by Dahlia West
Pop jerked his chin at Dalton while looking at Adam. “You see the mess your brother’s gotten himself into.”
Adam gaped at him.
The old man stabbed a finger at Adam. “One’s enough,” he said firmly. “Keep it in your pants, boy.”
Adam stared after the man as he turned and went back into his room. He gazed for a while at the grain on the door frame until he finally turned around.
Dalton made a face. “He thinks I’m the father of Z’s baby. It’s okay. I let him think it.”
Adam stared at him. “Z?”
Dalton shrugged and picked up the phone. “I’ll call for pizza,” he declared as he headed back down the hall. Calla and Zoey were pretty engrossed in their conversation by this time and barely acknowledged him.
“Dalton,” said Adam, following him into the kitchen. “Listen, I know that things are…” He turned to look at the girls. “A little messed up right now. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea to-”
Dalton held up a hand to silence his brother as he proceeded ordered several large pizzas for delivery. Adam continued to frown at him. When he finally finished ordering, he hung up and said, “We should invite Jonah over.” He started to dial Jonah’s cell.
“He won’t come,” Adam replied.
Dalton frowned. “I know it’s hard to be around Pop when he’s like this, but we’re still a family.”
Adam shook his head. “That’s not why.”
“Then what?”
Instead of answering, Adam jerked his chin indicating something beyond Dalton’s shoulder. He turned to look. From the hallway, Ava and Sienna had emerged from Ava’s bedroom, this time they were both fully dressed.
“Ah, shit,” Dalton muttered. “Didn’t think about that. So how long are we going to dance around that?”
Adam shrugged. “No idea and it’s not our business.”
“True,” Dalton replied, but he still didn’t like it. He liked Sienna well enough, he supposed, from what little he knew of her. Dalton and Adam had been long gone and on their own by the time Sienna and her mother moved into the little house across the yard. He hoped Jonah worked his shit out sooner rather than later though, because Dalton was back in the family now and he didn’t want to miss a minute of being with them.
They stayed most of the day, Calla and Zoey chatting over pepperoni slices and ginger ale until Zoey began to yawn.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” she said, covering her mouth.
Calla laughed. “Don’t worry about it. If I had to carry around a whole ‘nother person, I’d just never get out of bed.”
Zoey smiled. “It’s not that bad,” she said rubbing her belly. “And he’s a good one.”
Dalton gathered their coats, helping Zoey to slip hers on. “We’ll be over for dinner some night this week,” he told Adam and Calla. Calla grinned at Zoey as they were leaving and Dalton ignored Adam’s noncommittal response.
Back at the apartment, he settled Zoey into his bed for a nap. As much as he would have liked to head to the garage, he decided to stay a moment instead. He lowered himself onto the comforter and moved in close to her. She turned toward him in her sleep, her belly pressing against his side. Dalton reached out and rested his hand on it. He only had to wait a few seconds before he felt a kick. He rubbed at the spot reassuringly.
“Sorry you have a prick for a Dad,” he said quietly. “My dad’s one of the good ones, but he’s slipping away from us.”
Dalton was surprised at how much easier it was to talk about it. He seemed to be getting used to saying things out loud. It had started with his share at the meeting and he didn’t seem to be able to stop it these days. Zoey didn’t need to know about any of this, though. God knew she had enough things to worry about already. He supposed that it was alright to tell the baby, though. The baby certainly didn’t understand it, so Dalton wasn’t really adding to anyone’s burden.
“He was a good dad,” Dalton said quietly. “I mean he still is a good dad, but he was good when I was growing up, too. He was tough, but he was always around, you know? And he used to say all this random stuff, but it always stayed with me. Like, ‘If you take ten cents or ten dollars for a job, you do that job to the best of your ability.’ He was big on that kind of thing, making your own way, being honest. He used to say a man was only as good as the name he made for himself. I don’t know,” he mused. “My name’s lost most of its value these days, or at least it seems like it, but I’m working on it.”
He rubbed the curve of Zoey’s belly gently. “It’s hard to miss someone that’s still here. You see them, but you can’t really talk to them. They can’t be what you need anymore, but you still have to go on holding up your end. I guess your mom went through enough of that. You won’t remember, though. You’ll never have to know. You won’t even have your dad’s name. That’s probably a good thing. Maybe names aren’t all that important. I don’t know, really. I’ve only ever been a Stark. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.”
Chapter Twenty
Dalton was a little tired on the job site the next day, but found that he didn’t mind so much now that he had something to go home to. He slowed his work pace though, despite the dirty looks the foreman shot him all day. Dalton didn’t care. They needed him too badly to do anything about it and if he got hurt again he’d be no good to anyone, not Zoey or his boss.
He’d ground himself down to the bone for months now working faster— and better— than anyone else on site. But that kind of effort really wasn’t sustainable and he had other priorities now. There was making Amends and then there was being taken advantage of, and his bosses were long past the latter in Dalton’s opinion. Money was still an issue, of course, and would be for the foreseeable future. Zoey hadn’t asked for any, but he’d find a way to give her whatever she needed. She deserved that much from him, at least.
His shift finally ended long after the sun had set, another late night. He had figured it would be and so he’d texted Zoey after lunch and told her not to wait up, but the apartment lights were on when he pulled up. He hustled inside to beat the cold, stomping out his boots on the rug. Zoey got up from the couch and slid her arms around him. She looked happy to see him, but slightly irritated.
“How can they work you this hard?” she asked, snuggling into his chest to get him warmed up.
“I screwed them over plenty in the past, plus they agreed to pay cash.”
She looked up at him. “Dalton! You can’t do that!”
“Plenty of guys do. It’s only temporary,” he assured her. “I’m locked out of the union for another six months.”
She gaped at him. “Another six months! Dalton, that’s insane!”
He shrugged. “I can deal with anything for six months.” He would’ve pointed out that he’d made it longer without her after they’d broken up, but it seemed corny to say out loud. Instead he looked past her and into the kitchen. “You made dinner?”
She grinned. “Yep. Beef stew.”
“Smells awesome.”
As he washed up, she said, “I went to the store. Got us some things.”
She hesitated and he glanced at her. “What?” he prompted.
She sighed. “He canceled my credit cards.”
Dalton glowered. “Christ.”
“Which is no big deal to him, I guess,” she said bitterly. “He pays cash for everything.”
“But you’re broke?”
She nodded. “So he says. Or maybe he just wants to know every single thing I buy.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to be using them anyway. I’ll leave some cash before I head out tomorrow. You can go back and pick up anything you didn’t get.”
Zoey frowned. “I’ll pay you back.”
He dried his hands and tweaked her nose as he grinned. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But Dalton-”
“You’re going to let me eat the food, right?” he said, cutting her off.
“Obviously.”
&
nbsp; “So, don’t worry about it.”
He set the table as Zoey brought over a large bowl of stew and a ladle. She set it next to the Poinsettia on a placemat to protect the table’s beautiful wax finish. Dalton smiled. He had always liked that about her. Zoey could have had anything she wanted. God knew she’d grown up used to getting almost anything she wanted, but she respected what he gave her and that had always made him feel good.
It wasn’t a big family affair, so they skipped grace and went straight for the meal.
“God, this is amazing,” he said around a mouthful. Until that moment he hadn’t realized precisely how much he hated frozen burritos. He caught Zoey’s gaze across the table. “Thank you.”
She grinned and nodded. “It’s sad that a meat and potatoes man can’t make either.”
Dalton bristled. “I can grill a steak, but it’s thirty degrees outside, Woman!
She wrinkled her nose. “I know. It’s freezing.”
He made a mental to note to grab an extra blanket from the closet before they went to bed.
They finished the meal and he put the dishes in the washer. Zoey put on the same romantic comedy they hadn’t been able to finish the last time. Despite her enthusiasm for the chick flick, she still didn’t manage it this time either. She nodded off practically before the opening credits were finished, settling into a sweet but pretty unladylike snore.
Building a baby must be hard work, he thought.
Dalton was stuck on the couch at least until the movie was over. He didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t really mind, though. Instead of watching the movie, he counted the baby’s kicks as Zoey leaned against him. It was more entertaining anyway. Dalton had to admit the kid was tough. He’d make a great football player someday, no doubt about it. He was sure active for a little guy.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Dalton told him quietly. “You’re not a kicker. You’re a linebacker.”
The baby objected.
Dalton pressed back lightly on the spot. “Trust me, kid. You don’t want to be a kicker. Our kicker was a scrawny dude with arms like twigs. He scored, but big deal, so do receivers. Scoring isn’t everything.” He felt a knock to his palm and frowned deeply. “Have you been talking to your mother? Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know anything about football. What’d she tell you? That I didn’t score? I’ll have you know, I did score once. There was a fumble and I scooped it up and just hopped right over the line. Didn’t take much, but you’d think I invented the wheel. They picked me up, carried me around.”
The baby nudged him.
“What? True story, bro. I am not embellishing. This totally happened. Anyway it was better than being Prom King. Especially after the game. There was this little cheerleader. Her name was Kelli— with an ‘i’— anytime they spell their name funky like that you’re in for a good time, by the way. Anyway, she was a cheerleader and probably into gymnastics too because… you know what? I’ll finish this story when you’re older.”
The baby gave an indignant kick.
“Don’t give me any lip, boy. I’m…” He paused. “I’m the adult and what I say goes. Your mom is the only girl we need to worry about. And she’s tired. So we should put her to bed soon.”
After a while the kicks subsided. Babies in the womb slept, he’d read, and clearly the little guy was tired, too. Dalton’s own eyelids felt like lead weights. He tried to fight it, but they slid down one final time and he couldn’t muster the strength to open them again. He heard Zoey breathing next to him and on the television, people who’d only just met were declaring themselves the happiest people in the world. Dalton knew better. He was happier.
The baby thumped him one final time.
“Go to sleep,” Dalton muttered.
Chapter Twenty-One
“It’s nice having meals I don’t have to cook,” Dalton said.
Adam lifted an eyebrow at him. “Can you actually eat anything you ‘cook’?” he asked while curling his fingers.
“Air quotes are for douchebags,” Dalton replied. “And no, you can’t eat anything I cook, but you can sit on a chair I make, which is way more useful than your chicken scratches.”
“Hey! That’s my art!”
“Is it ‘art’ if you use crayons?”
“They’re colored pencils! And who’s the douchebag?”
Dalton grinned. “Colored pencils. So… slightly more advanced than Kindergarten?”
Adam opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready with a comeback, but he frowned suddenly as Zoey came out of the bathroom. She smiled at everyone.
“You’re not at your parents?” Adam asked her.
“Hey,” Dalton admonished.
“Just seems to make the most sense, is all,” Adam replied. “Seems like it’d be more their responsibility.”
Dalton couldn’t believe his ears. “Zoey is not just a responsibility! And I don’t know-”
“Dalton?”
Everyone turned at the sound of Pop’s voice coming from the master bedroom down the hall.
“Dalton is that you?”
Dalton glared at Adam while he responded, “Yeah, Pop. It’s me.”
“Come here,” Pop ordered.
Dalton was caught between obeying his dad and kicking his older brother’s ass.
“Dalton!”
“Coming!” Dalton replied, throwing Adam a cautionary glance. “Be right back,” he said to Zoey as he headed off in that direction. When he got to the master bedroom, he turned the knob and stepped inside, stopping in his tracks. “Jesus, Pop!”
“Shut the door!” the old man said while gripping the .38 tightly.
“Pop!” Dalton cried and glanced back down the hall. Making too much noise might bring one of the girls, Zoey, Calla, Ava, any one of them could come in here and any one of them might not make it back out if they did.
“Give me the gun, Pop!” Dalton demanded firmly, but quietly.
“That’s what I’m trying to do, Dalton.”
The old man’s voice was so strained, so soft that Dalton let go of the doorknob and moved toward him. “What’s… what’s going on?”
Pop grasped the barrel, let go of the grip, and handed the piece to Dalton with the muzzle pointing away from either of them. “I need you to take this,” he said.
Confused, but wanting to secure the weapon, Dalton took it slowly, slipping his finger between the trigger and the guard to prevent an accidental discharge. “Pop what’s going on?” he repeated.
“Sit down.”
Not many of the talks that Dalton had with the old man over the years had ever been very good, especially not the ones that started out that way. Growing up he’d listened uncomfortably while Pop, at Mom’s behest, explained how girls got in the ‘family way’ and how Dalton would have a red ass (and a new wife) if that ever happened. And then there was that time he’d ‘borrowed’ the car. None of the talks had ever involved weaponry, though.
Pop sighed as Dalton sat down on the mattress. “I don’t want it here,” he told Dalton. “I can’t have it here. I’m getting worse.”
“Pop-”
“I know it. You don’t have to sugar coat it. A man can’t hide from the truth, not if he’s a real man.” He reached out and picked up a framed photograph of Mom sitting on the nightstand. “I miss her,” he said quietly. “I miss her so goddamn much that it feels like a huge wound inside me, one that won’t ever heal.”
Dalton nodded. He knew that wound. He’d felt its raw ache a few times in his life.
“I’m gonna see her again,” Pop declared. “I will. But if that’s here,” he said, nodding to the gun in Dalton’s hand. “If that’s here, I might realize it. I might have that one moment, that one moment of weakness, and try to do it myself.”
“God, Pop.”
“It can’t happen that way,” Pop said fiercely. “It can’t. If I’m ever gonna see her again, and the Lord above knows I don’t deserve it, but if I’m ever gonna at least have a chance, Dalton, I’ve got to s
ee this thing through to the end.” Pop ran his wrinkled thumb over Mom’s smile. “There are things a man’s afraid of, Dalton. And you’re a goddamn fool if you try to act like there aren’t things in this world that terrify the shit out of you, things like losing your mind, drooling all over yourself, wearing a diaper. But the thing I’m most afraid of is never seeing her again.”
“You don’t believe that,” Dalton argued. Pop had gone to church, but it had appeared to be only to appease Mom. He’d loved her so much he’d given up a part of every Sunday for forty years to make her happy. If that wasn’t love, Dalton didn’t know what was, but Pop had never struck him as a True Believer.
“She did,” Pop argued. “She believed it. And I’ll admit I don’t know what I believe, but if she was right, if there’s even a chance… Well, it’s a chance I won’t take.”
Dalton nodded, but kept his true feelings to himself. He wouldn’t let Pop go out like that, raving, undignified. Mom believed a lot of things and that was her choice, but Dalton refused to believe in a God that would let a good man be brought so low at the end of his journey. He would’ve spared Mom her pain, too, as she lay dying in this very room a few months ago, but in the end it had been taken care of for him.
“I’ll hold on to it,” he told Pop, checking the chamber. It was loaded, sure enough. He stood up and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. When it was secure, he clapped Pop on the shoulder. “I love you,” Dalton told him.
Pop’s withered hand patted his own. “You’re a good boy,” he replied. “And you know I love you.”
Back at the apartment, Dalton slipped the gun into his sock drawer. He didn’t really have a need for it, but it seemed wrong to sell it. After all, it wasn’t his. It was Pop’s, even if Dalton was just holding on to it. Though Dalton knew the Pop would never get it back, selling it seemed too permanent. He acknowledged that Pop was getting worse, but he wasn’t ready to accept it or start acting as though the old man was already in the ground. The gun would stay right where it was for a good long while. He closed the drawer quietly and got undressed in the dark.
