Daddy Ink

by Ali Lyda

  As I stood to help get him inside, I looked up and froze. Gordo was there, wrangling the other boys into a line and keeping the one boy who was glaring daggers at Andrew in check.

  “I’ve got this handled. Get him to the nurse’s office,” Gordo called out over his shoulder. I didn’t hesitate, placing a hand on Andrew’s shoulder and escorting him inside.

  “Nurse’s office” was a bit of a stretch. The center had an empty office with an old refrigerator/freezer combo, a few plastic chairs, and a cot. There was also a filing cabinet that held first aid items instead of folders. When we reached the room, Andrew lay down on the cot without prompting while I grabbed an ice pack from the freezer.

  We sat in silence long enough for his shoulders to stop quaking and his sniffling to cease. When he sat up and looked at me, sheepish, I signed, “What happened?”

  “They were calling me names.”

  “How do you know?” I wasn’t trying to be a dick, but I remembered how quick I used to be to assume the worst of people, and Andrew had been sensitive for as long as I knew him.

  He called me on it with a wry look. “I can read lips, Javi.”

  Smiling, I held up my hands in submission. “Okay. So they were calling your names. Why didn’t you tell them to stop?”

  His frown deepened. I could almost see the cogs turning as he figured out what to say. One of the best things about my time with Andrew was how we’d learned to give each other space to think. When words take work, they become sacred. He and I shared an understanding of the importance of making them mean something.

  “I already don’t like speaking. I know my voice sounds stupid because of how other people look when they listen to me. But when I get so angry, I can’t speak.” His hands moved in sharp, emphatic gestures. “I couldn’t tell them to stop, even though I wanted to, because my mouth and voice wouldn’t work. I hate being trapped by this stupid fucking disability sometimes.”

  Mother. Fucking. Ooph. Because holy shit, I got that. I felt every word in my bones, my marrow buzzing with the years of struggling to speak, of feeling trapped in my own head by my speech impediment. It too often felt like a shackle, designed to hold me back—and yeah, when I got upset, I couldn’t speak either.

  But I also knew what happened when you let anger be your choice instead of walking away. I didn’t want to think of Andrew having to learn the hard lessons I did. Or worse lessons.

  “I’m going to be that asshole adult who tells you a story and hopes you learn from it. Bear with me, okay?”

  Andrew cracked a smile and winced when it tugged at his hurt lip. But he didn’t argue or roll his eyes. I knew he was ready to listen.

  “When I was young, I had a temper like you do. Real hot, and it didn’t take much for me to pop off. Especially when some jerk said something ugly. Which they did, all the time.” I shot Andrew a knowing look and he nodded. He knew how shitty kids could be—hell, I’d just pulled him out of a firsthand example of it. “So one kid managed to find out about my parents. Both of my parents were junkies. My dad overdosed and died, and not long after my mom disappeared.”

  My signing slowed, not because the story was upsetting me, but because I knew that things like this needed time to settle in. Andrew would need to absorb the shock of my history before I could move on to the meat of my story. His eyes were wide and his lips parted, and he looked so much younger than he was. Thirteen going on seven. Which was really just another reminder of how quickly cruelty stole innocence.

  “So this kid found out not just that I was orphaned, but what happened. And he decided to really dig in. I tried to ignore him, but it didn’t work. And when I tried to argue back, my stutter was so bad it just gave him fodder for his bullying. He said my mom’s drug use made me stupid in utero and my stutter drove my dad to death and mom to running away, because who could love someone who sounded like a skipping record.”

  A flash of fury crossed Andrew’s face for me. It warmed my heart to see how passionate his response was. He was such a good kid—I just wished others would give him a chance so they could see it, too.

  “When he said it, I didn’t just attack. It was like all my anger took over, blacking out my ability to know when to stop. It gathered in my fists, and they pounded and pounded and pounded.” I held out my knuckles, pointing close to the “H-A-L-F” inked over four of them. It took Andrew a moment to see it, but I knew he did when I heard the sharp intake of breath. Under the ink were scars.

  I leaned back in my chair, making sure to make eye contact with him. I needed him to see all of me, the man I was now and not just the angry kid he was picturing in his mind. “I got shards of his bone stuck in my knuckles. He lived, but I’m not proud to say he was real fucked up after. Probably deals with the consequences of it today. And I went to juvie for a stint because I was too young to be tried as an adult.

  “When I got out, no foster family felt safe keeping me for long. I’ve never done anything like that again, but it took a lot of work to rein in my temper. And a mentor to keep me in check.”

  Tears welled up in Andrew’s eyes and his lip trembled. Maybe it was too heavy a story for a kid, but I didn’t think so. I wished I’d had someone to talk to me when I was his age, to tell me the truth and not just some Golden Rule bullshit.

  “I keep saying it, but I need you to hear me. You can’t make people be nice to you. And punishing them for being assholes will only make them worse. But once you go too far, your whole life can become that story, and it takes luck and time to get away from it.

  “Those kids might always tease you. They may say shitty things and you’ll burn up inside. But find a better way to release that anger. Learn to box. Draw, and get amazing, and I’ll take you on as an apprentice at the shop one day. Do anything but let it control you, because that’s giving the assholes power over you.”

  I expected him to argue. When I was his age, I would have. But Andrew got this contemplative look, like he was measuring his choices and deciding that they might be coming up short. Instead of telling me that he was sorry, or that he felt bad about my parents, or anything at all, he got up from the cot and gave me a hug.

  The warmth of slender arms around my neck was startling, the press of the frail body so unexpected that I stiffened. It was the first touch I could remember in so long that was being given freely. For me. The entirety of me, angry orphan and juvie offender and tough-guy tattooist and all. It undid me in a way that sent my soul into a spiral, but I got myself together enough to hug him back.

  I saw Andrew’s mom approach, waving to get Andrew’s attention. I used the distraction as an opportunity to wipe away the tears from my eyes. When I felt collected enough to stand, she shot out an exasperated “thank you” to me. I knew she was too consumed with worry for Andrew to talk, but it made me happy that he at least had a mom like her in his corner.

  When I followed them out into the hall, Mike was waiting for me. “Hey, Javi, come into my office for a second.”

  I did, but my heart sank as I sat in the chair across from his desk, knowing what was coming.

  “We’re obviously having a hard time with Andrew,” Mike said. “He’s getting into a lot of fights, and it’s very disruptive to the center.”

  “It’s d...d-disruptive to him to be t-teased all of the t-t-time,” I said, trying to keep my knee-jerk anger in check.

  Mike held up his hands, half in submission but half in exasperation. “What am I supposed to do, Javi? Other than you, we only have one other ASL interpreter, and she’s part-time. We can’t cater to all of his needs. He needs help with homework, some emotional management help, and someone who can translate for him socially, like on the playground and in the art room. That’s a lot of support that we can’t afford.”

  I pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes. It wasn’t Mike’s fault that the center couldn’t support Andrew’s needs. Hell, I knew he tried as hard as he could to help Andrew and any other kids with special needs feel welcome. But it was so go
ddamn frustrating that it was something as simple as money that was going to keep Andrew isolated and unable to get the help he needed.

  If he didn’t have the center, I didn’t know if there was anything I could say that would keep him from getting into more and more trouble.

  “Don’t give up on him,” I pleaded, dragging fingers roughly through my hair. I wanted to explode. It felt so fucking unfair—there had to be something I could do.

  “What am I supposed to do, Javi? I’m trying my best over here.” And the thing is, he was. Mike worked his ass off for the youth center. I knew he wanted to help and he wasn’t trying to reject Andrew. “I have to have more resources, and even with the rebranding and the relay, I don’t know if it will be enough. How am I supposed to get our name out to donors who don’t need our services?”

  I sucked in a deep breath. I wasn’t ready to tell him about the Get Ink’d fundraiser until everything was finalized, but I needed him to know I was working on it. “I’ve got an idea. Don’t give up on Andrew yet. I just need s...s-so-so-so...a little time.”

  “You know I’ll give you and Andrew as much time as I can,” Mike said, and I knew he meant it.

  My mind was racing as I left. There was so much that I needed to sort through, to help myself regain control. Telling Andrew about how I’d assaulted that boy when I was younger had left me shaky and reeling, a little too close to how helpless I’d felt so constantly when I was younger, wildly emotional.

  Gordo was in the parking lot, leaning against my truck, because of course he was. Fuck, after my conversation with Andrew, I’d totally forgotten that Gordo had been here at all. But he’d helped separate the boys, after all. He was probably interested in hearing the outcome.

  He also looked ashamed to see me. Which, really, he should, but I didn’t have the emotional space to be petty at the moment.

  “Javi! Could I talk to you a moment?”

  His voice, rich and pleading, was a hook and I was caught. There were times when the way Gordo made me feel was exciting, how just a look or a word from him snagged hold of me and didn’t let me go for days. But with the outburst at the hospital, I saw that his power to make me feel attractive and desirable also came with the ability to make me feel like shit.

  And since he was working so many things out in his own life, he was so often hot or cold with me, when I desperately needed warm and safe.

  “I’m headed out,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint.

  “This will only take a second,” he pleaded, and fuck, I couldn’t keep walking. He pushed off my truck to close the difference between us, and his nearness made my fists clench from wanting to touch him—but to push away or pull closer, I wasn’t sure. “You did me a huge favor by driving me and Giuliana to the hospital, and I was a dick to you.”

  “Yes. You were.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and he reached out like he wanted to take my hand, only to drop it.

  So he was feeling hot today. Jesus, Gordo was a mindfuck.

  “I really am sorry, Javi,” Gordo insisted when I said nothing. “I was a mess, and you were amazing.”

  “Apology accepted.” I knew I sounded blunt, but I wanted to get away while I still had the strength to. Before he managed to sneak past the maelstrom of emotions and make a place close to my heart again.

  Gordo frowned. “Let me take you out for a drink as a thank you.”

  “Now is not a good t-t-time.” For so many reasons, Gordo. Let me save us both from where this could go. Let me focus on something I can do to help instead of something I could ruin.

  “Later? You could drop by after Giuliana’s bedtime? Just tell me what you like to drink and I’ll have it. It would make me feel better if I could get you a thank-you gift.”

  I chewed on my lip for a fraction of a second. So help me, it was tempting. Gordo was in another button-down shirt, navy, and there was a peek of pectoral muscle from the open collar. Perfect for biting. Gordo’s chocolate eyes were filled with sincerity, and when he smiled, my knees felt weak.

  He was so good at apologizing when he’d done something wrong. It was a skill I’d rarely come across in my life. And it helped to know he wanted to make things better, that maybe he thought we could be something more if we worked at it.

  But what if I was too fragile for him? Now that he was getting more and more of my past, what if he got tired of having to apologize? I wasn’t sure if I could trust that our attraction was enough. Because goddamn, it was strong, the tug between us. But I had no experience in making a tug turn into something more binding. My want for more scared the shit out of me.

  “I hope Giuliana is d-doing better. I have to g-g-go.”

  It didn’t count as running if I was shielding us both… right?

  13

  Gordo

  “I am not getting drunk this time,” I told Christian as he slid the pitcher of beer toward me. “That ended in disaster last time.”

  We were back at the bar, and lucky enough to have snagged a booth with some semblance of privacy. It was only the second time I’d been out without Giuliana, and despite weeks having passed since my horrifying pukesplosion on Javi, it was hard to be comfortable at the bar again. It held too many awful half-memories, and I still couldn’t help worrying about Giuliana when I wasn’t with her.

  “No problem. We’re not here to get you drunk. But damn, Gordo, you have to make time for yourself.” Chris poured us both a pint and sat back. He was in pressed slacks and a fitted polo shirt that showed off his toned physique, whereas I was in jeans and an old band t-shirt. It had holes from years of wear, and I knew I looked sloppy.

  Good. I wasn’t interested in looking appealing for anyone.

  “Are you reading my mind? I was just sitting here, stewing in my guilt for leaving Giuliana for a few hours. You know, healthy emotional shit.” I took a sip of the beer.

  There was no denying that it felt good to drink something alcoholic without being paranoid that I wouldn’t be able to take care of Giuliana. She was safe with Mason and Dana. Or at least, that’s what I planned on repeating that to myself every time I wanted to grab my keys and go get her.

  Christian smiled. “You’ve been a dad for a couple of months now, Gordo. It’s okay to let other people help. Besides, Mason adores your daughter, and Dana couldn’t be more infatuated. I’d bet money they start trying for a baby of their own soon, after spending time with Giuliana.”

  I doubted it. Mason’s job was a big concern for him. I knew he was torn about having kids, and Dana was still young, not even thirty. But it did help me relax a bit knowing how much they loved to watch my daughter.

  “No, you’re right. And I’m glad to get a chance to catch up with you.” My eyes drifted to the bar where I’d seen Javi all those weeks ago. A different kind of guilt wound its way into my gut, and the beer suddenly tasted acrid and stale.

  My best friend knew me too well. “You aren’t stewing in guilt over just your kid, are you?”

  I sighed and played with the condensation forming on my glass. “No. I screwed up with Javi. Again.”

  “Were you guys going to finally kiss?” Christian leaned forward, looking far too eager.

  “No! God, no. I’m not dating anyone, you know that. But Javi helped me out when I took Giuliana to the hospital, and I was a complete dick to him after. And when I tried to say I was sorry, he shut me out.”

  “Okay, let’s dissect some of this,” Christian said. “For starters, why do you think he shut you out?”

  “Because when I said I was sorry, I offered to get him a drink as a thank you. He obviously avoided saying yes and walked away.” And man, how much had that hurt? Every time I replayed it in my mind, the rejection stung, even though I’d totally deserved it.

  “Maybe he had other things on his mind? Or maybe you should try something other than drinks, since that might imply you’re looking for something more. Which brings us to point two,” Chris said, pointing a finger at me. “I’ve seen how you
look at him. We all saw you here the last time. You are so clearly into him, Gordo, so I can’t for the life of me understand why you ‘aren’t dating’.”

  He used air quotes and a tone so mocking I pictured punching him in my mind.

  I took a long swallow of beer before answering. “We’ve talked about this ad nauseum, Christian. I’m not dating because I have Giuliana, and she’s all I can handle. I don’t have the time or energy for dating, and honestly, I’m happy with just my baby girl. All of the rest of it doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, that’s just crap and you know it,” Christian accused with a heavy eye roll. “Again, I’ve seen how you look at him. And I bet he’s crazy confused, because sometimes, dude? You let being a ‘single dad’ turn you into a dick towards any man who pays attention to you.

  “Remember the guy at the hospital when you visited me for lunch? He was totally into you and you shrugged him off without thinking, even though I totally caught you checking him out. If you think you don’t have room in your life for love as long as you have your daughter, you’re going to end up sad and alone. Because Giuliana will be your kid for the rest of your life, not just this year.”

  My cheeks burned as he talked, and I knew it wasn’t the alcohol that caused it. “I know that, Christian. Hey, how is your love life, Mr. I’m-too-busy-saving-lives-to-fall-in-love?”

  When I’d still been married to Kyle, I’d often harangued Christian about how he only made time for work and avoided dating. Apparently, I’d need to renew my efforts to keep him off my case now.

  Except instead of getting upset, he got a goofy smile on his face. “I’m actually seeing someone.”

  “What?”

  His loud laugh earned us a few looks from nearby bar patrons. “We’re taking it slow, but it's been really nice, actually.”

  He said it in a dreamy tone that teased at the wanting feelings I’d gotten so good at suppressing. Wanting something, someone, more.