for good after... after my discharge, I was drinking a lot.
Making trouble. They asked me to leave town because I was 'damaging their reputation. '"
"That's when I met you," I realize. "In that bar in Cedar Falls."
He nods. "Yeah. I was at rock bottom then. Drunk most nights, picking fights, sleeping around." He glances at me. "I'm not proud of who I was then."
"I wasn't exactly making great decisions either," I admit. "I'd just broken up with my college boyfriend. I was working a job I hated, living in a crappy apartment, and drinking too much on weekends to forget how much I'd lost."
"We were a pair, weren't we?" There's no humor in his smile.
"Yeah. When was the last time you talked with your parents?"
"Haven't spoken to them in over three years. After they asked me to leave town, I cut all contact."
"Now they have a grandson they've never met," I say softly, trying to imagine how anyone could turn their back on their own child so completely.
"Trust me, they wouldn't want to know him. Not with me as his father and no wedding ring on your finger. They're very... traditional."
I think about my own parents. How they would have adored Max, spoiled him with attention and love. The unfairness of it all hits me anew. My parents, who would have been wonderful grandparents, are gone. Dean's parents, who don't deserve the title, are alive but unreachable through their own pride.
"Max deserves better," I say, anger coloring my voice.
"Yes, he does." Dean's expression softens. "And he has you."
"And now you," I add quietly.
Our eyes meet, and something changes in the space between us. Whatever brought us here, whatever happens next, we are connected now through Max. Permanently.
"Tell me about the military," I say, changing the subject. "If you don't mind."
He's quiet for a moment, and I think he might refuse. Then he sighs. "I enlisted right out of high school. Army. Tested well, got assigned to EOD—Explosive Ordnance Disposal. Basically, I defused bombs."
"That sounds terrifying."
A small smile tugs at his lips. "It was, sometimes. But it was also... precise. Methodical. I was good at it. I liked knowing I was saving lives."
"The photo on your bookshelf."
His expression clouds. "Yeah. Me and Jamie. We were in the same unit, went through training together. Best friends."
"What happened to him? If you’re okay with telling me."
Dean sets his mug down, his hands not quite steady. "We were on a routine disposal mission. Village outside Kandahar. Intelligence said the area was clear, but... it wasn't."
I wait, not pushing, as he gathers himself.
"There was a secondary device. One we didn't spot in time. Jamie was closer to it when..." He swallows hard. "When it went off."
"I'm so sorry," I whisper.
"Not your fault." His voice is flat. "Not anyone's fault, really. Just war. Just bad luck and bad intel and a fraction of a second's difference in position."
But I can see the guilt in his eyes, the weight he still carries. "Is that why you left the military?"
He nods. "Honorable discharge. They said it wasn't my fault, but..." He shrugs, the gesture saying more than words could.
"And then you returned to Pine Valley before Cedar Falls."
"For a while. Drinking, fighting, making my parents' lives difficult.
" His smile is self-deprecating. "Then I wandered for a bit after they asked me to leave.
Ended up here about two years ago. Got in a bar fight defending some guy who was getting jumped by three others. Turned out the guy was King."
"The club president," I recall from yesterday.
"Yeah. He said I fought like I had nothing to lose. Offered me a place in the club. I turned him down at first, but..." He gestures around him. "Eventually said yes. Found a brotherhood again. Purpose."
I absorb this information, trying to reconcile the broken, angry man he's describing with the one sitting across from me now. The one who bought toys for a son he just met, who held Max's hand at the dentist, who reads bedtime stories like he's been doing it for years.
"And the club?" I ask. "What exactly do you do there? And this time, no lies. Please"
He meets my gaze steadily. "Some of it's legitimate, really. Security work, like I said. The garage. We protect the town, keep out worse elements."
"And the rest?"
"Is best not discussed in detail." His tone is gentle but firm. "I don't bring it home, Sidney. I promise you that. And things have been quieter lately, more focused on the legitimate businesses."
I nod, accepting that there are parts of his life he won't share. Maybe it's better that way.
"What about you?" he asks. "You said you were in nursing school?"
"For almost two years." I tuck my legs underneath me, getting more comfortable. "I always wanted to be a nurse, like my grandmother. She worked in a free clinic in a poor neighborhood. She said everyone deserves care, regardless of ability to pay."
"Sounds like a good woman."
"She was." I smile at the memory. "She died when I was sixteen, but she's still my inspiration. I was doing well in the program when my parents died. After that... everything fell apart. I couldn't focus on classes while dealing with the estate, the grief. And then the money ran out."
"So, you took the medical billing job?"
"It was the closest I could get to healthcare without a degree. Decent pay, regular hours. It was fine until..." I hesitate, not sure how much to share.
"Until?"
"Until I got pregnant," I admit. "They were okay with it at first. I worked right up until Max was born, took six weeks of unpaid leave, then went back. But childcare was expensive, and Max got sick a lot his first year—ear infections, colds. I missed too many days. They let me go."
"That's bullshit," Dean says, anger flashing in his eyes. "You were taking care of your kid."
"It's business," I say with a shrug I don't quite feel.
"After that, I found other jobs. Retail, waitressing.
Nothing that paid enough for decent childcare, which meant I was constantly juggling, constantly stressed.
Then three months ago, the medical billing office called. They had an opening, wanted me back."
"That's good, right?"
"It was great. Better pay than the waitressing, regular hours. But then they lost a major contract. Downsized. Last in, first out." I try to keep the bitterness from my voice. "I couldn't make rent. Couldn't find another job fast enough. And here we are."
"Here we are," he echoes.
We sit in silence for a moment. Two broken people who created something perfect in Max.
"What do you want?" Dean asks suddenly. "For the future, I mean."
No one has asked me that in a long time.
"Stability," I say finally. "A job that pays enough to support us. A safe place for Max to grow up. Maybe... maybe finishing my nursing degree someday."
He nods, taking this in. "And what about me? What role do you see me having in Max's life?"
This is the question I've been avoiding, the one with no easy answer. "I don't know," I admit. "I never expected you to be so... involved."
"But now that I am?"
"Now that you are..." I choose my words. "I think Max deserves to have his father in his life. How that looks—shared custody, visitation, child support—I'm not sure yet."
"I want more than visitation," Dean says firmly. "He's my son. I've already missed two years of his life. I don't want to miss any more."
The intensity in his voice surprises me. "You've only known him for a day."
"Doesn't matter. I knew the moment I saw him, Sidney. That's my kid. My blood. My responsibility." His eyes hold mine. "And not just financial responsibility. I want to be there for him. Teach him things. Watch him grow up."
This is more than I dared hope for when I sought him out. A father who doesn't just acknowledge his child but actively wants to be involved in his life.
"That would be good for Max," I say softly. "Having you in his life."
"What about us?" Dean asks, his gaze intent. "Where do we fit in this picture?"
We barely know each other, yet we share the most profound connection possible. We're not a couple, not a family in the traditional sense, yet we're bound together by Max in ways that can never be undone.
"I don't know," I admit. "I never expected to find you again, let alone..."
I gesture vaguely, encompassing everything. His house, his unexpected kindness, the strange bubble we've created in just twenty-four hours.
"Neither did I," he says. "But here we are."
"Here we are," I repeat.