by Tl Reeve
He stepped into their house and sighed, smelled just like home. “Hey everyone!” He walked through the house until he came to their dining room. His mother and sister were setting the table while he spied his brother and dad outside grilling. “What’s the occasion?”
His mom glanced up at him. “Do we need an occasion to grill now?”
“No ma’am,” he answered, wrapping her in a hug.
“Right answer.” She straightened the collar of his polo shirt. “Go outside and help your father.”
“Yes, ma'am.” He glanced at Jackie who didn't indicate either way how they were doing. Between him and Jackie, they'd been the most worried about their parents. They weren't spring chickens anymore. They were in their seventies and after everything they'd been through, time hadn't been kind to them.
Dexter headed out the back door and stopped next to his dad. His brother and their father were deep in a conversation about the app Marcus had been hyped to sell. From the bits he understood, if it worked, the weather app would be useful. Marcus needed backing though and he needed a meteorologist. Someone who could tell him how weather patterns worked and whatever else his brother had planned.
“You trying to get more money out of Pops?” Dexter put his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Hey, Dad. How you doin’ today.”
“Getting old,” his father responded. I sound like rice pops when I wake up in the morning and my dick power isn’t what it used to be. Your mother and I have had to get creative.”
“Oh shit!” Marcus hollered before laughing. “Jesus dad.”
Their father smacked him upside the head. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, boy. I might be old, but I am not too old to not whoop your ass.”
Shock filled Dexter. He stood there, stunned by his father’s admission before trying to sputter a response. “I-I’m sorry?”
“Me too,” his dad replied. “Your mom was-is the best.”
Dexter held up his hands. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“I think I’m scarred,” Marcus said, finding his voice, “for life.”
“So, whatcha making, Pops?” Dexter asked, trying to change the subject.
“Steaks,” he said. “They're almost ready. You're late.” His father glanced up at Dexter with whiskey-colored eyes, aged by a hard-working life. “Where were you?”
“Working. I had a shift at the fire department. It was my turn to inventory and check on the construction. I wish we could have gotten you and mom out there to see the new building.”
“Mm-hmm, your mom would have broken a hip trying to dance with all those single firefighters. You know her. Fitted shirt and a pair of tight pants and she just can't help it.”
“Well, now we know why you always wore them,” Marcus muttered. “I feel like I am learning more about my parents than I ever wanted to know.”
Their father popped him on the back of the head again. “Hold the damn platter, this meat is done.”
“That’s what she said,” Dexter smarted off.
“Boy, I will slap you upside your bald dome,” his father said. “Try me.”
“No, sir,” Dexter said with a laugh.
When they were back inside, he joined his sister and mother in the dining room. Twice-baked potatoes, sprouts, and a salad were on the table along with their mother's famous yeast rolls. Over the years, he'd asked for the recipe, and his mother declined. He had a feeling when she passed, her box of recipes would be buried with her.
Dexter took his seat beside his father as the eldest then Jackie across from him and Marcus beside her with their mother at the opposite end of the table, facing their father. As their dad said, he and their mom were the king and queen of the family therefore they sat in the most prominent positions while at the table.
Dexter and his siblings never questioned it.
“The food looks amazing, Mom,” Dexter said, accepting the salad bowl from his father.
“Yeah, it does,” Jackie added. “Mom said she made her world-famous brownies for dessert too.”
“You spoil these damn kids,” his father muttered. “They’re not five anymore.”
“They’re mine, Joseph Walsh, and I will spoil them as I please.” She handed the bowl of sprouts to Marcus.
“Ah, horseshit,” his dad replied.
Dexter laughed. “I miss Mom's brownies. I don't get home often, so this is a treat.”
“Ugh, they’ll go right my thicc thighs,” Jackie quipped.
“You could stand to gain twenty pounds,” their father said. “You’re all skin and bones.”
“Daddy, don't start.” Jackie always had an issue with her weight. For whatever reason, she always thought she was too big. To Dexter, she was beautiful, and his sister, first and foremost, but he also understood society's views of what 'perfect,' constituted.
“Joseph,” his mother began, “your daughter is a beautiful woman now. She is allowed to feel as she does. We validate her feelings.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Their father gave Jackie his full attention. “Girl, you got mine and your mother’s blood running through your veins. I don’t give a shit what anyone says, you’re beautiful. You’re perfect the way you are, and you still need to put on twenty pounds.”
Jackie laughed. “Sometimes, Daddy.”
Dexter chuckled. “At least he’s honest about it.”
His sister narrowed her eyes. “Anyway, Dexter, don’t you have something to tell Mom and Dad?”
His parents exchanged a look then peered over at him. “What is it, boy?”
Dexter took a deep breath. If he had it his way, he’d have waited for confirmation to tell them the truth, but Jackie’s words rang out in his head. He had to tell them and get it over with. He wiped his mouth before putting the napkin on the table. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“We established that,” his mother said.
“I don’t even know if it is true,” he said, scrubbing the back of his head, “but, I think you’re grandparents.”
His father pushed back from the table. “The hell?”
“Dexter?” His mother lifted her hand to her mouth.
“Fuck bro, and here y’all thought it would be me,” Marcus said.
“Yeah, well, I did something stupid,” Dexter admitted.
“How far along is she,” his dad prodded.
Jackie snorted. “Yeah, bro, how far along is she?”
He was going to kill his sister when they left the house—if he made it out of there unscathed. “Well, he’d be sixteen years old.”
His father deflated in his chair. “Did you skip out on her?”
“No, sir. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. It was a rash decision that now has consequences.”
“How did you not know?” his father pushed.
“Joseph, he went overseas,” his mother whispered. “He wouldn’t have known in all that time.”
Dexter felt like shit. He’d let his parents down and he wasn’t even sure the boy was his. For all he knew, he was saying shit he didn’t have to. Yet, deep down he knew with every fiber of his being, the boy belonged to him. “I’m sorry. I-I could make excuses about the whole incident, but it doesn’t change the fact of what I’ve done.”
“Who’s the boy’s mother?” his mother asked.
“Her name is Brittney Hart,” Jackie answered. “The pretty storm chaser. The one you like, Mom.”
“The petite blonde who could stand to put some weight on?” His mom blushed. “Sorry, I shouldn't be rude. She's the boy's mother?”
Dexter nodded. “They’re in Nebraska right now.”
His mother placed her hand over her mouth. “The tornado. She helped a lot of people.”
Pride filled Dexter. “She sure did.”
“Doesn’t change the fact you made a baby with her and you let her raise the child on her own. I taught you better son,” his father said.
“You did, sir. I accept full responsibility if the boy is mine. I have a ton of time
to make up with him and he’s missed years with you and Mom too,” Dexter said. “I plan to meet up with Brittney when she returns from her storm chasing.”
“Good, and when you finally meet your boy, you better bring him here so he can meet his grandparents, do I make myself clear?” His father frowned as he stared at Dexter.
Dexter nodded. “Yes, sir. You do and I will.”
Chapter 5
Dexter pulled into the parking lot of the small Econo-Lodge motel on the outskirts of Jackson, Mississippi. He’d been driving since before sunrise and was more than happy to get off the road. When he set out, he hadn’t been thinking. Or, he had, but not in the right context. The conversation he had with his parents when they had dinner together, played through his mind for days. He had to know the truth about Rai and every day he didn’t, felt as though his chance to be a father to the boy named Rai, slipped through his fingers. So, he found Calliope and asked her if she knew where Brittney would be. It had taken a few days for her to find Brittney, but when she did, a sense of relief washed over Dexter. Finally, he could ask all the questions swirling in his mind since he’d seen her at the celebration.
As much as he wanted to believe the Navy would have helped Brittney if she’d called and explained the circumstances, he also knew the military didn’t give out information on a whim. They’d require proof and, even then, he didn’t think he’d have gotten the message with the shitshow going on in Afghanistan. There was also the issue of being home. When his first tour was over, he thought he’d never have to go back. He’d begun looking at his options to take an honorable discharge and starting his life as a civilian. Eight years of his life had been dedicated to the Navy. He paid his dues and it was time. Unfortunately, when he finally figured out his next move, his unit was needed again, and, without much fanfare, he shipped out again for another two years. Ten years he dedicated his life to the country. He lost so much and gained so little for all his hard work.
After parking in one of the empty spots, Dexter climbed out of his truck and went inside the lobby. He wouldn't be making the drive back in one day, it took six hours to get there, to begin with, and he hoped, if things worked out, he'd be able to speak with his son. He stepped up to the counter and asked for a room, then, on the sly, he asked for Brittney's room number.
“I'm sorry, sir. I'm not allowed to give out room numbers,” the attendant said while handing Dexter his room key.
“She’s the mother of my son and I thought I could take them out for dinner. Are you sure you can’t help me?” Dexter understood the thin line he toed. He could come off as a creepy stalker or an abusive ex looking for a way in. Hell, he could also be a fanatical fan of hers. “I know how I look and how this sounds, but it’s the truth.” Sure, ever slim ball and skuzzy person could say the same.”
The attendant stared up at him for a moment then blew out a breath. “I could lose my job for this.”
“I won’t say a word,” Dexter replied.
The woman typed in Brittney’s name then grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote the room number on it. They were only three rooms apart. The attendant handed it over to Dexter and sighed. “Please don’t do anything stupid. I need this job more than you need to get laid.”
He snorted. “I promise you; I am not some fucked up fan of Brittney’s. I take full responsibility if anything should happen.” Though nothing would.
Dexter grabbed the key card for his room then headed back outside. The motel was small. There were ten rooms altogether. Five on one side of the lobby and five on the other side. There'd been a pool and a laundry room on the backside. Not more than a mile down the road were restaurants and shops as well. It wasn't a five-star resort, but it would do. As he walked down the cracked sidewalk toward his room, one of the doors to a room was open and Brittney's voice caught his attention.
Fuck, now you are a stalker. He paused momentarily to hear what was going on. Her words were clipped, anxious. Another storm was rolling through. He caught parts of it. Stuff like storm chain. Low pressures. Hail. Core. He supposed if he could focus on anything other than her voice, he’d have been able to understand what was going on. Instead, he started moving again. Once inside his room, he threw his duffle bag on the bed and hit the showers, to clean the layer of funk off his body from being cooped up in his truck.
By the time he finished getting cleaned up, it was a little after three. While he’d been showering, he tried to come up with a way to explain how he got there and why he’d been there. All of his reasons, to him, fell short. For all he knew, the minute he got Brittney in his room, she’d ream his ass for even attempting to see her or his son. Guess I’m just going to have to bite the bullet.
He picked his phone off the nightstand and sent out a quick text. If she didn’t answer, he’d go to her room and make the introduction himself. Instead of receiving a text back, his phone rang. He glanced down at the screen. Brittney. His stomach twisted. His heart hammered. A sickening dread slid down his spine. He couldn’t stop the reaction, even though he didn’t have a reason to feel so out of sorts.
“Hello?”
“Dexter...” Brittney murmured.
The sound of her voice shot straight to his groin. “Hey. You got my text.”
“How did you find me?”
“Calliope and someone with you,” Dexter said. “I didn’t ask for specifics.”
Brittney sighed. “I am going to kill her and them when I figure it out. So, you’re here?”
“Yeah, three doors down from you,” he replied. “I thought we could talk about things.”
She didn’t say anything. He feared she might have hung up and then she whispered, “Okay. You have a right to know. I’ll be there in five. Which room?”
“103,” he replied. “The door will be open for you.”
Relief surged through him when he ended the call. She hadn’t told him no and she hadn’t demanded he go home. However, she did sound defeated, which didn’t make sense to him. Then again, it could be because she was tired. He couldn’t imagine the stress and strain of her job or the toll it took on her.
When the door pushed too, he sucked in a breath. There she was. The woman who took his breath away all those years ago, stood before him appearing exhausted and a bit out of sorts. He met her halfway and wrapped his arms around her. She sagged into his embrace, placing her head to his chest. He didn’t know how long he held her, and it didn’t matter. The years since they’d met, melted away.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey, yourself.” She glanced up at him. “You got older.”
A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You haven’t aged a bit.”
She snorted. “Tell that to my body.”
“I will later if you give me half the chance,” he teased, closing the door behind her.
“Still a smooth talker I see.” She grinned.
“When it comes to you, always.” Having her in his arms was the best, worst feeling in the world. He wanted to say fuck it all and go for it—stripping her bare and fucking the frustration out of both of them. Instead, he guided her over to the small table by the window. “I have to apologize.”
She arched a brow. “For what?”
“This,” he said, motioning to the room. “It’s not one of my best ideas.”
“Well, running away from you wasn’t one of my best decisions either,” she said. “So, I guess we’re even.”
“I’d offer you something to drink, but...”
“Cheap, shitty motels that offer WiFi, aren’t the best when it comes to amenities.”
He laughed. “No, they’re not.” He sat across from her. “Should we get this part over with?”
Brittney dipped her chin and rubbed her arms. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” Dexter placed his hand on hers, stilling her. “As much as you want to tell me and take your time. I saw you in Clark—on the news. You were amazing.”
“Uh, thanks. Just, you know, doing
my job.” She folded her hands in her lap. “My pregnancy was normal. I had a few rough days, but nothing major. Rai was nine pounds-three ounces and twenty-two inches long when he was born, and I labored with him for seventeen hours. After he was born, he was a good baby. No colic or reflux issues. Didn’t fuss much. Happy. Normal.”
“What about you?” Dexter pressed.
“Me?” She looked up at him. “I did okay. I worked and went to school. I did what I had to, to support Rai and me.” She pointed toward her room. “They helped too. I had someone I could trust watching after Rai while I worked. For a while, we lived in a small duplex in Oklahoma until we moved back to Texas.”
Dexter scrubbed his head. “There’s more there, I can feel it, but I won’t push you. I also know even if you tried to find me, the military would have stonewalled you.”
“If they gave out the personal information to every soldier accused of fathering a child...” she muttered.
“Yes,” he agreed. “To be honest, I don’t think I would have been in the right headspace to help you. Too much shit happened over there.”
“You’re different,” she said. “I saw it when we ran into each other.”
“Yeah...” He let out a breath. “There were issues I had to overcome. I even had a therapist for a while.”
“A therapist?”
He nodded. “Yeah, go figure. But, she helped me.”
“And now?” she asked. “How are you?”
“Better,” he said, wincing at his quick answer. “It’s day to day. I’m not one of those crazed psychos out there, but I did—do deal with bouts of depression and self-loathing. My therapist calls it, survivor’s guilt.”
Brittney frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“The more I realize there’s nothing I could have done to change the outcome of that day, how it wasn’t my fault, the more the crushing pain eases from my shoulders.” Dexter shrugged.