In with the New Baby

I think I’m going to make it.

I just really hope I hear from Lincoln soon.

Chapter 15

Lincoln

The phone rings. It’s Damien. I hate to pick it up because I know it’ll be about Amanda. The gossip mill has really been churning overtime, probably. But I know I have to talk to him, or he’ll just keep calling. Damien can be fucking relentless like that, when he wants something.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Lincoln, where are you?”

“Home. Just got back from the gym.”

Honestly, that’s not true. I’ve been so down and out lately that I haven’t been doing anything. I’ve been lying on the couch in just a pair of sweatpants, as well as being shirtless. Rexie has been snoozing next to me.

He’s so happy. I found out a little more about him when I took him to the vet for a check up. He was abused and seems to have run off.

The vet said that now that he’s with me, he feels secure and comfortable. He’s been sleeping through the night, has been gaining weight, and looks bright-eyed and happy.

Poor little guy, I think to myself. I’m glad I was able to rescue him. But right now, I’m not the best dad, and certainly not the best date, or whatever it is that I’ve been being to Amanda.

I’ve been avoiding her, is what I’ve been doing. It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just the opposite.

She’s probably afraid I only wanted a one-night-stand – or a one-day-stand, a roll in the hey or on the river’s edge or whatever you want to call it – but it’s not that. I’m really into her and I think I’m getting scared that I’m in too deep.

I fucking hate when things feel out of my control. I just can’t deal with it all. The Steve Wilkos’ lie detector results and Maury Ptovich’s “You are not the father!” are all I can handle lately.

And that’s really pathetic.

“Lincoln,” Damien says. “You there?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Rexie yawns, repositions himself, and settles back down with a long sigh.

I pat his head. He opens his eyes and pants. He’s such a good boy. It breaks my heart that anyone would ever abuse him.

But I’m OK with just staying home and being with him. I’m protecting myself and him. We both have been through so much.

“Meet me for a drink,” Damien says.

“No.”

“C’mon,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m straight.”

“OK, then I’m coming over there.’

I sigh.

“Alright,” I say. “Where?”

“Meet me at the old Ocambo Club.”

“That dive in Brooklyn?”

“It’s been done over and is a great place now and is called El Norte.”

“OK,” I say.

“How about nine?” Damien asks.

“Yeah, that’s good,” I say. “That should give me enough time to pull myself together.”

“Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t,” I say.

God, what a douchebag he can be.

I hang up and look at the time on my phone. It’s six thirty. I lie back, yawn, and decide to take a nap. I’m gonna need all the rest I can get.

I show up at the old Ocambo. It looks the same, but when I enter, I can see just how much it’s changed.

I see Damien at the bar, looking very casual in a t-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap.

“How ya doin’ bud?” I ask.

“Good, man.”

We embrace like straight men with the hands clasped between us. As we back off, I grab onto Damien’s shoulders and hug him like I should have at first – I’m grateful that he cares about me.

He hugs me back.

“What’s up, bud?”

I pull back.

“Nothing,” I say, feeling like a pussy for getting so emotional.

Damien leads me over to a booth where we sit down.

I try to compose myself. I feel like a mess.

Just then Damien’s phone rings. It’s one of his clients. He’s constantly at their beck and call, since he handles so much money for them. That’s alright, though, because it’s made him rich, too.

“Take it,” I say, and get up to go the bathroom.

I enter the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.

What an idiot I am. No prospects, no life, no Amanda, no MMA career.

And I so do not want to go back to Texas.

I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired of fighting the doctors about it. My body hurts and I’m tired. But I also can’t imagine myself retiring because it’d be like admitting I’m old and washed up. A has been.

I take a piss and then splash water on my face. I look awful.

I go back out and sit down with Damien.

“How you doin,’ bud?” he asks.

“Not good.”

“That’s OK,” he says. “That’s normal and is part of the healing process. Physically, as far as your knee goes, as well as emotionally, with everything we’ve been through as vets.”

Damien was always talking about healing from trauma. It was like the focus of his life now, ever since he found Dr. Mack and started getting treatment, or whatever it’s called. He’s always going on about PTSD and other issues. I just rarely want to hear about it. I’m not into that kind of therapy shit. I decide to change the subject.