Dirty Daddy

He cuts me off. There's a sharp glint in his eyes. "This is my baby."

"No, this—"

"Our new son will be named Michael Anders Jr. and this is my baby," he says, banging his fist down on top of the desk, his lips snarled.

"And what if it's a girl?"

He ignores my question and continues. "If I ever hear you say otherwise—if you so much as make a hint otherwise—I promise you'll regret the day you met me. I can, and will, bury you."

I’m silent. Michael leans forward.

“And if you ever want to keep any semblance of a father - one who hasn’t been publicly humiliated worse than you can ever imagine, with a wife that’s left him in his old age - if you want to keep your parents as the darlings of society, then you’ll keep your mouth shut, dear wife,” Michael says quietly.

That was the final dagger. It's no use arguing. This will be Michael's baby, and no one will ever think otherwise. I know Michael's a powerful man. He has wealth, power, prestige, and connections. I don't want anyone to get hurt—especially not my father or Lance. There's no way I'll ever tell him that this is actually Lance's baby. He can't know. I don't even want to think about what he'd do to Lance if he knew. I'll take this knowledge to my grave.

"It's no secret that I don't have any interest in you whatsoever," he says. His voice is cold and distant, and even though I've known this to be true for our entire marriage, it still hurts to hear him say it. "But it's important that we keep up appearances for the public—for the sake of this campaign. You will not compromise my bid for mayor."

I watch as he pulls a cigar from his desk drawer and lights it. I never see him smoke anymore. In fact, I thought he quit. I watch as blue smoke fills the room. On the one hand, I'm relieved to no longer be hiding and carrying this secret from Michael, but on the other hand, I know I've only been partially honest and that still sits inside of me like a boulder.

He exhales and continues, "You can't go public." He's like a lion that has cornered its prey. He can feel that power, and it spurs him on. He's opportunistic, and he's out for blood.

"I understand," I say, resigned and submissive.

"Good. Now let's have this baby."

91

Lance

I have a bad feeling. A bad fucking one. Deep inside of me there’s something gnawing, something poking holes in the happiness I’m feeling. I’ve never been a fucking superstitious kind of guy, but I can’t help it… I’m fucking worrying and I don’t even know why. It’s just a bad fucking feeling.

I have no reason to feel like this, though: I’ve met the perfect woman and everything’s going just great between the two of us. We had a rocky fucking start, that’s for sure, but things are better now. Sure, it’s not a fucking perfect situation, with my father and all… But as long as we have each other, everything will work out. Right? Yes, that’s fucking right.

Of course, life never does what you fucking expect it to do.

Worry turns into a sinking feeling in my stomach the moment I get home; Jocelyn is leaving my father’s office, looking down at the floor with an expression that tells me there's bad fucking news coming my way. She shuts the door behind her and heads down the corridor, not even noticing I’m here. I reach for her, gently grabbing her arm and pulli

ng her to me.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong? Something happened with my father?” She stops, dead in her tracks, but doesn’t even fucking look me in the eyes. “Are you okay?” Slowly, she raises her eyes and faces me; her pursed lips a distant impression of her smile.

“Everything’s okay, Lance,” she says, ice coating each one of her words. She takes one step back, forcing me to let go of her. “I just don’t know how to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” I ask, not liking the fucking direction this conversation is taking. What the fuck is going on?

“It’s over, Lance. It was good while it lasted, but…” She licks her bottom lip, pausing while she tries to find the right words, but then just repeats herself. “It’s over.”

“Over? What the hell are you talking about?” I reach for her again, pulling her into the kitchen and slamming the fucking door behind us, making sure that we’re out of my father’s earshot. We can’t be over! What is this fucking nonsense?

Looking at me, Jocelyn manages a faded smile. “We’re over. It’s time to put an end to it. I know you can’t, so I’m doing it for you.”

I stand there like a fucking asshole, looking at her with an expression of pure disbelief on my face. Why is she saying all these fucking things? This doesn’t seem like her.

“Why?” I ask her, the sound of my fucking voice sounding foreign to my own ears. This can’t be fucking happening. She opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it again, almost as if she doesn’t know what to say. Running one hand through her hair, she bites down on her lower lip, and I see her eyes starting to water. I try and reach for her, but she turns her back to me, looking out the window. I don’t even know what to fucking say, so I just wait for her to regain her composure.

“Just go, Lance. You wanted to leave, didn’t you? To go to Europe? So go. There’s nothing holding you here.” She couldn’t be any more fucking wrong about that. How can she even say this when she was the one that asked me to stay?

“I can’t leave. You know that… I can’t leave you,” I say, my heart racing, and this time it isn’t a pleasant fucking feeling. There’s fear in my bones, fear of what’s happening right now. Fear of losing the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me.