His Father

Hopping back up using my shoulders, I launch some more controlled jabs on the bag.

“Who do they think they are? He grabbed my arse!”

So, screaming at a punching bag, alone, in a gym in the room behind the garage isn’t probably the best way to announce my sanity to the world. But it is how I cope. It’s how I deal. This, meditation, and a lot of breathing are how I stay in control of myself.

I don’t lose control, ever.

I didn’t lose control in the diner either.

“He deserved it, damn it!”

“I agree.”

I tense and stop hopping from foot to foot. A bead of sweat trails from my neck, down my spine. It’s wet but it does nothing to douse the fire I feel inside.

“I’m not in the mood,” I snap, pressing a wrapped hand to the smooth, cool surface of the bag. “Please. Just, not now, Sarge.”

“Mr. Wolf.”

“I’m not calling you Mr. Wolf. You sound like a fucking nursery rhyme,” I mutter, knowing he can hear me and not caring because I’m already really bloody angry and there’s no way I can feel worse than I do already.

I move to the window and stretch, not turning once to look at him, though I can vaguely see his reflection in the window if I focus on it enough.

“Stay right where you are,” he orders, exiting the room. “Do not move a muscle.”

I don’t know why I listen. My sweat-drenched body, in my old leggings and older sports bra, is starting to get chilly. My breathing is finally steadying, and I can feel that peace coming on that exercise brings.

His footsteps come back and I hear a click that has me tensing.

Is he taking my picture?

“Don’t move,” he warns.

It is so hard to stay still when somebody has told you to.

“Stay right there.” His voice is a whisper as he gets closer, looking for the perfect angle through the lens as the setting sun glows a fiery orange around us. I feel its heat through the glass and subconsciously reach out to touch it. When I realize what I’ve done I cringe, waiting for him to snap or shout but he simply takes a few steps back and I hear the clicking of the shutter again.

“Jesus,” he murmurs so quietly I’m not sure that’s what he actually said. And if it is what he said, I have no idea what it means, I just know the intensity of it gave me a little clenching tingle in my womb.

With my hand flat on the glass and my fingers splayed, I close my eyes and try to keep still like he said.

I’m waiting for him to start laughing and say that this is a prank but how can it be when there’s such a raw and powerful energy charging in the air between us?

I swallow and my head drops forward slightly, as it does, I hear his footsteps move back toward the door.

He says gruffly, his tone deep and quiet, “As you were.”

And that’s that.

I relax and sit on the floor, taking in the sight of the sun sinking into the horizon. It’s such a peaceful view.

Sargent

“There’s a party on the beach tonight, my old friends are going,” Maddox tells me when his Pest leaves us alone to watch TV on the second floor.

She’s doing what she can to avoid me, I’ve likely confused her or upset her. Though I have noticed how she hasn’t told Maddox about my capturing her image.

How could I resist?

She was sweating, shimmering, glowing, her toned back and legs just caught the light in such a way. I wanted to rub oil all over her body, taking my time at each dip and curve.

I need to stop thinking about it.

I contemplate telling Maddox but for some reason I can’t, which is how I know whatever happened in that gym was less than innocent artistry. She knows it too or she herself would have approached the subject with my son.

I’ve confused her. I’ve confused myself.

I rub my face with my hands.

“Dad, you listening?”

I nod once.

“So we won’t be home until late, if at all.” He taps away on his phone screen.

“Let me guess, you need a ride?”

“Can’t you just insure me?”

I smirk and ask, “I thought you wanted to do this on your own?”

“You can take it out of my first paycheck.”

At that I laugh. “We’ll see what we can do.”

We share a smile before he continues, “As for a ride, Kirk’s coming to get us.”

Ugh, Kirk. I like the guy but he smokes too much weed.

“Well, you kids have fun, don’t go swimming if you’re drinking and please stay out of trouble. At your age you can’t get away with playing the teen angst card.”

“We’ll take you with us and play the AARP card instead.”

“Little shit,” I murmur, smiling at his audacity. I am not old. People often think we’re brothers, not father and son. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.