23. Dallas
DALLAS
Ihate myself right now. I’ve never felt such an immense amount of self-loathing.
The date with Scott is going well, despite my sour mood. He’s a gentleman. He opens the door to the restaurant for me, and he picks up the check after dinner.
We stayed in La Pradera, at my request. There’s only one nice steak house in town, which I’ve never even been to. When we leave, he asks if I want to get a drink at Old Harry’s.
“Let me check in on my boys, make sure they don’t need me.”
“Sure.”
We’re walking along the street of the old town square near the courthouse. It looks like something out of a historic movie, only with electric lampposts and traffic lights.
I pull up my phone and text my mom.
Dallas
How are the boys doing?
Mom
They’re great! Just fell asleep after a sugar crash. Ice cream!!!
Dallas
Do you want me to come pick them up or for them to stay there?
Mom
They can just sleep here. That’s why we got a place with two rooms. Have fun!
Dallas
Thanks, Mom. Love you.
“I’m so sorry. I need to head back now. Can we grab a drink another time?”
After Scott drops me off at the bunkhouse, I find myself on the front porch of the main house. It’s pitch-black out here. I stand there for a few deep breaths before finally finding the courage to lift my fist to knock.
“He’s not home.” A voice speaks from the darkness to my left.
I scream, nearly jumping out of my skin. “Holy shit! You scared the daylights out of me, Duke Redford!”
He chuckles, moving closer. His heavy steps bring him right up next to me, and my eyes finally adjust to the pitch-black. I can barely make out that he’s shirtless and looking down at me. I can smell the bourbon on his breath.
Maybe coming here was a mistake.
I don’t really know how Duke acts when he’s drunk.
He’s always safe though, and somehow, I instinctively know he is now, even while inebriated.
“How was your date?” he asks. His tone of voice is clipped, but I can make out his expression of intense curiosity.
“It was fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes. Fine.”
“Why are you here then?”
I open my mouth, but no words come. I don’t know how to answer him.
Finally, after a few seconds, his hands find mine in the dark. I squeeze his hand and try again.
“I didn’t want to sleep alone tonight,” I finally confess. It’s only half the truth.
I can’t see much, but I can see the smug smirk on his lips.
“Then why didn’t you go home with him?”
“Should I have?”
His hand tightens on mine. He pulls me toward the front door and opens it, gesturing for me to enter. When the light from the hallway pours over us, I realize that he’s still wearing his dirty work jeans from earlier. I walk inside, and he follows.
“You know, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just go back to the bunkhouse.”
“Why?”
“You seem a little drunk.”
“I’m more than a little.” His words are slurred.
I set my purse on the entryway table. He hasn’t let go of my hand, but he drags me over to the sofa and pulls me into his lap.
“Mmm, I missed you.”
I feel like, at this point, I’m only leading him on if I stay over tonight. I want to—every part of me wants to. I wasn’t even thinking straight when I walked over here after Scott dropped me off at the bunkhouse.
But here I am, sitting with him, and he’s clearly not mad about it.
He’s a playboy. Maybe he went on his own date tonight too.
“How was your evening?” I ask.
“Sucked.”
“Oh? Why?”
“You were gone.”
He’s tracing a freckle on my arm. I lean my face into the side of his, where his facial hair prickles my skin. He hasn’t shaved yet today, and the five-o’clock shadow gives him a sexy, broody look.
I missed you, I want to tell him.
But I meant what I said earlier. He can do so much better.
He’s only twenty-six. His entire life is ahead of him, bright and full of possibilities.
I’m about to turn thirty, which isn’t that big of a deal by itself, but with my custody situation and the fact that I know my ex-husband is going to continue to wreak havoc on my life and my son’s lives … I just can’t put that on him.
He starts nuzzling my neck. I close my eyes, my heart aching for how much I want him and this life.
I should go. Find a new place to live, move off the ranch. I don’t have the self-control to be his neighbor.
“I want you. Whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”
My throat tightens at his murmured words. He squeezes me around him and lifts me up, carrying me toward the bedroom.
“So, you want me to stay over?”
He grunts, “Yes,” and my stomach does a little dance.
He’s holding me sideways, like a baby. My arms are looped around his neck, and his expression is concentrated. He tosses me on the bed before tracing his hands down my leg until he reaches the low heel on my foot.
His eyes lock on mine as he slowly removes my shoes, one by one. He places them down on the floor.
“I’m going to shower. Don’t leave me.”
I nod. “I won’t.”
My hands are trembling as I wrap them around Dutton. My heart shatters into tiny pieces when he starts to cry.
“I don’t wanna go with Daddy! I don’t want to go! I wanna stay with Mommy!”
The social worker assigned by the judge for the supervised visit looks annoyed by the scene, not a shred of sympathy on her face. Dawson is already resolutely standing near Matt, whose face is a mask of feigned concern.
Sandy is here too. Her gray bob has recently been cut, and she’s dressed in a plain T-shirt with loose jeans. She was a day-care owner for thirty years before retiring.
“Listen, honey. You’re going to have a great time at your dad’s place. We just got a new trampoline! Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Is he tired? Does he need a nap?” Matt asks.
No, just a father who actually gives a shit might help.
“You have to go, okay? I’m so sorry, baby. You have to go, but Mommy will be here to pick you back up before you know it.”
Dawson walks over to his brother, wearing a mature look of determination. “Come on, brother. Let’s go.”
He reaches for Dutton’s hand. He takes it, sniffling as he walks toward Matt, Sandy, and the social worker.
Sandy pats my arm. “I’ll text you as soon as we make it home, okay? Don’t worry about them. We’re going to have fun together.”
I try to form a smile for her, but I don’t know how convincing it is.
They get into the car, and I’m thankful that at least I know he won’t be drinking and driving with the kids.
I get back into the driver’s seat of my car and watch them drive out of the Walmart parking lot before letting the tears fall.
He was assigned to at-home weekend visits while we try to come to an agreement on how to move forward with custody. The supervisor will drive with him to his house, and he’s not supposed to leave unless she’s with him.
Who makes sure he doesn’t leave? No one. It’s the good ol’ honor system.
Thank God for Sandy. I know she’ll take care of the boys, even if her son won’t.
My lawyer, Diana Hagen, fought hard, finally convincing the judge that Matt’s blood alcohol content was so high when they tested him that it had to have been at least double the legal limit when he was driving the boys, based on the one drink he was served in the bar.
But Matt has since hired a lawyer, and we have a court date set in two weeks.
Diana says he’s a scumbag who will come at me from all angles when I’m on the stand.
As soon as she saw the lawyer’s name, her demeanor changed from positive outlook to concentrated negativity.
She hinted that the judge and that lawyer together were a bad mix for us. She called them a ‘boys’ club.’
Turns out, misogyny is alive and well in the public justice system.
I turn my minivan back on and exit the Walmart parking lot, my grief quickly morphing into rage.
My voice takes on a mocking tone. “Matt’s just a good dad, doing his best to parent after his whore wife upped and left him.
It’s me; I’m the whore wife. He made a onetime bad decision.
Should he be punished so severely for one little mistake?
Why do I hate him so much when he’s trying to be involved in their lives?
You know, some dads don’t even try. After all, boys need a father figure. ”
If I’m not careful, my feminist tirade will make me do something reckless. My record is squeaky clean, but at this point, I feel like I could crash my car into the side of Walmart and not feel a single thing.
My body has grown numb.
Matt’s smug expression when I arrived at the drop-off spot reminded me of the one he always wore when we fought. He’d make terrifying threats, and he ultimately always got his way through fear and intimidation tactics.
I scheduled therapy for after drop-off for a reason. I knew I’d need to talk to someone.
I arrive at the office a few minutes prior to my appointment, taking a deep breath before I go in. We meet online when I’m not able to make the hour drive to his office.
I push open the glass door leading into the bland office suite. The low-pile carpet inside is a dingy brown.
The receptionist smiles at me. “He’s ready for you if you want to go on back.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I walk into Dr. Stone’s office. He smiles at me before taking a sip from his mug of hot tea.
“Dallas, nice to see you. Please have a seat.”
I plant myself in the center of the navy fabric sofa. I grab a striped throw pillow and hug it to my stomach.
I hate therapy. HATE IT.
But I know it helps me unpack what I went through in my marriage. I’m still coming to grips with it all and trying to heal.
Co-parenting with my abuser is another level of hell I’m hoping Dr. Stone can guide me through.
“Let’s start with how you’re doing.”
His full head of white hair is the same color as the paint on the walls. I never noticed it before now.
“I’m not so great today. I just dropped the boys off with him.”
He scribbles on his notebook, nodding. “And how did that make you feel?”
Like I wanted to bring a rifle next time and use it on his head instead.
“It made me feel … anxious. I’m worried about them being in his care. Dutton cried and didn’t want to go.”
I filter all of my answers; even though I know we have doctor-client confidentiality, I never know if he could be subpoenaed by a judge. After the accusations the CPS caseworker hinted about me just being a vindictive baby mama, I’m trying to play it safe and smother my female rage.
“After the drunk driving, I’m sure it did. Anyone would feel that way. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. After what he did, releasing your three-year-olds into his care must have been difficult.”
The threat of tears is just below the surface. I squeeze the pillow tighter.
“I’m scared. I’m scared for them.”
Dr. Stone nods, genuine concern pinching his brows. He reminds me of a sweet grandfather. I don’t trust myself to know who in this world is truly on my side, but if I had to, I’d bet on Dr. Stone.
“What’s your ex-husband’s name again, Miles?”
“Matt.” I smile.
He asks this every time. I’m pretty sure he pretends not to remember as a subtle way of belittling my ex.
“I think we need to work on unpacking more of what happened between you two in your marriage and subsequent divorce. You’ve never talked about the day you left him.”
I shudder. He waits patiently, never pushing me to talk until I’m ready to.
“I’d had a hidden bag packed and ready to go for months. It was almost like I didn’t even know why I was doing it, but my instincts told me just to do it, even though I felt silly about it.”
He wants silently, encouraging me to continue at my own pace. I close my eyes, willing myself to relive the horrifying day that finally pushed me to leave him.