Daddy Ink

by Ali Lyda

  Gordo made me want connections like this, a touch that could cool me off if needed or stoke the passion in me when wanted. I wanted to get to know him, desperately. I wanted to run away. The shield in front of my heart felt like it was in danger of shattering, and I didn’t know what would happen if I let it.

  “Don’t go,” Gordo said, not letting go of my hand. “Tell me what just happened. Did I say something wrong?”

  When I risked a glance at him, his face was filled with remorse. He cared that he’d hurt my feelings, and I understood that he’d truly been teasing, not intending it to be a barb on my character. And he was reaching out, trying. I knew that I needed to try a little harder back, try to get out of my own head and meet him halfway. I couldn’t keep running.

  “I’m...not s-sure what to s-say. My past—” I scrunched my nose as I sought the right words. “I’ve felt a lot of rejection in my life, and I think that when you s...s-said I was the c-company I kept, it felt like you were—”

  Because we were still jogging and I was reeling from the up and down of the conversation, I felt wrung out. Speech was becoming even more of a challenge than normal.

  But Gordo must have got it, because he squeezed my hand. “You heard it as a criticism. I’m sorry, Javi. I was just teasing—I didn’t mean anything by it. Finish the race with me? I can tell you all about Giuliana’s explosive poops this morning, if you’d like. Safe, stinky, neutral ground.”

  So I stayed, with concerted effort. Running from pain before pain caught me had been what kept me safe from hurt for so long. Yet here I was, literally running with the first person to make me reconsider what my life could look like. It felt like a victory of sorts, and I wished I could celebrate it. But while we jogged and Gordo stayed true to his word, filling the conversation in with details about his daughter, I couldn’t help worrying…

  Would the risk pay off? Or was I destined for heartbreak?

  11

  Gordo

  I really needed another adult. I needed someone to ask, “Is this normal? What should I do?” But the only other person in the house was Giuliana, and she was screaming after spitting up for the tenth time in four hours. Her screams were piercing me, a wailing litany of you don’t know what you’re doing you’re failing help me daddy help me.

  If this kept up, I was going to start throwing up along with her from all of the stress. She didn’t have a fever, but each bottle, no matter how low in ounces, was coming right back up. If I had a partner, this might not feel like such an emergency. If I had a partner, I’d have the space in my brain to stay rational and come up with a plan.

  Instead, I did the next best thing: I called Christian.

  “What’s up, Gor—Jesus, is that Giuliana? Are you okay?”

  My voice cracked as I answered. “It’s been four hours and she throws up everything she eats and she’s miserable and I don’t know what to do.”

  I could almost feel his shift into “doctor mode” over the phone. “Okay. Does she have a fever?”

  “No.”

  “Is she still having wet diapers?”

  I wracked my brain for the last time I changed her. “About three hours ago.”

  “Does it seem like she’s in pain?”

  She wriggled in my arms, tiny fists flailing and mouth twisted in hunger.

  “I mean, she looks fucking hungry, Christian,” I said, overwhelmed. Immediately I regretted the tone. I’d called him for help. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what she’s feeling, and she can’t tell me, and I just feel so alone, and—”

  I couldn’t speak anymore, my throat tightening to choke down panicked tears.

  “Have you called the pediatrician or nurses’ line?” Christian asked next.

  I could have slammed my head against a wall. Of course I should have tried that first. “No, not yet, but it’s already been so long.”

  There was a pause while he thought, and I was forced the listen to the ragged hitches in my breaths.

  “Go ahead to the Children’s Hospital. At this point, it won’t hurt, okay? I’d come with you, but I’m on call and—”

  “No,” I breathed out fast, feeling a rush of relief at being told what to do. “Thank you.”

  “Let me know how it goes.” He hung up right after, having sensed my urgency.

  “Okay, baby girl,” I said, more to reassure myself than my unhappy daughter. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  It galled me that her first hospital visit since birth was happening while she was still this small. It felt like another concrete reminder of how much I was struggling with making it work as a single dad. A neon sign blinking, “This guy has no clue!”

  I shoved things into her diaper bag and strapped her into the portable car seat. Shoes on, made sure I had my wallet, grabbed my keys, and we were out the door. My hands shook as I locked her car seat into place. When I buckled myself in and turned the key in the ignition, ready to peel out of the driveway, the engine faltered.

  I turned the key again. Click. Click click click. That’s when it hit me.

  The relay race.

  I’d been consumed by thoughts of Javi after the race. He’d opened up a second time with me, and this time I’d managed to get him to stay. What kind of past left someone with such thick armor built around them? He reminded me of a wounded animal, scrambling from anyone who tried to get close. All of this and more had ricocheted and rebounded in my mind until I’d gotten home and realized I’d forgotten to stop for gas. My car’s gas gauge had been at E. I hadn’t realized it meant super empty E instead of you still have five miles E.

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I yanked out my phone, trying to tune out Giuliana’s wails, and looked for an Uber. The nearest one was over twenty minutes away. Banging my head on the wheel, I let out a litany of curses, searching for every four-letter word in my repertoire and then some. I knew Mason and his wife were both working, but at this point, I was going to have to text them.

  As I was drafting a message, a familiar truck pulled into the driveway next door. Javi stepped out, and I didn’t miss how his gaze drifted over to my place. We were on tentative ground, but he’d helped me before… and I wanted to trust he’d help again. That we were moving to a place where we could ask each other for things, because we knew each other. Cared about each other, at least in some way.

  “Javi! I need to ask a huge favor. Giuliana’s sick and I need to get to the hospital. My car is out of gas and—”

  “Let’s go.” Without a pause, he immediately went to the passenger side of his truck, opening the small back door and getting a space prepped for her car seat. He was calm and collected, and all that rang in my head was let’s go.

  I gathered Giuliana in her car seat and the diaper bag, but I couldn’t carry those and take out the car seat base at the same time. But apparently I didn’t need to worry about that, either—Javi nudged me gently out of the way and leaned into the back seat, hands expertly loosening straps and unlatching hooks. He had the base out in half the time it would have taken me and was already moving to his truck. In numb silence, I followed.

  He installed the base in the back of his truck and made sure it was secure, and then carefully took Giuliana from me and locked her into place. I hopped into the passenger seat, the leather burning through the t-shirt I was wearing. Summer was on us hard, and I was coated in heat and stress sweat.

  We were on the road in no time, and all I could think about was how effortless it had been for Javi. He’d known just what to do and moved with an efficiency that left me speechless. As he drove, I noticed that he didn’t push the speed limit and was extra cautious when changing lanes, totally focused on getting us to the hospital safely. His calm and collected aura soothed me until I could get my own brain and breath under control.

  “T-tell me what’s happening,” he said, gaze locked on the road.

  “She got fussy about four hours ago. It was bottle time, so I fed her. And she threw it up. Like, all of it.
So I waited a half an hour and tried again with a smaller bottle, but she spit up all of it, too. I kept trying every half hour or so with smaller and smaller amounts, but she spit up everything. It was awful.

  “And she’s been screaming like this the whole time. I checked her temperature and she didn’t have one, and I tried to rock her and stick her in a warm bath and all of the other tricks that usually calm her down bu—”

  I sucked in a breath, using the pressure of it to push the sobs that wanted to erupt from me back down.

  “I didn’t know what to do. Christian said take her to the hospital. She’s never had to go, and I just don’t know what I’m going to do if something’s wrong with her.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Javi said. He sounded so confident, my shoulders managed to drop a little.

  But the worry was still twisting in my stomach and I couldn’t help it—she was all I had, my whole life was her. I said what I was really thinking.

  “What if she’s dying?” And what if it’s my fault?

  “Hey,” Javi said, firm but soft. “Don’t do that. K-kids get sick. It happens. Babies are... fickle. B-b-but they are also resilient. She’s s...s-stro—she’s t-tough like you are.”

  I took a deep breath. Maybe it was crazy, but I wanted to believe him, and I clung to his words like they were oxygen.

  When we got to the ER at the children’s hospital, I readied myself for the curbside drop-off. “Will you hold Giuliana while I get the car seat and base out?”

  Javi looked at me like I’d asked him to jump in front of the next ambulance. Like he was offended at my request. I faltered, wondering what I’d done this time to upset him. “I’ll park and b-bring them in. Go get her checked in.”

  That was an answer I hadn’t expected. It had been more than enough for him to drive us. But he was going to stay with us? I couldn’t help the tidal wave of relief that crashed into me at the realization that I might not have to do this alone.

  As I walked into the ER, Giuliana’s cries had softened to whimpers. Before I could feel hopeful, though, I noticed how warm she felt in my arms. When I reached the front desk, the woman behind the counter saw my face and Giuliana’s small size and ushered us quickly into a room.

  Javi found us right as a nurse was taking Giuliana’s temperature. It was high, 102.5 degrees. My heart leapt into my throat and my eyes began to water. It felt like I was falling through the floor into a sea of guilt and worry. That is, until Javi placed a hand on my shoulder. His warm strength pushed back the anxiety, and somehow I managed to keep it together.

  He stayed with me as the doctor and nurses came in, remained close as I held Giuliana’s arms so they could take blood for tests while she screamed and screamed. With each test, Javi asked questions I was too overwhelmed to think of: What were they looking for? What should we expect? What came next?

  Eventually, the doctor came in and sat with both of us. I noticed that he spoke to Javi and me both, as if Javi was also Giuliana’s parent. “We’re going to give her a mild sedative and an IV. Your daughter is fine, Mr. Black. Giuliana just has a tummy bug and is dehydrated—that’s what’s causing the fever. A little bit of rest and fluids, and you’ll be out of here with a happy baby in a few hours.”

  It was good news—and it was also my breaking point. As soon as the curtain was pulled closed behind the doctor, I leaned over and covered my face, trying to hide the tears pouring out of me, but the hitched sobs and sniffles gave me away. God, I was such a mess, and I never would have been able to manage this trip without Javi. He’d been essential the entire time the doctor had been in the room.

  What if my car had worked and I hadn’t crossed paths with Javi today? Or what if it had been Mason who brought me? Would we have been able to move so seamlessly to this point?

  All it had taken was a fucking tummy bug and I’d totally fallen apart. Why had it taken me so long to call Christian? I should have known these things. I should have been able to stay calm and do what I needed to for my daughter. Javi had been so natural. He didn’t even have a kid of his own yet he knew more about being a dad than I did, and that thought made me sick as I cried.

  I shouldn’t have needed him here, and I definitely shouldn’t have been taking comfort from him this whole time. I didn’t deserve comfort right now.

  So when he started to rub my back in large, soothing circles, I didn’t calm down. Oh, no. I ramped up. My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack. When I sat up, I wasn’t crying anymore. I was seeing red.

  “You don’t have to treat me like a child,” I said, shrugging away from his touch.

  Javi pulled his hand back like I’d slapped it. “S...s-s-sorry.” His hazel eyes grew wide, wounded.

  “I appreciate the ride. But you didn’t need to stay. You don’t need to be here.” I shifted my eyes to Giuliana, now sleeping. I held her little hand, shutting Javi out—but not before I saw the stricken look on his face.

  I expected Javi to run, just like he tried to at the race, like he’d done every time I’d stuck my foot in my mouth in the past, but he didn't. Instead, I caught him standing in my periphery. He moved to Giuliana’s other side and brushed some of the curls from her forehead. Then Javi bent over and kissed the top of her head.

  My stomach threatened to revolt.

  As he left, he said “I hope s...s...s-sh...I hope s-she’s b-better soon.”

  Giuliana slept through all of it, her tiny chest rising and falling in a smooth rhythm. The beeps and voices and noises of a hospital continued around us. Bright lights and starched linens and the smell of antiseptic were my only companions now, and I only had myself to blame.

  Of all the mistakes I’d made today, that was the one that rubbed me the most raw. Not only was I a shitty father, I was also a total asshole, and now I’d just burned a bridge I was beginning to realize I desperately needed.

  12

  Javi

  Was it cowardly to make sure Gordo’s car was gone before I ran out to my truck? Or time my schedule at the youth center around when Mike said Gordo wouldn’t be there? Maybe.

  ...Did I hide, pressed against a wall in case my neighbor peeked in a window as he knocked on my front door for over five minutes, calling my name?

  You bet your ass I did.

  It had taken days to get back on my feet after he’d shut me down at the hospital. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t anything between Gordo and me, not romantically at least. Lord knew I’d done my fair share of screwing it up, too. If someone were to open the dictionary to “self-sabotage,” my picture would be next to it. But I’d thought we were at least friends.

  And even though I’d accepted long ago that nobody was going to find me worth sticking around for—you don’t have a mom walk out on you and not learn that lesson—I also knew something else: even with those truths, I didn’t deserve to be someone’s punching bag. There had been some rougher foster families over the years, and while I’d accepted being passed from house to house as part of life, I’d never accepted a belt, a fist, or a hateful word as something I deserved.

  Those things weren’t about me—they were about the shit the other person was dealing with.

  Gordo had tried to cut me with his words at the hospital. And I got it, I really did. I’d seen him struggle with being a single dad before, like that time he’d made me dinner as a thank you for being a helping hand. But that time he’d ended the night with sweetness (too much sweetness, my racing heart reminded me).

  At the hospital he’d been all salt, and I couldn’t be involved with that. I didn’t have enough shield left to endure him figuring his shit out and taking it out on me while he did.

  It was my day off today, and I’d spent it at the shop, working on some sketches for potential tattoos. I preferred to be around my makeshift family than home in my empty house, so close to Gordo and Giuliana. Reagan and the others must have sensed something was off, because they left me alone most of the day, but Reagan stopped me on my way out.


  He put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Javi. You know that, right?”

  Well, okay. My feelings must have been written all over my sleeves. Considering the many reasons behind my tattoos, I supposed there was an irony in that thought. “What’s prompting this?” I signed.

  “Sometimes people just deserve to be reminded of how special they are.”

  Maybe I should have said thanks, but instead I tried to save face, nodding and racing to my truck before he could see how his words affected me. Why was it that the kindest words could do the most damage?

  I still didn’t want to face going home yet, so I decided to stop at the center and check on Andrew instead. He and a few of the kids his age were out on the playground when I got there. I almost never saw Andrew with other kids, so I waited, wondering if I should gracefully duck out without distracting him from his friends. But it only took a moment to see that he was shaking, and it wasn’t from laughter.

  Before I could get outside and over to him, Andrew had wheeled around and sucker punched one of the other kids in the jaw. The other kids turned on him, rushing in with wild punches and shouting, and Andrew went down, balling into a fetal position with his hands around his head.

  I didn’t say anything as I closed in, but as soon as the kids saw me, they jumped back, their faces a riot of anger and caution. Only one was still attacking Andrew, too involved in the fight to notice me until I grabbed him firmly and moved him off.

  Andrew was screaming. When I went to pick him up, he lashed out, scrambling to get away. It took several attempts to grab his shoulders and get him to look at me. There was a trickle of blood from his nose and a split lip. But it was the deep, deep hurt in Andrew’s eyes that knocked the wind from me.

  Those eyes filled with tears as recognition hit him, and I could tell he wanted to hug me but couldn’t in front of the other kids. I got that—sometimes appearing tough could be more important. I just hated that he was experiencing that lesson at all.