Single Dad Boss: A Small Town Romance

by Kara Hart

  “Sounds serious. When's the wedding?” She sips her coffee. I laugh when she burns her tongue.

  “None of that,” I warn her. The thought of going to work this morning is something I'm dreading. I still have to deal with the wrath of Elijah. I just know he's going to have a field day with Colt threatening him at the festival. Small town drama is not my thing, yet I'm eternally stuck in the thick of it. “Ugh, I'm going to have to deal with the Elijah stuff today. I know he's going to bring last night up. I just want to call out sick and sleep all day.”

  “Then do it.” She eats the rest of her toast and throws her plate in the sink. Then, mouth full of crumbs, she mumbles, “I swear. I don't get your dilemmas, girl. Just follow your gut and take control of your life.”

  Of course, it's not that simple. I have a house I have to pay rent on and an alcoholic sister who, despite her knowing every good decision for everyone else, has yet to make one good decision for herself. I'm constantly taking care of her and never myself. “I need the money. Plus, I’ve already used up all my sick days. It's out of my hands. I’ll just have to bite the bullet and face him.”

  “Good luck,” she sings the words to me as I down my coffee. Lucky for her, she doesn't have a job that pays very well right now. Her job is to “stay healthy,” a task that's proving harder and harder to tackle. She owns the bar, but that’s more like a debt if anything.

  When I finally do walk into work, I'm disheveled and frantic. I’m ten minutes late and Elijah is standing by the manager and staff, laughing wildly. He puts his hand on the manager’s shoulder when he sees me and they all stop in their tracks.

  “Welcome, welcome. You're late,” Elijah says through a slight smirk. It's okay though. I've prepared for this encounter.

  “Here’s my write up.” I drop a hard drive on the desk and sit down. “Alright, what do you got for me?” The perfect way to combat people like Elijah was to ignore the problem completely and remain professional.

  “That was quick,” the writing manager says, glancing at Elijah. “Great job, Lena. Everyone take note. Lena Skye is slowly taking over your positions.”

  I cough slightly, mostly because I feel awkward that he called me out like that. Even if it’s praise, it creates a tension in the office I’d rather not have to deal with right now. My story is on the speech given last night and the sacrifice our soldiers made. It’s a total feel-good story, ripe with trite cliché’s and overused rhetoric. I’m not a huge fan of it and since I wasn’t even there for the speech, I had to call around for quotes, but it’ll have to do.

  “Fill me in, from the top. What stories do we have today?” I ask, looking around the room.

  Peter Lerwalden, our Bureau chief, points at the board. “Lots to write about, people.” Let’s see what we got. There’s a sex scandal at a public high school, a shooting in downtown on Myrtle Avenue, and, of course, the biggest story of the century that took place in Kabul, Afghanistan.

  “Alright. I think we should really look at the public reaction to these types of stories. People are outraged at the status quo. That much is clear. The question is what do they want to happen?” he asks us.

  “That’s easy,” I say. “They want answers. They want to know someone is going to save them from all this misery. They look to government officials, religious leaders, and innovators. They want to feel like all of this will eventually change for the better.”

  “Good. Yes, of course. They want to see the light. However, I don’t think we’re being useful to the American people by instilling a false sense of hope. No, today I want to create something different for this paper. I want to make an impact,” he says, holding his pen to his lip, in thought.

  The thought of this paper actually taking a stand for once fuels me to no end. I feel a sudden rush take me over and I suddenly yell “Yes!” Of course, everyone turns to look at me and I let my body sink back into my chair.

  He’s smiling as if he just got a bright idea in his head. “Yes, indeed. Look, we’re a small paper. But we have an inspired staff and that means all the difference in this day and age. I want real investigative reporting, real fact checking, and I want you all to dig as deep as you can go. Hell, go to the ends of the earth if you have to. Find that big story and nail it. When you feel like you have something, bring it to me. I’ll direct you further. Alright, people. Let’s move!” He finally claps his hands loudly and walks out the glass door.

  Elijah, of course, steps in after he’s already finished, and says “You heard Peter. Move! I want to see ideas done by four o’clock at the latest.” He looks at me and sighs. Oh, god. He’s walking towards me now.

  After everyone disperses to their cubicles, he leans over my desk and whispers “Well, you got your way.”

  “What’re you talking about now, Elijah?” I can barely take any more of his shit. I swear, if he touches me, I’ll scream.

  “The paper. You’ve successfully converted Peter to your liberal bullshit. I don’t see it lasting too long. Not after it all blows up in his face.” He sees me tense up and laughs in my face. “What? Are you going to get your little Army buddy to help you out? Your big, strong man. It all comes off as extremely desperate. You know that?”

  I sigh and shut my laptop. “Just leave already. I don’t have time for this.”

  His greasy hand reaches toward me. For a second, I’m paralyzed and unable to react. His little fingers brush aside the tips of my hair and I almost vomit all over him. That’s how disgusted I am with him. “You looked gorgeous the other night,” he says, and I finally get his angle.

  “Gross. Don’t touch me.” I run my hands through my hair and bury my head against the desk. There’s no escaping him. Not here, anyway. I look at my phone and see that there’s still seven full hours left of work. I swear the clock is actually moving backwards like in one of those David Lynch films.

  He laughs and picks himself up from my desk. “At least you have your looks. It’s about all you’ll have when I take Peter’s job next quarter.” He starts to walk away, but I grab his hand. “What’re you doing? I thought you wanted me to go.”

  I lower my voice. Even still, I’m practically yelling through my teeth. “You know damn well you’re playing your little games with me again. What the hell are you talking about? And give it to me straight. If you don’t, so help me, I’ll rip off that single testicle you have and feed it to your stupid dog.” Okay, that was a bit harsh. But damn did it feel good.

  He ignores me and whispers “You didn’t hear? Peter’s leaving the paper. He’s writing for The New York Times.” My jaw practically drops to the floor. “What? You thought he was ‘dedicated to the cause’ or something? Hell no. The guy is so over working here. Then again, so are you right? Where are you working next again? Oh, that’s right! You’re going the blog route, aren’t you?” The sarcastic little bitch. I swear I could pounce on him right now. But not in the sexual way. Never in the sexual way with him.

  He laughs and slaps my desk loudly. Peter looks up and smiles. I don’t think it’s possible to be more depressed. I feel betrayed. This paper is my life. Without the right leaders, though, it’s subject to falling apart. All credibility relied on our freedom to write good stories. I just knew that Elijah was not the leader to push us forward into the 21st century.

  I glance at the topics on the board and exhale, feeling dizzy. My eyes blur. Kabul, Afghanistan. What the hell happened there? I decide to scour the web until I find something of importance.

  101

  Colt

  “I don’t want to talk about that shit ever again. You hear me, man? Nothing of importance happened over there. Nothing.” I slam my empty beer bottle down on Bowen’s marble counter and the bottle cracks. He’s giving me this look like he wants to destroy me, but he knows I’m a better fighter than him so he backs down.

  “It wasn’t nothing and you know it. Fuck, Colt. My wife knows it. Three years of therapy will bring it out of you.” He opens the fridge and realizes he’s out o
f beer. He closes the door violently and sits back down.

  “Three years of lies. I can’t believe you buy into that shit. You’re better than that.” I rub my hand through my thinly buzzed hair and try to cool myself down. Bowen is family, not my enemy. It’s something I need to remember. If I don’t, I’ll have no one left. “You’re right though. It wasn’t nothing. It was a fucking ambush and no one saw it coming.”

  “I just want you to deal with it right. Sometimes we hang out, shoot our guns, and drink beer or whatever. And I’ll look over and you’ve got this look. It’s not scary like some of the other guys. It’s just…blank. It’s like you want to get lost in that cabin forever.”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe I do,” I lie. “Shit, I don’t know what look you’re talking about, but I sure as hell don’t want to get lost forever. That’s the last thing I want out of this life. It’s just, when you experience what we’ve both experienced, how the fuck are you supposed to relate to the outside world? No one wants to get to know a guy like me. They want to go about their day and pretend nothing ever happened. So yeah, nothing happened over there. I’ll give them what they want.”

  I get up and start pacing. I’m bored. Like real fucking bored. That girl Lena has me going crazy ever since I met her. Her thighs under that dress, her pouty lips in that ruby red lipstick, and, fuck, that tight pussy. I’m still reeling over last night’s events. It’s practically the only thing I think about. I’ve been getting hard practically every second at the thought of her.

  “So you’re just going to be that creepy dude in the woods?” he laughs, shaking his head. I just lift my chin and nod. “Suit yourself, man. As for me, I’m going to live life.” Great for you, Bowen. I’m happy for ya.

  “That’s cool with me, brother,” I say, sitting back down.

  There’s a sudden silence and we’re both left to our thoughts. We had been through so much and we’re still finding ourselves getting heated over how we deal with the past.

  “What about that chick?” he finally says.

  I feel my skin prickle at the mere mention of her existence. I smile. “Ah. I’ve been waiting for you to ask about her. She’s good. And I mean real good.” I lean back in the chair and throw my hands behind my head.

  “Bullshit,” he says. “You didn’t fuck her.” But his eyes have perked up. He’s waiting for me to tell him more. Just because he’s married, doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about pussy every day. The guy lived for this shit.

  “What makes you think I didn’t?” I laugh. “Wasn’t I always a good with the bitches?”

  He laughs loudly at this. “I seem to remember you getting a few prostitutes over at the base.”

  “Fuck off,” I smile. “Anyway, you’re right. We didn’t fuck. I don’t stick my dick in new holes on the first date.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So what happened? Come on, man. I haven’t gotten laid in close to a year. You have to fill me in on this shit.” Oof. A year of no sex from the wife? That sounded like pure torture.

  “Well, she took me to this hill. Deep in the woods,” I began.

  “Sounds like your kind of girl,” he laughs. “Sorry. Continue. I’m listening.”

  “Nah, you’re right. She’s a child of the earth or some shit. Anyway, one thing led to another and I’m eating her pussy. Like, her whole cunt is in my mouth and I’m just slobbering everywhere, and boy does she taste good. Like fucking candy,” I say. I’m dressing it up in our bro-talk, but it’s the truth. She does taste like fucking candy. So much so, that I can’t get the taste out of my head. It follows me, lingering like her scent. That thing she said about memories. Well, she’s a memory I never want to forget.

  For a second, I feel like a young boy bragging to his friends about getting laid for the first time. I want to tell everyone about her, about what she can do. I’d call her, but I was too damn stupid to get her number or any other information. All I know is that her name is Lena. The rest is up in the air.

  “Jesus Christ, man! So while we’re giving a speech about being stuck in a firefight with jihadist terrorists, you’re up on some hill giving face?” He slaps his knee loudly and cackles. “You’re my fucking hero, man!” He laughs even louder.

  I hear the click and slam of the front door to his house and in run his two kids, Joseph and Sammy. “Daddy!” They scream and jump onto his lap. Kids. I hate ‘em. They’re little selfish devils.

  “What’s so funny, boys?” His wife, Arianna, walks in with two big grocery bags of organic produce. The way they are together right now looks nice. It’s like they have their system down to a T and they’re happy. So what if Bowen lives for my stories of wrangling with women and drinking till the sun comes up. This right here is what he really wants and I can’t help but feel good for the guy. I know I couldn’t get to a place like this.

  “Nothing, honey. Colt just told me a joke. A pretty awful one at that,” he says.

  “Hi, Colt,” she smiles and puts a bag of tomatoes away in the fridge. Arianna has always treated me like I’m part of the family, which is pretty crazy since it’s clear most people think I am insane. Most people stay away. They think I’m some hermit in the woods. I once heard a story that the kids think my cabin is haunted and that I’m some kind of crazed man who never leaves. Me, of all people.

  “You staying for dinner, honey?” she asks in that sweet, motherly voice.

  “I better not,” I sigh. “Got a lot to do over at the cabin.”

  Bowen laughs and grabs a beer out of the grocery bag. He throws one my way. “Oh, bullshit. We all know you don’t have any plans.”

  “Language, Bowen!” Arianna hisses at him.

  Joseph is already bouncing off the walls, yelling “Bullshit!” and Sammy giggles each time he says it.

  Arianna warns them “Joseph, I’m going to take away that X-Box if you don’t stop it now! Now, go play in the other room with your sister.”

  “Yes, mom.” The kid, full of youthful energy runs into the other room with Sammy, making airplane noises. He told me once he wanted to be a SEAL just like his father. Said he wanted to be a hero too. I had half a mind to tell him heroes lose legs. Heroes have ghosts that follow them to the grave.

  “We’re making tacos and enchiladas tonight. My abuela’s recipe.” She tries to tempt me into staying and, damn, that sounds really good actually.

  Bowen laughs. “He’s got some girl he wants to go fantasize about. That’s why he wants to leave.”

  “He does, huh?” She grabs the cutting board and smirks. “Who is she, Colt?”

  Asshole. “She’s no one special. Just some broad I met at a bar,” I say, knowing full well Bowen won’t want to continue this story now that I mentioned the bar. He’s under strict rules from the wife: no bars without her, no late night drinking and fighting, and under no circumstances is he to talk to other women. Yeah. She’s got him whipped alright.

  “Doesn’t sound like she’s no one. You never go out on dates,” she says. “So. Tell me about her.”

  I sigh as she starts chopping up an onion. The delicious fumes waft into the room. Well, she’s fucking hot as sin, has a rack to kill for, and an ass to suffocate under. She seems nice and, quite frankly, I’d like to drown in that pussy of hers. Her name’s Lena!

  “She’s nice. You know, just some woman in her 20’s. Full of dreams. She’s like a breath fresh air for me.” I cough awkwardly. I hate saying shit like that, even if it’s the truth. I correct myself and say “She’s just someone to pass the time with. It’s probably over now anyway. Never got the lady’s number.”

  “Over my ass,” Bowen laughs and sits down on his leather chair, leaving all the work to his wife. She’s a fucking saint in my eyes, but after seven years of marriage with kids, shit starts to change. Which is why I never want to get married and have children. It’s a death sentence.

  “Language…” she warns.

  “Sorry, hun. Look, I just think you need to find her again. It’s a small enough town. You need a little
escape from those woods.”

  “Whatever.” I finish my beer. “I’ll stay for dinner, but I don’t want to hear any more of that ‘get married, settle down’ crap. I’m good, guys. You don’t need to worry. Honestly.”

  But it’s clear I’m running from something. Maybe it’s the past or maybe it’s a bleak future. All I know is that time has been running quick ever since I got back. I’m 29 and all I got is Bowen and the generous settlement I got from the United States Navy. “Would you like to say grace, Colt?” Arianna, a strict catholic, asks me. Hell no.

  I walk home, taking my usual path into the woods. Yet, something feels different, like the equilibrium of the trees is off. I can’t explain it, but something heavy is hovering above me. Suddenly, I’m going into full SEAL stealth mode, walking as carefully as I can and hoping not to crunch on any leaves on the way.

  When I’m close to my cabin, I have my pistol out in my hand. My porch light is out and it’s supposed to automatically pop on at around 10:30 every night. I squint and see that the bulb is shattered. It’s either raccoons or someone is messing with my place.

  I continue to slowly walk forward, until I’m on the side of the house. The door is propped open slightly and the inside is fucking trashed. All my furniture is turned over, but it’s not even broken. Whoever broke in, clearly just wanted to make a statement and leave.

  I walk inside and flip on the lights. “You’re in the home of a war vet, pal! Speak now if you want to fucking live,” I say, but of course there’s no response. Whoever entered is long gone now.

  I quickly look in each room to make sure, and the coast is clear. Nothing taken. Nothing broken except the light outside. The question is, who the fuck would have done this? As far as I know, I haven’t made any enemies in this town. There’s a lot of rumors floating around, so maybe it’s just kids playing pranks. Still, it’s really fucking creepy seeing everything flipped upside down like this.