When I pass her, she smirks. “Your biker, I presume.”
“Notmine. You can have him.” I snap as I pass her on the way to the back room. I need to hide out for just a minute or two and maybe cry for one of those. I mean, he thinks I’d be a terrible mother? Who tells someone that?
He wouldn’t have said it if he knew how much I wanted kids.
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he’d still say it. He’s the world’s biggest assface, which is saying something. I was married to Travis Coleman.
ChapterFour
Nate
Maybe I oversteppedwhen I told her she’d be a shit mother. She seemed to be a bit sensitive about it. Maybe she’s tried to have a kid and can’t. Or she had one and lost it. No matter, I shouldn’t have said it. Sometimes stuff comes out of my mouth before I’ve had a chance to process it.
In my defense, I’m fucking over dealing with Carla and those asshole kids. Well, Natalie isn’t bad, but the boys are hellions. Also, I’m not their real uncle. I enlisted in the army with their dad, Dave, way back when. I got out after my first tour, but Dave stayed. He’s been stationed all over the world. He’s in Germany now. They’ve got our servicemen and women on standby with all the shit going on in Ukraine. If you’re wondering why Carla and the kids aren’t there with him? Well, it’s because he and Carla are done. Not divorced but over. She fucks around on him all the time, has for years, and he’s not much better. He’s never home long enough to end it with her, but I wish he would. He needs to cut her loose; maybe then she’d get her shit together. Honestly, he should retire. His kids are getting worse the longer he’s gone. Michael is one or two years away from delinquency. I know. I was him at his age. At least my pops was around to kick my ass when I was a dumbass. All Michael has is a mother who’s too up her own ass to discipline the kids. They’ve got me, except I’m not around them enough to make a difference. Nope. Theyneedtheir father.
Straddling my bike, I decide now is as good a time as any to send a message. Pulling the phone out of my pocket, I shoot off an email. One I should’ve sent a long ass time ago. Dave has got to stop pussyfooting around and take care of his kids.
Dave.
You need to get your fuckin’ ass home and stay. Your kids are out of control.
N.
He’ll respond in a day or two. No doubt asking something like, “What’d they do now?”
But I’m not going to play that game again. I’ll tell him point blank “Get home and find out for yourself.” He’s been in long enough to retire. He doesn’t need to keep going back, but he’s runnin’ away from home, and that’s bullshit.
Just as I’m about to take off, head back to the shop, I hear, “Hi, Mr. Visch.” I look to my left at a pretty thing about the same age as my kid.
I have no idea who she is, so I go with “Hey.”
“You going to the concert tonight?”
Why is she askin’ me this shit? “Thought I would.”
“Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“Uh-huh.” Is she hittin’ on me?Jesus.She’s eighteen if she’s a day. No thanks.
“Tell Zoe I said hi, would you?”
Yep. She’s jailbait if she knows my daughter. “Sure will.”
No, I won’t.
She raises her hand and gives me a wave with just her fingers. Then, in a flirty voice, she says, “Byeeee.”
Giving her a chin lift, I kick my bike to life and ride the fuck out of there.
* * *
I’m standingon the edge of the crowd, beer in hand, listening to some live country band. It’s not my cup of tea, but one of the guys at the shop went to school with the drummer or some shit. As I scan the crowd, I see a few of guys from the shop standing together, enjoying the music, as are my kids. When I first got here, my youngest, Zoe, sidled up to me, wrapping her arms around my middle and hugging me. I hugged her, gave her a twenty, then watched her run off with her friends. My son, Nathan, is around here somewhere too. Last I saw him he was getting a beer for him and his new girl. I’ve only met her once. She seems okay. I still handed him a box of condoms and slapped him on the back and said, “don’t knock her up”. He’s heard that mantra enough in his life to know no additional words were required.
“Can’t believe you’re here. You hate country music.”
I look down at my ex-wife, Jackie. “It’s less about the music and more about the ambience.”
She chuckles in that husky, whisky voice that used to make my dick hard. “Bullshit.”
