Fuck no, he wanted to say, but he nodded and followed her out the door, climbing in the passenger side of her car. Years old breathing exercises floated to the surface of his consciousness, and he focused on that as she drove. In for a count of three, out for a count of three. He’d never mastered counting to ten or holding it either, but he did his best to remain calm. The last thing she needed was for him to have a panic attack. Acutely aware of the ringing in his ears, he quickly realized he wasn't doing a good job of holding it at bay.
“Flynn?”
Gasping in breaths, he managed to glance over at her. She’d pulled over and appeared to be in a mild state of panic herself.
“Sorry.”
“What the hell are you apologizing for?”
“I thought I could handle it.”
“It doesn't matter. I’m turning around.”
Feebly, he waved one hand at her. “No, I think I made it worse by trying too hard.” He sucked in more air. “I really do want to meet your dad.”
“And yet, you seem terrified of the prospect.”
That made him laugh loudly. “Fuck me, really?”
“Um, yeah. You're pale, sweating, and can’t take a normal breath.”
“Oh lord.” Laughing more, he took a deeper breath. “You know when you build something up in your mind until you’ve bastardized it? Made it giant when it’s not?”
Out of his periphery, he saw her shrug. “Sure. I’ve done it on the job a time or two.”
“That’s me today.” Honestly, sometimes he had to wonder why she put up with him.
“If you were going to freak out over one of my parents, it should be Mom. Which is why we’re not meeting her any time soon.” Tentatively, she reached toward him. At his nod, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “Dad is calm, laid back, wouldn’t judge you for anything.”
“Yep. David Hill. Can't wait to meet him.” Something about that was funny, and he laughed harder.
She patted his shoulder. “The laughter is scaring me more than the heavy breathing.”
Sitting up straight, he turned to face her. “I promise I’m okay. You make me better.”
Her brow quirked. “If you say so.”
“Look, baby.” Gripping her hand, he pressed it to his heart. “Already back to a normal rate.”
The smile she gave him appeared more sincere.
“I no longer know my sperm donor. Can't say I could pick him out of a crowd or even a lineup at this point. Just because he was married to my incubator doesn't mean he was ever a father to me. I was about twelve when the system finally worked for me and I ended up in a temporary home. By my thirteenth birthday, I was living with Mitch and Barb.”
“That’s so young. I think I was playing with bugs and trying to climb the tallest tree in our yard at that age.”
“I don't dwell on it, and I try to block out the memories. The boys in the home came and went, some aging out, new ones coming in. I can't relate to your childhood and the relationship you have with your parents, but I want to.”
“Let’s get going, then. Okay?”
He nodded. “I’m okay.”
Thoughts and bits of memories floated in and out of his head as she got back on the road. The shape and color of his mother’s eyes, the hardness in them when she hadn't had a fix. His father’s face was mostly a blur, like ink smeared on a page. Flynn didn't like to think about him or the way he’d whip his belt off and beat him with it without provocation. If he walked too loudly, spilled a drop of milk, ate the last of the cereal. It never really mattered. Sometimes, he’d wake up with a fist to the face simply because his father hated his existence. It was too much for a young child to shoulder, a burden too great for a grown man to focus on years later. Sweet, tender moments had never occurred in his first home. When he hit ten, he began to fend for himself. He made friends with people he shouldn’t have met, ran errands for money, ran drugs for a place to sleep. If the cops hauled him in, they’d drive him home and lecture his parents, who would put on the greatest show of a united family in front of law enforcement, only to turn on him once they left. If something went wrong, it was always Flynn’s fault.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“We’re here.”
