by Mj Fields
After washing my face, flossing and brushing my teeth, I walk out and see Brandon on one of the twin beds, sound asleep. There is a perfectly good bed that I could have all to myself, but I don’t want it. I want to be next to my son.
I lie down and pull him closer, holding him and trying not to cry. I want everything for him. Everything.
***
As soon as the vehicle door opens, Brandon is out, his little feet kicking up dirt as he runs up the enormous log...mansion’s porch steps.
When did he learn to unbuckle himself? I love who he’s becoming, but I hate that I have missed it.
I watch him punch in a security code and open one of the huge wooden double-doors
It’s the first time I have seen this place up close and personal. It’s the exact opposite of what Gage and my home was.
“I hope he doesn’t wake Mags,” I say, getting out of the vehicle and hurrying inside.
I watch as he runs up the massive log stairs. Then I briefly glance around, and in this moment, I consider how I never knew the man I deceived for nearly four years.
I shake the thought off. Getting caught up in regret will do nothing for becoming stronger.
I head up the stairs behind my son.
I hear him say, “Um, sorry.”
A wave of nervousness about coming face to face with Gage washes over me. Then I hear an oddly familiar voice.
“It’s okay. You must be Brandon.”
She’s here. She’s here in his home.
I walk in and see her in his bed, while Brandon reaches out to shake the hand of the woman who hit me in anger.
“Brandon, let’s go downstairs.”
“Mom, I was just saying hi to...” He pauses and scratches his waves, cocking his head. “Who are you?”
“She works here,” I tell him.
“Oh,” he says and looks back at her. “So, what do you do?”
“Actually, I rent one of the cabins, and I’m a good friend of Mags, so I’m helping her out. My name is Phoenix, Brandon. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
She reaches out and shakes his hand. I hate it. I hate her. My gut tells me she will make this worse.
“Cool name.” He smiles, and my heart breaks.
“Yours, too,” she tells him.
“So, you sleep in my dad’s bed?” he asks her.
“It’s the most comfortable, and he’s not here, so I thought, why not.” She smiles at him.
“You should have slept in my bed. It’s super cool, and Dad helped me build it.”
“That is super cool,” is her reply.
“Brandon, let’s go see what Grandma and Mags are up to.” I want him away from her.
“Grandma said she wanted to talk to Mags alone, Mom.” He looks away from me to her again. “Wanna see my bed?”
“How about you go make sure it’s still standing after that storm, and I’ll come see it.” She smiles.
He giggles. “Okay, hurry up, Phoenix.”
He runs out of the room, and I stay. Her and I need a chat.
She slides out of the bed and stands in front of me, glaring, wearing a tank top and underwear. I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“Nice underwear. Just a heads-up, Gage prefers lace over Walmart briefs.”
“Thanks.” She shakes her head and turns to walk to what I assume is the bathroom, then turns and looks at me. “He also prefers women who aren’t total fucking cunts.”
I’m no longer allowing people to push me around. Never again.
“You need to get your shit and get out of here. We’re staying to help Mags. We’re family.”
“Lied your way into that position, too, so I hear.”
“Don’t you dare pretend to know a goddamn thing about this family, my family.”
“Don’t you dare pretend I’ll take your shit when that little boy isn’t in this room.”
“Get your shit and hike your ass back to your little fucking rental.”
“You lost him, Juliana; get over it. Leave him alone. Leave me alone.”
Fear, fear of losing Brandon to her, shakes me to the core.
“You think you’re better than me? I did what I had to do.”
“You are a money-grubbing whore.”
“This had nothing to do with money, and everything to do with my little boy.”
“Karma’s a-coming, Juliana. You should be really fucking happy Gage is the man he is.”
Like hell I don’t. “You know nothing about Gage. You have no idea what that man is like. And, little china doll, you aren’t even going to get a chance.”
She comes back at me with her own ethnic dig, “Eat a bean, bitch.” Then she points at the door.
When the door flings open, Gail is standing on the other side, looking angry.
“Ladies, I suggest you keep your tones down. If my grandson hears you, you’ll both answer to me.”
“I’m sorry, Gail.” I am...truly. I don’t want Brand to hurt.
I look down and walk out the door, and Gail shuts the door behind me. I know she will handle it.
I walk down the hall and find a bathroom, where I hope to take a moment to get myself together.
I wash my face with some cool water, exhausted from not sleeping last night while I held Brandon, knowing that I would be sharing him while here, at Gage’s place.
It dawns on me that I haven’t seen Gage and wonder where he may be.
I walk out in the hallway and hear Brandon’s voice, so I follow it. I walk into a room. It’s amazing. Totally amazing. I have no idea how I will compete with all that Gage can give him. And no, it shouldn’t be a competition, but I messed up. I messed up horribly.
“Brandon.”
He looks back. “Yes?”
“Let’s you and I head to town to grab some things.” I hold my hand out to him.
“Can’t I stay? We just got here. Phoenix will watch me.” He smiles up at me.
I hate knowing I’m going to wipe away that smile. “No, Brandon. Let’s go.”
He looks at her, and the look breaks my heart. It’s like he’s looking for an escape from me.
He finally looks back at me and says, “Fine. I’ll be down in a minute.”
I look at Phoenix, hoping she will just do the right thing and leave us alone, but she doesn’t.
“Come see the bathtub. It’s like an acorn shell.” He drags her behind him.
I listen to him, the excitement in his voice.
She laughs. “It does.”
“Dad likes baths. I didn’t until I got this one.”
“I can see why.”
He loved baths when he was a baby. It was always splash time. Both of us ended up drenched after each one. I don’t know when that changed. God, I have missed so much.
I walk out of the room before I start to cry. I need to get it together. I have to. I have no choice.
I hear Mags and Gail downstairs and decide to go face the woman I haven’t been able to thank properly. I’m sure now is not the time or the place, but it needs to be done.
No sooner am I down the stairs, do I hear Brandon coming down them. I stop and turn to look at him, and he rushes right by me and heads to Mags.
He hugs her, and she smiles and squeezes him.
“My boy.”
He throws his thumb over his shoulder at me. “Be back soon.”
“I’ll be waiting.” She smiles and squeezes him tighter.
“Bye, Grandma,” he says, giving Gail a hug next.
As he walks over to Phoenix, I tell Gail, “I’d like to take him into town, if that’s all right.”
She nods and hands me the keys to her vehicle. “Of course.”
“See you later, Phoenix,” he says, shaking her hand.
“See you later, Brandon.”
We walk outside and, as I fumble with the keys, Brandon kicks rocks while looking down.
“Hey, Brandon?”
He looks up. “Brand. My name is Brand when I’m here, and I
’m a big boy.”
I nod. “I know, buddy.”
I open the door and start to lift him. “I can do it, Mom. Geesh.”
“Okay.”
I watch as he pulls himself up and sits in his booster seat. Then he grabs for the seatbelt and struggles with it. I hate seeing him struggle.
I reach to help.
“I got it!”
When he yells at me, I jump. I don’t know why, but I do.
He looks shocked, then sad. “I’m sorry, Mom, I’m sorry.”
I laugh and smile, even though tears are coming. I feel them.
“It’s okay, Brand. I guess even your voice got bigger when I wasn’t around much, huh? Shocked me a little.”
“I got big, Mom, I did.”
When he looks like he may cry, my heart breaks.
I hug him and whisper, “I’m sorry, Brand. I’m really sorry.”
He hugs me tightly around the neck. “It’s okay. I know you had to go to school, Mommy, to get smart like Daddy. I just missed you. Sometimes I think I don’t even know you that much anymore.”
Chapter Eight
Calm Before...Her
Garrett
After a few days of just hanging out, eating, having a few drinks, which I had to convince Gage and Gray wasn’t an issue for me, we finally left my brother’s castle in the sky and went out in public for dinner, then we went to a game. The new Yankees stadium. A place he told me I needed to experience with Brand when I am ready.
“Looking at things through his eyes, man, brings you back to what’s important—family.”
Not long after that, I figured out that it wasn’t that he felt above any of us. He was doing it all—running the business he no more wanted than I did—but his reasoning for not wanting it was a little different. He wanted a simple life. He wanted Falcon’s Landing, and Mags, and yeah, my son. To live a life where he could wake up and, as he said, “Piss off the porch” if he wanted to.
When we got back to his Madison Avenue building, we met the girl he talked about.
Phoenix Star.
That chick hates me. It’s clear. I don’t give a damn, though. Doesn’t shock me in the least. What does shock me is, before Gage pulled her into the building and whisked her away into the elevator, before he asked Gray and I to give him a few minutes, he stuck up for me.
Yeah, shouldn’t shock me, not after learning about what he did in Portugal and all the talking over the past we have done the past few days, but it does. It gives me a little hope, too.
When Gray and I walk into the apartment an hour later, it’s more than obvious he needs more time.
Gray smirks. “Fucker.”
“I suppose he is,” I say.
“I’m gonna head to bed. You good with that?”
I nod. “Gonna do the same thing.”
I head into Brandon’s room, strip down, and stand there, looking in the mirror.
Vegas didn’t do shit for me. I have leaned out. Not that I’m thin, I’m not, but the bulk I carried when I was in the fields, with the horses, actually working and laying off the drugs, I had bulked up.
I look at my nipples. Took eight fucking months for them to heal, longer than it took my dick after the piercing.
I laugh at myself when I think about the fact that I have a metal rod through my junk by choice, and I was fucking sober. Pretty sure I was looking for the pain. Physical pain feels better than the emotional kind. Learned that a long time ago when that old man fucking touched me. That torturous pain went away. The fear of going outside, the fear of looking in the eyes of the person who knew, the nightmares, the hatred and self-loathing, that sticks.
On the day Gage married Juliana, I decided I needed a reality check, and that I didn’t give a fuck that she was pissed. Shit, she fucking ruined everything after what we had said in the heat of the moment. I was never going to let someone destroy me again. My dick was always a problem. So, I fucking paid to have it speared.
“Could take six months to heal,” Kat from Forever Steel told me after I had it done.
“Good,” I said, sitting up.
“Means no fucking,” she added.
“Good.” I pulled on my track pants then threw down some Benjamins. “Anyone asks, I wasn’t here.”
“Fine by me,” she said, cleaning up the tools she used.
I sold my Hellcat for pennies on the dollar and bought a Harley and some tags so I didn’t have to register the fucking thing from my thug friends that not only watched, but had a hand in Juliana’s house burning down; all brought on by them thinking I was someone else. Fucking ruined lives. Not that those people deserved to live. They didn’t. Then I rode west.
Burner phones kept me in contact with home. I would contact Gray when I knew I would be leaving in a couple days to wire me money. Called home on holidays and spent a damn year fucked up and running.
One year, I kept a fucking promise to a girl who destroyed what was left of my shitty life. A girl who took everything good from me. A girl who Gage pulled away from me, thinking he was doing the right thing by me. A girl who fucked my brother because I said some shit in fear, in anger, that I didn’t even have a moment to recant.
Fuck her.
Fuck her and her bullshit love, her bullshit forever, her bullshit “I owe you everything,” fuck her and her goddamn light brown eyes and her round, little ass.
Fuck her and fuck them all. That was all I could think about while I was gone.
I shake my head as I look down at my dick. “Fucked you up good for seven months. Nothing touched you. Kept my promise to a girl who didn’t deserve it, until a week after Brandon was born.”
I expected something—the fucking truth to come out of her lying little lips. It never did. So, for the next year, I allowed women to drop to their knees, unbutton my pants, and I loved when they fucking gasped at the sight of me.
I look down again and tell my dick, “Didn’t know you’d make even a fucking whore blush and salivate.”
I grab my toothbrush and squirt some paste on it. Then, as I brush my teeth, I consider how fucking lucky I was that second year. Smoked everything in sight, snorted anything I could crush up, and popped pills like they were candy. Every fucking drug I could get my hands on, I did. Luckily, I still have my fucking teeth, unlike many of the men I hung with. Lucky I had my life, not that I cared then.
Year three, I was off the pills and smoke. Booze was my bitch and barflies were my whores. Why? I found her on social media. Saw her looking fucking amazing. Not amazing if you liked done-up versions of your mother. I never did. But amazing because she looked thicker, healthier, and had the happiest little boy on her lap at a birthday party. I was happy for her, for him, but hell if that was enough.
I moved from town to town if shit got bad, and it often did. How fucked up is it that, when word spreads that you are hung like a horse, fuck like a wild mustang, and have a spear in your cock, women, even married women, beg for a ride? Most of them got it in the ass.
Yep, in the ass. Never thought I would do it. Not after...Not after all the shit in my past. But here’s the thing about pain. You stub your toe, it hurts. Slam your hand in a car door, that stubbed toe was nothing. Get abused as a kid by a now dead man, horrific. Get your heart fucking ripped out, stomped on, have a kid you can’t touch because he isn’t yours and every motherfucker you ever thought was on your side is gunning for you, well...let’s just say that dead men ain’t shit.
Every woman I fucked in the ass was her. Every woman I gagged with my dick was her. Everyone I left behind because they got a little attached, they were fucking her, too.
When some test popped up that Gage wasn’t Brandon’s father, he booted her ass.
I stayed clean for a few weeks, waiting, just waiting for the call to come get my kid. But, Gage never knew he was mine.
When I heard from Gray that she was tossing back pills, washing them down with booze, and having men over while Brandon was there, and that Gage got emergency custo
dy, I waited again for my name to be spilled. Again, didn’t happen.
When she went off to school to get her shit together, I waited then, too. Still didn’t happen.
She knew I was shit. I was so sure he had told her all about me. Then she was living with a fucking doctor. I stayed the fuck away, and then I got lost again.
A big fat check from Gray made Vegas possible. Every fucking whore I could get my hands on and dick in became her again.
Once her hero, one fucking wrong time to show her who I really was, and less than five hours later, she had found another one.
I fucked up. I did. I should have been man enough to step up, but I wasn’t. Hell, I don’t even know how I can now, but Gage assures me that I have time. Time to get to know Brand. Time to be a part of his life. Time to grow into who I am meant to be.
Fucker has more faith in me than I deserve.
I will be damned if I’m going to let the fucking self-doubting voice in my head that has fucked with me since I was eleven, win.
The man who buried it there was not Gage, not my brother. The man who buried it in there was fucking dead, and I was free because of Gage. That right there is what I am going to hold on to.
Gage told us the other night that he wanted to be a better man, better than my father, to be present, and I want that, too.
God help me because, if I fail, if I fucking fail, it isn’t going to be only me who is destroyed. It will be a little boy who I don’t know, yet love enough to have stayed the hell away from.
No more.
Listening to the headboard knock, the moans, the fucking groans from down the hall, that doesn’t help me sleep one bit. It makes me think of her.
No woman got me for more than half an hour unless she was paid by the hour. Hell, half of them tagged out, and yeah, I let them.
Juliana, she got the naive little punk who thrived on seeing her face when she came. Watched her every expression to make sure he was making her feel good and not dirty. Juliana got as close to making love as a fucked-up punk could give. Hours and fucking hours of it, every fucking day, unless she was bleeding. Hell, I fucked her then, too, but in the shower, the bath, and that one time when we went fishing, in the ocean.
Gage must think this bitch—Phoenix—is something special.
