Page 29 of Full Throttle

“Today is my son’s birthday,” he replied quietly after a moment. “Another one of his birthdays I’m not part of.”

“Oh, Dom,” I whispered, shocked at his words. “I’m so sorry.”

I looked up, meeting his troubled gaze. “Do you want to tell me?”

His eyes met mine, the pain in his gaze now obvious to see. Heartbreak was written all over his features.

“I’ll listen if you want. If not, I understand.”

He let out a long exhale of air. “I want to tell you. I never talk about it. But with you, Cherry, I want that.”

I stepped back, taking his hand and leading him to the sofa. “Then tell me.”

The room was quiet for a few moments as Dom gathered his thoughts. He looked as if he was going to talk a couple of times, then stopped. I wondered if he was unsure how to start, so I decided to ask him a few questions.

“I didn’t know you had a son.”

“I don’t talk about him.”

“Is he about Hannah’s age?”

“No. He’s much younger. He—Josh—is thirteen today.”

“Oh,” I said. “Much younger.”

“I met his mother when I was thirty-four. She got pregnant and had Josh when I was thirty-five.” He rubbed a hand over his scruff. “Our relationship wasn’t a good one. She was incredibly demanding and self-centered. Manipulative. Nasty when cornered. I broke it off after a particularly bad fight. She found out she was pregnant and told me. I wanted to be part of my kid’s life, so we got back together. Her pregnancy somehow made her softer, and we got along better. I thought things would be okay.”

“But they weren’t.”

He shook his head. “I loved being a dad. Everything about it—even the diapers. Roxanne was a good mom, and things were all right for a while. Then slowly, she began the mind games again. The demands. The constant emotional upheaval. I was to blame for everything in her life she hated.”

“How awful to live like that.”

He shut his eyes, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. I reached over and laid my hand on his, and he stared down, opening his fingers and flipping his palm over so I could grip his hand. I stroked the skin as he began to talk again.

“I stayed for Josh. I loved him, and I couldn’t bear to think of my life without him. But she was done with me and made my life miserable. She told me she wanted me gone, and I said I’d take Josh with me.” He stopped for a moment. “She was awful to me, but she was a loving mom to him. I couldn’t fault her that. But I hated the thought of my son growing up in such a toxic environment. She refused to let me take him. We argued and fought. She berated me constantly. Made me doubt every decision. The only peace I had was rocking him to sleep or sleeping on the floor by his crib. I left to stop the horrendous atmosphere. She got a slimy lawyer and a bunch of friends who swore that I was a deadbeat dad and did nothing. That I refused to marry her and settle down. I got a lawyer and had a few people to vouch for me too, but hers played dirty. I lost and got limited visitation, while she had full custody. I paid my child support monthly and saw Josh as much as I was allowed. Then one day, she got married. Informed me they were moving. Again, I fought and lost. Josh was three at the time. They moved to Simcoe, making it harder for me to see Josh. We fought all the time over visitation. When I would get him, he was difficult and cried to go home. The visits were awful. I think she filled his head with stories about me. Bad ones. At times, I thought he was afraid of me. Then I was informed they were moving out of province. I tried to fight it and lost. She used all the missed visitations against me, and I lost Josh.” He paused. “She even went so far as to say I might not be his father.”

“What?”

“She said she had an affair and that Josh might not be mine. I refused to believe that. He looked like me—he had my eyes. I demanded a paternity test, and she backed off. But it shook me. I doubted the truth for a while, even while I knew in my heart he was mine. I forced the issue to prove it, and the result was clear. I was his father.”

He kissed my hand, then released it and stood, pacing. “Every year, I send him a birthday card. I write him all the time and send pictures, but the letters come back unopened. The cards are returned. I have her cell number and I still call, but my messages aren’t returned. The only time I hear from her is if my child support is a day late. Which I do sometimes so her lawyer has to call me. Then I get a bad picture of my son and a brief update. That’s the only contact I have.”

“You must miss him.”

He met my eyes. “Every day. I think about him all the time. Wonder how he’s doing, what he’s taking in school. If he ever thinks about me.”

“Is she still married?”

“Not that I know. Last time I had that sort of info, she was on her third husband. The second one petitioned to adopt Josh, and I fought that and won. But I still don’t get to see him. I flew out once to Saskatchewan, and he refused to see me. I hung around for a week, showing up every day, asking for five minutes, and got nowhere. Roxanne told me I was upsetting him, so I left. I hated the thought that my presence was hurting him.” He tugged on his hair, clearly emotional and upset. “She got some sort of restraining order against me, saying I was harassing her and Josh. Then she moved again, and I have no idea where. All my contact is through her lawyer. My last three calls weren’t even acknowledged. My lawyer said there was nothing he could do for me, so I have been trying to figure things out on my own. And failing badly,” he admitted with a frown.

Unable to bear his pain or the distance, I went to him, wrapping my arms around his torso. “I’m so sorry, Dom. If I’d had any idea, I would never have brought out⁠—”

He shook his head, silencing me. “You didn’t know. No one does.”

“Why don’t you talk about him?”

“It hurts too much. And I’m ashamed. Sometimes I wonder if I should have fought harder, played dirty the way she did.”