Retribution (The Protectors 3)

As shitty as the apartment was, the kid’s room was a whole other story. It was painted bright blue and there were all sorts of posters covering the walls, most of them depicting some kind of superhero. There was a laundry basket full of toys in the corner and the bed had several stuffed animals sitting on top of the Iron Man comforter. Next to the bed was an old milk crate stacked high with books.

“Okay, let’s get jammies on,” Tate murmured as he searched through the drawers of a faded yellow dresser. I wasn’t surprised to see that the pajamas had Captain America all over them. As Tate put Matty down so he was standing on the bed and began to undress him, the little boy kept glancing my way.

“Is he gonna shoot us, Daddy?” Matty asked as he braced his hands on his father’s shoulders to steady himself as Tate worked his pants off and replaced them with the pajama bottoms.

“No, he’s not,” Tate said firmly as he got his son’s attention. “He…he just got us confused with some other people, okay?”

Undaunted, Matty shifted his attention back to me. “Why does he have a gun?”

I could see Tate didn’t have an answer for his son and when he cast a desperate glance over my shoulder, I actually felt a thread of shame go through me. I found myself tucking the gun in the waistband of my pants at my back before I could think too much on it.

“Are you looking for bad guys?” Matty suddenly asked after Tate pulled his shirt off.

“Sort of,” I answered before Tate could.

“Are you a policeman?”

Tate’s moves in getting his son dressed were quick and efficient and I wondered how much of that was related to practice and how much had to do with wanting to get his son away from me.

“No, buddy, he’s not,” Tate said. “Come on, climb into bed.”

Tate pulled back the covers and Matty took a big leap from where he was standing and landed on one of the pillows. He let out a little giggle and then began positioning all of the stuffed animals underneath the covers on his left side.

“Daddy, I forgot to brush my teeth,” Matty said as he tucked a ratty looking stuffed teddy bear next to his body.

“It’s okay, we’ll skip tonight…but just this once,” Tate admonished as he leaned down to kiss his son’s forehead. “Sleep tight-”

“No,” Matty interrupted. “Story.”

“Not tonight, buddy-”

Matty began shaking his head in earnest and I heard Tate let out a rough breath. He gave me a glance and then finally said, “Just one.”

Something deep in my belly twisted when I saw the smile that lit up the kid’s face as he wrapped his arms around his father’s neck. It was quickly replaced with anger and I had no doubt it was written all over my face as Tate glanced at me before going to search for a book. A look of trepidation passed over his features as he kept one hand on the edge of his son’s bed as he searched the milk crate for a book – he probably wanted to make sure he was close enough to throw his body over his kid’s if I decided to reach for my gun again. Admiration went through me because despite the young man’s obvious and well-founded terror, he was holding it together pretty well and I had no doubt it was all for his son.

“Are you an Avenger? Is that how you got hurt?”

Matty’s question caught me off guard and I reflexively reached up to run my fingers over the burn scars on my face.

“Matty-” Tate said.

“I bet he’s like Captain America, Daddy. He’s a secret hero.”

“Maybe,” Tate managed to get out as he snatched up a book and sat down next to his son on the bed. It took only minutes for Matty’s attention to turn from me to the story his father was telling him, and I had no doubt it was because of the way his father made all the different voices for the characters in the book. The kid was out within ten minutes, a slight smile on his small mouth and his teddy bear tucked against his chest. I expected Tate to shift his focus back on me, but to my surprise, he seemed to forget my presence as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead. “Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

A mix of longing and rage went through me at the same time and I turned away from the doorway. Sixty minutes…sixty minutes ten years ago was the only reason I was here and not at home with my own kid reading him a bedtime story.

Sixty minutes was all it had taken to wipe out an entire future.