Chapter 8
SCOTT: SWEET CHILD O’ MINE
I spent my whole shift scanning the beach, half convinced Michelle would show up for lessons. She didn’t, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Yeah, the two of us made no sense—but last night had felt like… something. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were more than one night.
But Michelle had known where to find me and had chosen not to, so maybe I’d read more into last night than she had.
It was a strange place to be—me, waiting on her.
I’d always been the one in control. Now I was stuck on the other side, restless and hoping for a sign. It really sucked being the chick.
I swung by to pick up Johnny after my shift and drove us both back to my place. It was Saturday night, and if Michelle was going to leave me hanging, then I’d find my own fun.
Or not.
April—my ex—was waiting in the driveway, looking simply murderous with her squared-off shoulder pads and sky-high teased hair.
“Dude, I’m scared,” Johnny said, gripping my arm.
“Imagine how I feel.”
April stomped to my side of the truck and passed a fourteen-month-old baby through the open window.
“Uh, what’s this?” I juggled Mitchell Graham McKallister—or as I liked to call him, MGM—into an upright position and kissed him on the cheek.
“Your son,” she replied with enough contempt to burn a hole straight through me.
I sighed. Yep. This was exactly what I’d tried to warn Michelle about. I came with baggage. As in, I was a father. Living in the apartment over a garage with an opossum as a roommate. And the kicker? The garage belonged to my ex’s mother, which made bringing potential lady friends over a no-go.
MGM was the result of the careless night I’d spent with April.
Or maybe it was one of the nights that followed.
To be honest, junior year was a bit of a blur.
Rabid Jackal had become the go-to Friday night out.
At the time we were still performing in Johnny’s garage.
We’d open the accordion door and teenagers would gather on the lawn, spilling out into the street…
until some dumbass got hit by a car and ruined everything.
The point is, we were popular, and I had my pick of the litter.
April had been part of the Kennel Club—get it?
Rabid Jackal? It was the name given to our most enthusiastic fans.
And she was… um… enthusiastic. Only sixteen at the time, she had a fixation on me that wouldn’t quit, and who was I to say no?
We had sex once or twice, I think, and then I spent the last two months of school trying to dodge her…
until she showed up at my door. Surprise!
She was pregnant. And I was going to be a father… at seventeen.
“I realize he’s my son,” I replied. “I’m just curious why he’s in my arms. I don’t have him Saturdays.”
“You’re his father, Scott. Not the babysitter.”
There was no need for reminders. I was well aware of my obligations, and I refused to allow April to dump her shortcomings as a parent on me. “Oh, I don’t think you want to start comparing resumes,” I said.
She shot me a hateful glare, pretty much summing up our current relationship.
After dropping the baby bomb on me, April and I gave dating a second shot, but we didn’t make it past the gestational stage.
And, now, well… here we were. The reason I was living on her family’s property had everything to do with April’s questionable choices, not mine.
I got it. This was her senior year—homecoming, ditch days, prom. None of her friends had a baby, and she didn’t want to be the only one stuck at home. At first, she’d balanced it with school during the day, occasional nights out, and enough time with MGM to let me work or catch a little sleep.
Then came the boyfriend, Ron. Unlike me, he didn’t have to work three jobs to scrape by.
He sat in junior college classes on his parents’ dime.
And he sure as hell didn’t want to play stepdad.
Within weeks, April’s nights out turned into disappearing acts.
Excuses piled up. Sometimes she didn’t come home.
That left her mom, Meg, holding it all together—working a swing shift and covering childcare during the day.
Eventually, she pulled me aside. Told me the apartment over the garage was empty, and if I was serious about being a father, maybe it was time I stepped up.
I didn’t hesitate. Not just because I’d been couch-surfing since my parents kicked me out, but because Mitch needed someone consistent.
Someone who showed up. So that’s what I did.
Absently, I slid my fingers through his soft, damp curls, and it occurred to me to ask, “Why’s he all wet?”
“I don’t know, Scott. He’s a toddler. My gut says there’s a toilet involved.”
“Your gut says? You weren’t watching him?”
“Like every second?” she asked, as if the question itself were unreasonable.
“Yes, every second, April… or he’ll head to the bathroom and splash around in the shitter.”
“Like you have room to judge,” she snapped. “Last week, you rolled him in marshmallows.”
“I did not roll him. He was sticky from baby food, and the marshmallows just… found him.”
April let out a dramatic sigh, her eyes already searching for a way out. “Whatever. Are you done? Because I have somewhere to be.”
“I just got off work. It’s your day on the schedule.”
“Who cares about the schedule, Scott? He’s your fucking kid. Take him!”
I winced, for so many reasons. It wasn’t the swearing in front of him that concerned me—I did that too—but the resentment.
And lately, it wasn’t only directed towards me, but to her son.
Even more concerning was April’s increasing frustration with her life.
I wasn’t sure what worried me more: that she might walk away and take Mitchell with her, or that she’d abandon him altogether, leaving me to co-parent with her mother.
April reacted to my silence with more anger. “Just admit it,” she said. “You hate that I’ve found someone. Admit it. You hate it.”
She was right. I did hate it, but not for the reason she wanted. I wasn’t jealous of her relationship with Ron. I was worried about the wedge it was creating between her and MGM. And now, I was concerned about his safety.
“I’ve got him,” I said, cradling MGM protectively against my chest.
Reacting to my defensive measure, she responded with tears. I didn’t know what was happening with her lately, but she was in no condition to be watching our son.
“Does your mom know I’ll be at the house when she comes home?” I asked.
All childcare duty was done in the main house. Not only because all of his stuff was there, but also because my apartment was barely acceptable for an opossum, much less a human baby.
“I’ll be home by eight, before she gets off work.”
I doubted that, but I nodded anyway. “Go.”
But April lingered there a moment, silent, some emotion flickering behind her eyes, one I couldn’t place before she blinked it away, swiped at her face, then turned and walked away.
Johnny, MGM, and I sat in the truck, not speaking until April had backed her car out of the driveway.
“You know,” Johnny said, with a wistful expression, “I hope I meet a girl someday who will look at me with as much contempt as April looks at you.”
“Don’t worry, bro.” I slapped him on his shoulder. “I’m sure there’s a soul-crushing woman out there for you too. You just gotta believe.”
“It’s so hard to wait,” he sighed. “But when I do find that someone special, I’ll be sure to drop my seed in her, so I too can feel every second of those eighteen long years together.”
Flipping MGM around so he could ‘drive’ my truck, I reveled in his innocent giggles. “At least I got this little dude out of it.”
“Yeah, that’s not a plus, McKallister. You should’ve run when you had the chance.”
My smile slipped as I held my son a little tighter. “Don’t listen to him,” I whispered into his tiny ear. “I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”
Johnny cracked another deadbeat dad joke, but I didn’t hear it. He didn’t get it—none of them did. They thought I stayed because I had to. Out of obligation or guilt, or maybe even fear. But the truth was quieter. Heavier. It lived in the pit of me, where no one could see.
I didn’t run because I knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind.
And I’d be damned if I let that story repeat.
Eight o’clock came and went. No April. I fed and bathed the baby and had just laid him down in his crib when Meg appeared in the doorway. She caught my eye and shook her head.
“No April?”
“Not yet,” I replied, bending down to kiss my son. “But it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. We have a schedule for a reason.”
Meg entered the room and stroked MGM’s head, quietly soothing him until his heavy eyes closed.
She and I might not agree on all things, but when it came to the baby, we were a surprisingly good team.
Meg was the reason any of this worked. She’d single-handedly taught both April and me how to be parents.
I shivered to think of the kind of life our son would have had without her.
We left the room and walked back into the kitchen, where Meg immediately poured herself a glass of wine and sank onto the barstool. She lifted the bottle to me. “Wanna glass?”
“I’m good.”
“Aw. That’s right. Sorry. I forget you’re only nineteen sometimes.”
My twentieth birthday was right around the corner, but it might as well be my thirtieth.
“You and me both.”
She observed me through weary eyes. “You’re a good father, Scott. I have to admit, I didn’t have high hopes for you when… I found out. But you’ve stepped up. Way more than my daughter has.”
The front door opened, and the sound of April’s flip-flops slapping on the concrete gave us ample warning to end the discussion.
“Sorry. Sorry,” April called out from down the hall. “I know I’m late.”
“I’m out,” I whispered. Last thing I wanted was another angry outburst that might wake the baby. I was already halfway out the back door when I heard April squeal.
“The most amazing thing happened, Mom.”
Then Meg’s response. “What the hell? April! Dammit! I won’t allow it!”
“I’m eighteen now… and I said yes.”
I swung back around. The fluorescent box light in the ceiling caught on April’s ring finger.
It was sparkling.