7
Sean
“I’d like to get to the hospital alive,” Niya hollered once she’d finished calling her family.
I cut around the curve at least 30 miles above the recommended limit before reassuring her. “Relax, I know what I’m doing.”
Niya’s eyes were wide and filled with fear. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
“I know these roads like the back of my hands. I was one of the best drivers in combat drills,” I said, though I did ease off the gas.
She folded her arms and pouted. “All it takes is one small slip and…”
I swallowed to keep from arguing and kept my eyes on the road. I had just pulled into my parking garage when I received Niya’s frantic call. If Niya thought I was speeding now, she wouldn’t have survived my dash back to her house.
My cell pinged with a message. I glanced down for a moment.
“Are you crazy,” Niya screamed, snatching the phone from its place on my thigh. “Do not read text messages as you drive.”
Though we were in a serious situation, trying to reach the hospital in record time, a part of me was amused by her anxiety. “Sorry.” I feigned an apology. I kept my eyes forward to hide my thoughts. Niya was a scaredy-cat. I would enjoy bringing a sense of security into her life. I could be her hero.
Once we were at a stoplight, I reached for the phone. Niya rolled her eyes but didn’t complain. I pulled up the message, angling the phone so Niya could see my screen if she wanted. After all, I had nothing to hide. I stifled a groan when I saw Lakesha’s text.
Just so you know, your son cries for you at night.
I threw the phone in the center console and pressed the gas.
Niya and I finished the ride in silence but I could see her chewing on her bottom lip, like she was deep in thought. I prayed that her mind was consumed with thoughts of Big and not of Lakesha.
My gut told me she was waiting for me to explain that text message, but I wasn’t volunteering information. The silence nagged at me, begging me to open my mouth, tackle the proverbial elephant in the car, but I kept my mouth clamped shut. What was I going to say? Lakesha was tripping over a kid that wasn’t mine. I rubbed my brow. Besides, there was a possibility Niya hadn’t seen the text. Highly unlikely, but a man could hope.
I pulled up to the hospital curb by the emergency room’s double-doors. Niya mumbled a quick, “I’m going in,” before opening the door. She scurried through the automatic doors without a backward glance. Yep. She had read the text. Emitting another huge sigh, I went to look for parking.
Once I claimed a spot, I recovered the phone from its resting place and viewed the message from Lakesha again. Anger pumped through my veins. What did she expect me to do—drop everything and rush over there to do what? Hug the boy and wipe his tears when I didn’t even know if he was my child? My chest heaved. And even if he were my son, I wouldn’t be trying to pacify that boy. I’d teach him to man up. Stop being a punk. Thump him in the chest and tell him to suck it up.Like my father used to…
My body released the anger like air going out of a balloon. I refused to allow myself to finish the thought. I used to hate it when my father did that to me. I lowered my head as a memory surfaced.
It was the week after my mother ran off, leaving me at eight years old to deal with an angry man. I was in second grade and outside riding my bike with friends when I made a sharp turn, fell into a ditch, and cut my knee real bad. Travis and Jhavon helped me get home. My knee was bleeding profusely and the tears flowed from not only the pain but the sight of it all.
The first thing my dad said was, “Shut up and stop crying like a girl.” He didn’t ask how it happened or if I had any other injuries. He took me to the hospital. As we sat waiting to be seen, I remember him sitting there with his arms folded across his chest. Annoyed. I was trying with everything in me not to cry or make a sound. I couldn’t help my yelp when the doctor injected anesthetic. Thankfully, that was the last bit of pain at the hospital.
The stitches were removed after a week or so, but my dad took my bike for what seemed like months. He said if I didn’t have enough sense not to ride into a ditch, I didn’t need a bike. I made the mistake of trying to tell him it was an accident.
The backhand came quicker than I could move. My cheek stung well into the night when I went to bed.
This was all I knew of fathers. Tough love, Pop called it. I used to wonder if there was such a thing as “soft” love, or just “regular” love.
Well. Anyway. My thought pattern proved I was in no position to raise a kid. Too messed up in the head, I admitted to myself. Maybe if I had a wife or something, she’d bring in the “soft” but there was no way it could come from me. Not now. Not until God finished some stuff in me because my first instincts were a replay of my old man.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out the car, appreciating the light breeze. The temps had dropped about fifteen degrees and I was loving it. I activated the car alarm and rushed into the hospital’s emergency room. I scanned the room until I spotted the Thompson twins, together in a row of bucket seats, holding onto each other. Their embrace made my heart constrict.
Love.
Before I could offer words of comfort, my cell made another loud declaration that I had another message. Niya’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. Jazzy’s expression mirrored hers.
Twins.
I ignored their glares. “How’s Big?”
