by Shey Stahl
Nodding, I stare at the black cup in my hand. “I was thinking maybe Valentino’s.” My voice shakes around the words. “Would that be okay?”
“Yes, that’s perfect.” My chest hurts with her smile, burns even, my lungs screaming for a breath when she smiles. She wants meaning in this, in us, but I have no idea if it’s too late. Have I caused too much pain?
I hear my mom before I see her, her humming traveling around the house. She walks beside me, her hands on my shoulders seeming at ease. “So you guys are going to dinner tonight, right?”
Sophie nods. “Is that still okay?”
Mom grins and faces Lyric. “I love time with little L.”
I smile weakly, unsure what to do or say. Lyric fusses in his seat, a scowl on his face as he slaps the tray.
“He’s hungry,” Sophie mumbles and pulls out a box of pancakes from the cupboard.
She makes pancakes and I sit at the table with my coffee and my cell phone, twirling it in my hand. Pulling up the Garage Bank app, I show it to Lyric to keep him company.
He takes a look at the piano on the screen and presses the white button with a chubby little index finger determined. We play with the app for a while before Sophie sets a plate of pancakes on the table. Taking one from the pile, she sits down next to him blowing on it before breaking off tiny pieces onto his tray.
He looks at the pancake pieces, then to Sophie, then grins at me when I slide my phone away. Focusing on one of the pieces, he picks it up and then shoves it in his mouth, along with his entire fist.
“Wow, he really likes pancakes.”
Sophie laughs when Lyric smacks his hand down on the table making a “Mmmm” sound and trying to grab the plate. He’s got about four small pieces in front of him but he’s like me and sees the whole pancake. He wants that, not the smaller pieces.
“He’s never had pancakes until today,” she tells me, watching him stuff the last four pieces in his mouth. When he’s finished, he licks his whole fist with a big grin.
It’s right then when I glance up at Sophie, both of us smiling at our son experiencing something for the first time, I see what this life with them could be like. Morning breakfast together, parents smiling at one another as their child experiences life and his first moments. In this second, my heart swells at the possibilities to come.
Mom comes up behind us and places three more pancakes on the plate in front of us. My eyes widen slightly when she then puts them on a plate for me. I’ve been home for four days now and I don’t think I’ve eaten this much in the last year.
“Are you going to get fitted today?” Mom asks me, running her hand through my hair as she sits down next to me, her own cup of coffee in hand.
I nod, my eyes on Sophie when I say, “Yeah, I’m gonna swing by there today.”
“Fitted for what?” Sophie asks, breaking off tiny pieces for Lyric as he slaps his hands for more pancake. She looks confused, and I remember I haven’t told her what Red asked me. I wasn’t even sure I told my mom, but maybe I did.
“A tux.”
Silence spreads over the table and we’re locked in a stare, a familiar one. “Lane can’t make it so Red needs me to fill in.”
She sputters on a response as her cheeks warm. “Oh, that’s nice of you.”
I wonder if she realizes I’ll be walking down the aisle with her, in a completely different way I thought I would be. I wonder then how she’s going to feel about it, my hand in hers, together, and if she thinks about what the future means.
When Sophie moves from the table, Mom whispers in my ear, “She looks like you… tired and hurting.”
I could say something to it, I should say something, but I don’t.
I MAKE IT to Franklin’s and get fitted for a tux while everyone else is at work, and then I mess with a few songs I’ve been writing. Before I know it, it’s nearing four and I know I need to get ready to leave for dinner. Sophie sent me a text earlier in the day telling me to meet her at the restaurant since she’d be a little late tonight.
I’m at the restaurant, a corner table near the back when she walks in wearing a dress that clings to her small frame in all the right places. She’s fucking beautiful and I’m immediately reminded why I kept coming back to her all these years.
There’s something off about her, though; it’s in her eyes, which I always notice first. She looks at me when she’s at the table, eyes gliding over my features when she hands me an envelope.
My pulse beats fast. Her blue eyes drift over my face before pausing on my own gaze.
Silent communication between us takes over as I stare at what she handed me.
I know what is it when I read the words. Voluntary Termination of Parental Rights.
Sam. He did this. Or Nick did. Either way, they’re behind it.
I watch her as she sits, trying to mask what’s really going through her head. I want to frame her cheeks and tell her lips this means nothing and it’s all lies. I want to whisper my promise that I wouldn’t, couldn’t do this, assure her I’m in it, but I can’t. I’m frozen in silence.
“What the hell is this, Rawley? Is this what you wanted to talk about tonight? What is this?” she questions again, swallowing hard.
I take a deep breath, feeling like I’m suffocating. “I don’t know. Where did you get it from?”
“I was served with them about twenty minutes ago as I was leaving work. What do you mean, you don’t know?” she questions angrily, ripping the envelope from my hand and points to my name. “It says right here, in not so many words, you’re signing off your parental rights to our son.”
I’m nothing but harsh breaths and silent words, my throat so dry I’m afraid I can’t get what I need out. “I didn’t draw those papers up. I swear.”
Her chest expands with a breath and it’s like she’s sucked the air from the room on me. Her voice is quieter this time. “And I’m supposed to believe you?”
Am I a fucking hypocrite for wanting her to?
She glares at me, my heart splitting in my chest, mismatched beats and the itch to destroy this entire building until she sees I didn’t do this. I’m trapped under her fixed stare.
My throat is painfully tight, raw as I try to swallow what’s before me and the worthless way I complicate things for her. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t,” I say, dropping my eyes to the table.
“You’re lying,” she interjects, pushing through the fog of my thoughts. “That’s all you do.”
“Funny you should say that.” She’s hurt and angry, but so am I.
“Go to hell.”
My heart hammers and my confidence breaks. “Pretty sure I’m already there.”
“Just be honest, you never wanted to be a part of our lives, did you?”
“You know, how could you fucking think that after this morning?” I remind her bitterly.
She shifts closer. Her lids lower, my heart pounding so loud, so fast. “You wanted me to hate you, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
I’m aware of everything around us, the people, the watchful stares burning into our backs. I stand up, reaching for her hand. “Let’s take this outside.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to take me outside, fuck me one last time before you run again?” The distress in her face, the hurt, anger, everything I’ve ever caused her crashes down on me. “Because we both know that’s what you’re going to do now. I signed the papers. Do what you want with it. You’re free.”
My gaze shows my weakness, a wave of watery pain surfacing for her. I don’t say anything.
I can’t.
My hands curl into fists and I nod. I want to fucking kill Sam and Nick. Disappointment settles over me and I sigh loudly. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I didn’t tell them to do this. I wouldn’t.”
“You haven’t changed one bit, have you?” She’s shouting, her tone harsh and angry, wounds I’ve created ripping wide open with raw agony. The planes of her face, her expression, she hates me now, again, m
aybe always. It’s a side I never truly saw until this moment. She’s burning inside and out and ready to ignite everything.
I swallow down the tears I won’t let run. “Why won’t you believe me?”
“How does this guy even know about Lyric?”
“I told him. He’s my manager. I was talking to him Saturday about the band… I don’t….” My hands find my hair in frustration. “He must have thought I wanted that, but I don’t. I didn’t tell him that.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not! I love you. I… I want to be a part of his life, and yours,” I say, looking at the agony in her eyes. I didn’t want to tell her this way, but I can’t stop the words from escaping my trembling lips.
Her lashes flicker in shock. “If you love me, you wouldn’t have done this!” She shoves the papers to my chest. “This isn’t love, Rawley. This is once again you throwing Mexico in my face.
My face hardens. “I’m fucking standing here, Sophie. Do you really think I would have signed away my parental rights and still be here? I would have left town immediately and wouldn’t have taken you to a fucking candlelit dinner!”
She walks away and this time, I know I’ve lost her. For how long, I don’t know because forever is unthinkable. My hands shake as I bring them to cover my face. I swallow, my jaw sore, violence heavy in my head, every action irreversible, unforgivable and miserable.
Sadness lingers inside my chest. How could she think I would do this?
The moment the door shuts, my own anger surges, the need to inflict pain somewhere other than where it resides, inside of me and I take the table we were just sitting at and flip it over sending wine glasses, plates and silverware flying toward the wall.
There’s a couple dining across from where we were sitting who jump in their seats. I don’t say anything to them. I can’t. I’m ready to drive to Seattle and kill Sam and Nick for doing this. Shaking with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I kick the chairs over and when I turn around, my brother is standing there.
“What the hell?” His massive arms are outstretched in a “what the fuck?” manner as he stalks toward me. “What are you doing to Tony’s restaurant? Calm down.”
“Of course you’re here! You’re always here! This is none of your business.”
“It’s my business when you start destroying Tony’s place. Knock it off.” My hurt, it finds a target and I push him. It’s his breaking point.
Without thinking, he honors his last warning when he told me if I ever pushed him again, he’d fuckin’ deck me.
I don’t even try to deflect the hit. I take it like I fucking deserve it, because I do right then. It knocks me against the wall and I slide down it. Not because I can’t stand but because I don’t want to anymore.
I smile, wiping the back of my hand over my bleeding mouth, more blood pooling in my cheek. “Happy now? You’ve wanted to do that your entire life, haven’t you?”
And then I laugh, because I can’t fucking help it. Nothing about this is funny. Nothing.
Tony comes out of the kitchen, eyes wide at the scene before him. “Uh, we’re closed for the night. Dinners on me.” And then he begins to usher everyone out of the restaurant, and I feel even more like shit that I’ve ruined everyone’s night again.
Let’s face it. This is me. It’s what I do. Ruin everything.
I attempt to get up but my body won’t allow it, and my arms give out against the wall. “I’m just going to stay down here, where I belong. On the goddamn floor.” And then I laugh to the point where I’m the brunt of my own sick joke.
Red glances at the papers on the ground, then to me. “What the fuck is this?”
“Why are you even here? Why are you always around when I’m at my worst?”
“I was here because they’re catering my fucking wedding in three days, you little shit.” And then he points to the door with an angry jab. “I warned you not to break her heart and you did it, again. So tell me what the hell this shit is!”
“I don’t know.” I run my hands through my hair, shaking my head and then grip a fistful of hair. “I don’t fucking know.”
He reads through the papers and then glares at me. “You signed over your parental rights to Lyric?”
I laugh again. “Do you honestly think I’d do that?” And he gives me that look, the one he always gives me and the reason why he’s always so much better than me. “You know what”—I wave my hand around—“don’t answer that. I know the answer.”
“If you didn’t, who did?”
“Sam. My manager.”
Tony walks back in after locking the doors and sits down at a table with a bottle of wine. He eyes the wine, then stands up. “This won’t do.”
Red and I both look to one another and shrug, but within a minute, Tony returns from the kitchen with a bottle of what looks to be bourbon and sets in on the table. “You two look like you could use a drink.”
I crawl over to the table since it’s only a few feet away and reach for one of the three shot glasses. Standing up, I slide into the chair across from Tony.
Red pulls out a chair, dragging it slowly over the tile floor and then sits, tossing the papers on the table. Reaching for his own shot glass, we take two shots each in complete silence.
“So how’d this come about then?” Red nods to the papers when he sets his shot glass down for a third time with a thud.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I talked to Nick on Saturday, or Sunday, I don’t remember. Anyway, I was asking about the schedule and he told me we had five shows left on our contract with him. I told him I was a father now and told him my high school girlfriend was the mother. I didn’t even know he knew about Sophie.”
“That’s all he said?”
“Well, he said, we’ll take care of it… but I thought he was talking about the remaining shows and that we could possibly work something out where I didn’t have to be gone so much.”
“If that’s true and this guy went behind your back, you can’t trust him.”
I laugh again and pour myself another shot. “I know I can’t, but I signed a contract.”
Red blows out a breath, his hand running down his jaw like he’s honestly trying to find a way to help me out. “Do you know anyone in the industry who can help you with how to get out of the contract or maybe see what to do about this?”
I think back to Dylan and how adamant he was that we not sign with Sam, but we did. “I could call Dylan. He’s the owner of the bar we play in a lot. I think he’s had some run ins with Sam too.”
Red nods. “Okay, call him and see what he can do. I’ll talk to Sophie. She’ll believe me.”
I don’t want him talking to her. I want to tell her and have her believe me, but I know that’s not going to happen.
Tony, who’s remained quiet throughout all this, looks around his restaurant. “In the end, only three things matter: how much you love, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of the things not meant for you.”
Red and I both stare at him, and Red shakes his head taking the bottle of bourbon from him as he stands. “Why, every time you drink bourbon, do you quote Buddha?”
Tony shrugs. “Not sure.” He gestures to me with a nod and then to the destruction on the floor. “But you’re not leaving until this place is cleaned up.”
“I will. I’ll pay for what I broke too.” I point to the kitchen. “Is there a broom in there?”
Tony shows me where the broom is and a mop, and I spend the next hour thinking of what I’m going to do to convince Sophie I didn’t do this, and how to deal with Sam and Nick as I clean up my mess. It’s not lost on Red that this is the first time I’ve struck around to clean up a mess I’ve made and he catches me at the door as I’m leaving, his hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re trying. Hopefully we can make her see the truth.”
“I hope so too.”
“You can’t change your past, but if you want a future with Sophie and your son
, you’ve got to change your reactions to what you say and do.”
I was dumb to think any of this would be easy. I was, but as I’m leaving, Sophie’s not the only one on my mind. It’s Lyric and the gutted feeling of him ever thinking I didn’t want him.
WHEN I GET back to the house, it’s late, really late. Mostly because I rode around town for hours. I didn’t want to show back up at the house and have Sophie awake. Mostly because I didn’t want her to feel awkward.
It’s nearing one in the morning and I check my cell phone as I’m walking inside the house. I sent a message to Dylan telling him I needed to talk to him. He said he’d called around one when the bar closed.
I’m careful as I make my way upstairs, both Sophie and Lyric’s door are closed and it’s a hit to my heart, a reminder I’m not part of their lives and may never be again. I want so badly to open his door and tell him I’ll never leave him.
And I want to open Sophie’s and hold her, and promise to never be the monster I once was. I can let go, and I will for her. I will.
My phone vibrates in my hand and Dylan’s number flashes over the screen. Swiping my finger across the screen, I wait until I’m in my room with the door closed before I answer it. “Hey.”
“Hey, man, what’s up?” he says, his voice just as quiet, but it seems like it’s from being tired, if I had to guess. Not only does he have a bar he’s running, he has a wife and a kid himself.
“I’ve got a problem with Sam.”
Dylan’s quiet for a moment and then says, “Well, I would say I told you so but I don’t think you need to hear that right now.”
I don’t. He’s right. I go through everything that happened with my boys after the show last week, which he already knew about because he’s the one that called Sam and cancelled the two shows this week. I tell him about Lyric and what I said to Nick about it and how he sent those papers to Sophie.
I tell him everything from what happened with Sophie before I left, to now, and he listens. For an hour.
After a long pause, Dylan draws in a deep breath. “I’m not sure what you want to hear here, man, but I’ll do what I can with Sam. You gotta honor the contract you have with him. I’m speaking from personal experience here. He’ll fuck your career up forever if you don’t.”
