Coast (Kick Push Book 2) (The Road 3)

by Jay McLean

  “Tommy!” Ella says.

  “Nanni, No!”

  I find my feet, and aim for the door, my heart a shattered mess in the hands of a little boy who’d declared me his Becca.

  I feel like an outsider again, looking out through the gaps of the curtains from a room that’s no longer mine, in a house that’s no longer mine, and a world that will never be mine.

  “Becca,” Ella says, grasping my forearm. “Please stay. We need to talk.”

  I can’t talk, I want to yell. But I can’t. So instead, I nod and make myself useful, cleaning up the mess I’d helped create in the kitchen. I try to ignore the ache in my chest, the doubts in my mind, but they’re there. They’re there and they won’t go away. And no matter how hard I scrub on the counter, my tears blurring my vision and my breaths strained, they’re fucking there.

  Ella’s hand lands on my arm, and I flinch. I quickly wipe my tears, turning away from her to hide my pain. “Tommy’s asleep,” she says, her voice soft. “His little outburst wore him out.”

  I nod, still refusing to look at her.

  “He didn’t mean what he said,” she says, gripping my hand to stop me from scrubbing. With gentle hands, she forces me to face her. “He’s dealing with a lot of changes in his life and he’s been lashing out at everyone.” Her words are faded, lost amongst the pulse drumming in my ears.

  I stare ahead, unable to respond.

  It’s not until she raises both her hands that I seem to refocus. She smiles, right before she signs, “Are you okay?”

  My eyes snap to hers—to clear, dark eyes filled with hope and understanding.

  “How…” I mouth.

  She points to my hands, encouraging me with a nod.

  I sign, “You know ASL?”

  “J O S H,” she signs. Then speaks, “He tried to learn on YouTube but it was hard because he had no one to tell him if he was doing it right, so he asked if we could take classes together. We go once a week over at the community college… but because of his travel, he doesn’t get to go much and so I try to teach him what he’s missed out on.” Her hands move again, signing, “I hope I’m doing it right.”

  “You are,” I sign back.

  Ella nods, her gentle smile reaching her eyes as she leans against the counter. Then she says, “Josh is so happy you’re back in his life, Becca. It’s like he’d just been going through the motions, you know? After his dad passed away, it was like he was doing everything because he felt like he needed to, for Henry… but then you came back around and it’s as if he found his purpose again. His joy.” She pauses a beat before adding, “I hope I’m not coming on too strong, or making you want to run and hide. I know it’s only been a couple of months since you’ve reconnected, but you’ve both been through so much. You care about each other so deeply. Tommy wouldn’t be in Josh’s life the way he is if it wasn’t for you.” Ella moves around the kitchen and reaches into a cupboard where Josh stores what little alcohol he keeps. She pulls out a large album and rests it on the counter, flipping the cover to reveal a newspaper cut out—a picture I’d taken freshman year when I first started on the paper.

  Confused, I stare at the image, stare at the text that goes with it, and then stare at the highlight of my name beneath the picture. I swallow the lump in my throat, and turn the page, and then another, each one a different article. Toward the back of the book, there are less images and more of my human interest stories. Ella moves next to me, her arm brushing mine. “When he found out you were on the paper,” she says, “he went on the online message board over at WU and asked for someone to send them to him. He even got them to send the older editions so he had the full collection. He didn’t want to subscribe in case you somehow found out about it.”

  I keep my gaze on the album, my heart beating wildly for a boy who has no idea that even from a distance, even through his secrets, he’s finding a way to heal me. “Why are you showing me?” I sign.

  Her response is instant. “Because I want you to know how much you mean to him.” She points to Tommy’s room. “Tommy’s a lot like Josh. They’re quick to act. Quick to speak. They don’t think, they just do. They can be arrogant and stubborn and they get that from my late husband. But the things Josh holds dearest to him are the things he won’t share. He’s probably never told you what it felt like to hold Tommy in his arms for the first time, or what it was like for him when you accepted him and Tommy into your life. He wears his pain on his sleeves, and hides his joys in his heart, because he’s so damn terrified of losing them. And maybe that’s why you clash sometimes, because you’re the opposite, Becca. You only share your joy, while you hide your pain. And, maybe, if you can both find a way to balance that, you’ll find the coast.”

  —Joshua—

  Becca goes home the next morning.

  And after a lengthy and somewhat confusing conversation with my mother, so do I. Because at some point between the comps and media tours and the demo shoots, I’d unknowingly lost focus of my reason for doing what I was doing it in first place. None of it was supposed to take my time away from Tommy, but it had. Without me realizing, Tommy had come second to all those things, and I hadn’t known the effect it had on him until now. I just hope I’m not too late to make up for it.

  The earliest flight I could book had me landing an hour after Becca left. Not that it mattered. I’m not here for her. I’m here for Tommy.

  Mom’s standing in the kitchen when I open the door to my apartment. Her hands settle on her hips, her eyes scanning my body for any new injuries. She opens her mouth, but I hold a finger to my lips, cutting her off. I mouth, “Tommy?”

  With a smile, she points to his room, and as quietly as possible, I set my gear by the door and head straight for him. The door’s open, but his back is to me, headphones too large for his head covering his ears. He’s on his iPad, and when I come close enough, I can see he’s on YouTube, watching videos of me. My heart dips in my chest, but just as quickly, it rises, swells, beats to the rhythm of whatever pride he must still hold that I’m his dad, and that he’s my son, and there’s a bond that no amount of time spent apart could ever diminish.

  I tap his shoulder and step back when he turns around, his eyes wide and smile all-consuming. “Daddy. I didn’t know you was here!” he yells, ripping his headphones off his head as he stands. He jumps the few steps separating us and lands right in my arms, and for a second, he’s just like the kid I left behind on the first trip I made without him—three years old and needing me as much as I needed him.

  I don’t exactly know why I get the sudden urge to cry, or why his laughter makes that urge stronger, but I miss him. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed him until this exact moment. Maybe it was the threat of another man taking my place in his life, like Mom had said, or maybe I just missed being Josh, the dad, and not J-Ward, the skater.

  Whatever it is, it’s not really relevant anymore.

  “Are you leaving again soon like last time?” he says, pulling back so he can hold my head in his hands, his palms pressing into my cheeks.

  I shake my head. “No, bud.”

  He reveals his perfect teeth behind his grin. “Remember last time, you said we would build a fort. Ma’am said you could. In her yard! Remember that? Like last time?” He shouts every word, each one with more excitement than the last.

  “Yeah, I remember that,” I say, placing him back on the floor. I settle my hands on my knees and bend down so we’re eye to eye. “You think we should do it?”

  Tommy taps his chin with his finger. “How long would it take?”

  “A few days. Two if we get Uncle Rob to help.”

  Tommy frowns. “And if we don’t get Uncle Rob to help and it’s just you and me, maybe it would take one whole entire week. Like, a infinity of one minutes! And then you don’t has to go to work for a whole infinity.”

  “Just you and me?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Like last time!”

  * * *

  It takes a week
to build a fort, which, technically, I could’ve built in a day. But Tommy and I took our time planning the build, talking about it, gathering the supplies, and on the fourth day, we finally got to building it, just him and me, like he wanted… like I didn’t know I needed. I’d missed so much in my absence that spending that time with him was like re-getting to know him. The more I looked at him, spoke to him, watched him from afar, the clearer it became that he was getting to be more like me. When I told Becca about it on one of our late-night chats, she mentioned that she thought the same thing, and that maybe it was his way of trying to be close to me, or maybe his way of trying to get my attention, my approval, something I never want my son to be searching for. Still, it made sense, and that just made it harder for me to think about my future plans and my stupidly hectic schedule—a schedule that would keep us apart. So the night before I was meant to leave, I told Chris I wanted out. He told me I was stupid. I was. But, he did offer to go through my schedule and cut back where he could. Summer was the busiest time for us, and he couldn’t do much with what I had going, but after the summer, he’d look at cutting back. He offered twenty percent, I said seventy. He said I had sponsors and relationships to maintain—ones that had been with me from the beginning, and it would be unfair to disappear off the face of the earth. A valid point. We negotiated and ended up on fifty.

  So with that knowledge, I spent the final night sleeping under the stars of a newly built fort in a two-person sleeping bag with my son. “Did you know My Becca was home?” he says, turning to his side, his hands clasped together beneath his cheek.

  I match his position and face him. “I did know that. Did you have fun with her?”

  He nods, his eyes wide.

  “And how was Ma’am?”

  “She was good. She kept thinking I was you.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Her and Becca stole a bunch of your shoes.”

  “They what?”

  He cackles with laughter, making me do the same. Once he’s settled, he grabs the flashlight from beside him, switches it on, and aims it at the ceiling. “Daddy, look,” he whispers, pointing up. “It looks like a boobie.”

  “You’re crazy, bud.”

  “Crazy like the chicken who crossed the road because did you know the car hit it?”

  I shake my head and make a tsking sound with my tongue. “What a crazy chicken.”

  He laughs again, and I listen to the sound that gives me hope, gives me purpose. “Hey, buddy. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  His eyes move to mine, then to the fort door, then to the boobie light on the ceiling. “Uh oh.”

  “No. It’s not bad.” At least, I hope it’s not. “I just wanted to talk to you about your mom and Justin.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you excited about the wedding? You have a lot of responsibility. You’re going to be the ring bearer, and that means you have to protect their wedding rings with your life.”

  “I know.” He says, moving the boobie light around in circles. “They told me already last time.”

  I clear my throat and push down the ache in my chest. “Have you thought about what you’re going to call Justin once they’re married?”

  Tommy stares at me, his gaze searching, before blinking once, twice, and on the third time I look away, because the question in his eyes makes me question myself.

  “He’s just… Justin,” Tommy says slowly, as if I’m the child in this situation.

  I’m so damn afraid, so nervous it’s making me stutter. “S-so… you’re not—not going to call him dad?” I ask, facing him again.

  Tommy places the flashlight between us, the glow casting a shadow over his face. He faces me, his eyes right on mine. “I like Justin. He’s cool,” he says. “But he’s not my dad, Dad.”

  I exhale, relieved. “How did you grow up so fast?”

  “I’m six. I am grown up.” Tommy shrugs. “Daddy?”

  “Yeah, buddy?”

  He moves the flashlight behind him and shuffles closer until his arm is over my chest. “I like my fort. Thank you for making it for me,” he says through a yawn. “But I didn’t really need it. I just wanted you to see me.”

  29

  —Joshua—

  The guys and I were supposed to meet up a few days before we left for Hong Kong to promote the event. We only had a day home from a trip to Mexico before heading off to tour again. It was on that one day home when I got a phone call from Chris. He groaned into the phone, his words echoing around him. “Promo trip’s cancelled,” he mumbled. Then puked into what I assume was a toilet. “We’ll meet for the flight to Hong Kong.”

  “Are you good?”

  “Not at all.”

  Turns out that on a night I chose to stay in and spend a couple of hours video chatting/messaging with Becca while in Mexico, the guys decided to try their luck at some local food stands. Apparently, it didn’t turn out well.

  For them.

  For me, it was a sign.

  I packed my bags, and Tommy’s, too. Then I called Mom, told her to pack hers, said goodbye to Chazarae who had no idea what day or year it was. I told her I loved her and that I’d be back soon, and a few hours later, the three of us were boarding a plane to St. Louis.

  I guess I probably should’ve notified Becca at some point between Chris’s phone call and the boarding of the flight that I was coming to see her, but it was rare that I got a couple days off to do whatever I wanted, and I wanted her. Even if it were for the few hours I’d get to see her between work at her internship and shifts at Say Something. Even if it meant being her personal chauffeur to those things and kissing her goodnight at her door, it didn’t matter. I just wanted to see her. Be near her. Do bad, bad things to her.

  Okay, so the whole long distance thing was starting to wear me down. There’s only so much a guy can take. Becca and I tried to make some form of contact at least once a day, but with both our schedules, it became almost impossible. I’d wait three hours for a response, only to be dragged away for a few hours, and then she’d be busy, and so it goes, on and on, until a day passes, or two. And when we finally can be at one place for more than an hour, we sit and talk and we discuss how badly it sucks that we can’t be together and we make up stupid fantasy lives where nothing and no one else exists but her and me. It’s as satisfying as it is depressing because it’s exactly what I said; a fantasy.

  Then a few days ago, she randomly sent a text that read, “You should just move here. Lol.”

  That stupid “lol” distracted me for way too long, and I thought way too much about it. So much so that I found myself looking up houses near her. Houses I thought she’d like. Until a single thought infiltrated my mind and I slammed my laptop shut and called myself stupid. Because Chazarae.

  I couldn’t leave Chaz.

  I tried to reason that moving wouldn’t be such a big deal and that she’d want to be near Becca, too. You know, on the days she actually remembered who Becca was. Besides, she had in-home care. It’s not like I’d be taking her out of a special home to be with us.

  Right?

  Wrong.

  I’d be taking her away from her home, and that thought alone had me shutting down yet another fantasy my mind had unknowingly created.

  * * *

  It’s dark by the time I find myself standing on Becca’s porch, memories of the last time I did this freezing me to my spot. I take a mental scan of my surroundings: the single car in the driveway, the dim flickering of the TV on inside, and then I work up whatever courage I need and knock on the damn door.

  I step back as soon as it opens and Martin appears, eyes narrowed in confusion before a grin appears. “What are you doing here, Warden?” Swear, he actually sees the relaxing of my shoulders when he says those words because he chuckles, deep and gruff.

  “I came to surprise Becs,” I tell him.

  He nods, a hand going in his front pocket while the other opens the door wider for me. “She’s not home, but
you’re welcome to wait for her.”

  I enter their house for the first time and pull out my phone to send a text to Mom, letting her know I’ll be back at the hotel later. She replies quickly, telling me she didn’t expect me at all that night, and by the time I shove the phone back in my pocket and look up, Martin’s standing in front of me with a beer in each hand. I take one and accept his offered gesture for me to sit on the couch.

  I glance around his house—at the kitchen attached to a living room and a bunch of doors I assume lead to bedrooms and bathrooms. It’s bigger than my apartment, but much smaller than Chaz’s. “Becca’s at work,” Martin says, sitting next to me.

  “At the paper?” I look at my watch. It’s almost ten. “Still?”

  “I take it she didn’t tell you?” Martin grimaces. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Tell me what?”

  —Becca—

  I freeze just inside the doorway and look over at my dad, who’s sitting on the couch next to Josh, both of them grinning like fools. And then something takes over me. This burst of elation that I hadn’t felt since some punk skater gave me my very own skateboard with a single note, a single question, asking me to be his. I drop my bags, my keys, my need to look pretty in front of Josh, and I charge at him. He stands just in time to catch me, his arms wrapping around my waist, lifting me off my feet. “Surprise,” he murmurs against my neck, his laughter mixing with Dad’s.

  I pull back and grab his face in my hands, and then I kiss him. His mouth, his cheeks, his chin, his nose, his everything, over and over.

  “I think she’s happy to see you,” Dad says.

  Josh settles me carefully on my feet and sits back down. I sit sideways on his lap, my arms around his neck, refusing to let him go. I try to contain my smile, but nothing in the world can prevent it from splitting my face in two. My cheeks sting from the unfamiliar pressure, and for some reason, I’m bouncing. I grab Josh’s face again and get him to look at me. “Why?” I mouth.