by Shey Stahl
“Oh, well… you know just racin’ hard.”
I nod. “Uh huh.” There wasn’t a lot on the track Daniel didn’t hit on any given night. I’m amazed he won races.
Tyler gives Daniel another smile. “Why don’t you go grab Red here another beer.”
“I don’t need one,” I say, standing up and running my hands down my pants. “Where’d you put the new axle?”
I calm down for about ten minutes, maybe twenty, when Daniel starts in again. This time talking about how he thinks we damaged the axle seal. “Are you sure? I think you damaged it.”
The wrench in my hand goes flying and hits the concrete ten feet away. “Shut the fuck up!”
“Daddy!” Nova yells at me. “Don’t yell.”
“Dude.” Daniel backs up, holding his palms up. “You need to get laid.”
Why does everyone assume I’m cranky because I need pussy?
I get right in his face. “No, what I need is for you to keep your damn mouth shut for five minutes so we can finish fixing your fucking car. And my sex life is none of your business.”
“Or lack of,” Tyler adds.
I point the wrench in his face. “You stay out of it.”
“What? All I’m saying is maybe if you found a way to release some of your tension you may see things with a different perspective.”
Daniel laughs. “Yeah, Red, you should come to the track with me. Maybe you can bag yourself a pit lizard looking for a good fuck.”
Did they really think me meeting some chick for a random fuck was going to make my life easier? I hadn’t been with anyone since my wife and I didn’t think there was a need to be. She was it for me and when she died, the need did too. Or so I thought. And the notion that I just needed to fuck out my stress pissed me off.
“Fix it yourself then. I got better things to do than listen to this shit.” Turning, I walk over to my toolbox and clean up.
By the time I’m ready to leave, Nova’s asleep on the couch in the office, but I know it’s only temporary. She always seems to wake up whenever I move her.
“Where we goin’, Daddy?”
I kiss her temple when she lays her head against my chest as we walk outside. “Home, darlin’.”
When I have Nova inside and in bed, she looks up at me, those pretty brown curls falling hopelessly in her blue eyes. “Daddy, do you need anger management?”
Huh. If my five-year-old says that maybe I overreacted tonight….
Nah.
I set her glass of water on the nightstand. “No… who said that?”
“Uncle Colt.”
I groan, scrubbing my hands over my face before letting them fall on my thighs. “He’s not your uncle.”
She sits up, reaching for her glass of water. “He’s nice enough to be.”
Taking her glass from her, I set it on the nightstand. “Okay, Darlin’, it’s time for bed.”
“Daddy?”
The questions never end with her. I wonder if this is the case for all parents, or do I just have a curious kid? “Yes?”
“What’s getting laid mean?”
Fuck. I should have known she would overhear us. Sadly, it’s not the first time. I once had to explain what jacking off was thanks to Tyler. I told her it was jacking up a car and then letting it down. In some ways, there’s some truth to it… just not a car.
I stand up and shake my head, smiling down at her. “You’re not allowed in the shop anymore.”
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, reaching for her teddy next to her and tucks him in beside her. “Just tell me what it means.”
What the fuck was I going to tell her? She knew when I was bullshitting her; she always did. Try convincing her Santa Claus is real. She flat out told me I was smoking crack that a man could fit down our chimney. Considering we didn’t have one.
“It means going to bed.” Believe it or not, I say it with some confidence and I think she might actually believe me this time.
“So you’re tired?”
“Yep.” I pull her blankets up and tuck them in around her. Leaning in, I kiss her forehead. “Night, darlin’.”
“Night, Daddy.” And then she sits up. “Wait… can I have a play date with Ollie soon?”
“Who’s Ollie?”
“The boy down the street.” I try to recall the boy down the street and then I remember he’s the same one who had her on a skateboard last week trying to see if she’d test out his ramp. It was innocent enough, but no way.
“Nope.”
She groans and flops back in bed. “You’re so unreasonable.”
As I leave her room, my skin feels hot. This parenting shit keeps getting harder, and I have no idea how I’m going to handle her being a teenager.
Making my way into my room, I take out a pair of shorts and shed my work clothes on the floor.
My house is fairly modest. Actually, it’s tiny, so I wouldn’t use the word modest. It’s a thirteen hundred square foot rambler but perfect for Nova and me. I bought the house with Nevaeh right before Nova was born and chose to stay after she died. Not only did I not have the money to move, but this house held the only memories Nova had of her mother. I couldn’t take that away too.
I did however rip out the kitchen flooring about a month after she died and put in hardwood floors. I couldn’t look at that white tile with pink-stained grout.
On my back patio, I have some gym equipment. Basic stuff like a bench, some weights and a few bars. On the weekends, I take Nova to ride her bike and run beside her. Anything to get some exercise and relieve some stress.
I enjoy working out after I put her to bed. Mostly because it’s quiet in the backyard and the sun sets just on the other side of the fence. Though it’s dark, it’s still nice to be out there.
I turn on some music, grab a glass of water and head out there. It’s quiet tonight, not even a breeze to keep me company. I prefer it this way.
After four sets of bench press, push-ups and flies, I sit on the end of the bench and look up at the sky drinking my water.
I come out here most nights, and usually have Nova running around between my feet. Her cars from last night are still lined up on the edge of the concrete patio.
It makes me laugh, seeing her presence everywhere I look; it holds comfort. Since Nevaeh died, and now my father, I’m so thankful I have Nova. Her smiles, the shine in her eyes, her magic, are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
I never saw myself being a father and certainly not so suddenly. Nevaeh got pregnant after what I thought was a one night stand. I can honestly say never once did I think, “Fuck, what am I going to do?” Now I can’t imagine my life without her.
As I push the weights up, my chest muscles burning with each movement, I think back to what Daniel said that prompted Nova’s question. Unfortunately, the asshole was right. I did need to get laid. That much was evident every morning I woke up with a hard-on.
I definitely wasn’t looking for a relationship but at this point, sex could help my mood for sure. After Nevaeh had died, it took me a good six months before sex was even on my mind. Then a year went by, and my body was doing a good job at reminding my head I missed it. Now two years later, I certainly wasn’t looking for love but someone to relieve some stress with, sure, I could go for that.
Tyler hired a hooker for my birthday a couple months ago. Only problem with that was he sent her to my damn house, and Nova answered the door.
I lied and said the lady was there selling cookies. Naturally Nova wanted to know where the cookies were, and surprisingly, the chick had two boxes of Girl Scout cookies in her car. At least she came prepared. Needless to say, the only person who got any that night was Nova scoring two boxes of thin mints.
And yeah, I would have fucked her given the chance. She gave me her number and sometimes I even think about calling her.
Standing up, I’m ready to head inside and shower. I check on Nova; she’s sound asleep, and then I sneak inside the bathroom and lock the door
. With one bathroom, I have to be careful.
Leaving my clothes in an untidy heap on the floor, I stand in front of the shower waiting for it to warm up. Once it is, I step inside and let the hot water wash away the sweat and grime from the day. As I’m letting the water run over me, my thoughts shift back to getting laid. I suppose since it’s been two years, some needs just don’t go away.
Naturally my dick is erect, forcing my attention there and making my hand unthinkingly find its way to palm my erection. It throbs against my palm, urging me to continue.
My hand slides along my length, and I reach out to rest my left hand on the tile wall in front of me letting the spray of water slide down my back. Taking a small amount of soap in my hand, I grip myself harder, imagining my dick inside of Nevaeh, the way it used to feel. I’m so hard I ache.
It’s not the first time I’ve done this. The need, unfortunately, doesn’t go away, even when your wife dies.
I’m tempted to stop myself from this, fantasies about her and what we did together, but I don’t. Instead, I picture myself pounding into her, over and over again, working my hand firmer and faster. Eyelids heavy and muscles taunt, I picture her with her head thrown back, a spray of water cascading down the valley of her breasts, writhing under me as she comes, her mouth parting as she gasps my name in my ear. I close my eyes, picture her screaming out, her nails clawing at my chest and back, begging me for more as her sweet naked body clings to mine.
With the heat of the water, it’s easy to imagine being inside of her. I groan quietly as my hand moves faster, urgent and desperate, visualizing my wife’s pussy and what it used to be like sliding in and out of it, simulating me fucking her in the shower like we used to late at night.
I grit my teeth. My frantic rhythm on my dick increases, and my orgasm begins to surface, building pressure. The sensation began in my thighs, warmth crawling its way through my groan. With an involuntary jerk of my hips, I rest my head against the shower wall, my knees buckling just a touch. With my eyelids squeezed shut, my orgasm spills over my hand as I pump my dick slowly, drawing out the sensations.
Drawing in a heavy breath, I try to regain some composure and catch my breath.
Tilting my head under the water, I close my eyes because this is when it hits me. The overwhelming confusion settling over me as to why I’m still jerking off to images of my dead wife. If that doesn’t scream rock bottom, I don’t know what does. Every time I get to this stage, I’m reminded she’s gone and never coming back.
“Fuck.” I shake my head, breathing out slowly.
A sensation, a heaviness, collects in my chest. No matter how many times I fantasize about Nevaeh and how it felt to be with her, the truth is she’s gone, and I’m alone. Nothing will ever change that, and I’m reminded I’m the one who didn’t protect her that night.
I hate my husband.
I hate that I was young and dumb and married because he told me he loved me and I believed him. Not that I was in love with him. At the time, I was in love with the idea that someone could love me. The take back child no one ever wanted for very long.
I get it, people change over time and not always for the better. And that brings me back to my previous point. I. Hate. My. Husband.
I know, strong choice of words, but anyone who says I shouldn’t use the word hate, I’d gladly invite them to find out for themselves what Ben Snider is really like. Actually, I fucking dare them to spend a night with him after he’s been drinking and smoking all day.
I know he’s going to be pissed. He always is when I get home late. The story behind Ben and me is simple. I met him at a bar, went home with him, got married two months later. All’s good, right? Nope. He turned into the biggest piece of steaming shit after about six months.
Here’s some advice. Don’t marry someone you meet in a bar and let bang you doggie style outside said bar. It just has bad news written all over it.
And that brings me to now, the present, as I rush through the door, my lunch box in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, I push the door to our trailer open and step inside. Our trailer is another steaming shit heap and reeks of weed and stale beer. It’s also in the middle of nowhere. No really, we literally live in the middle of nowhere. Every day I wish for a tornado to suck me into the sky and land my ass in another city far away.
Some might dare to ask, if I hate my life so much, why stay? Well here’s another instance where I would say spend a night in my house. I dream of running away, I do. But this is reality and dreaming and actually doing are entirely different. I can dream I’ll be rich someday but the reality of this is unlikely. I’m a mechanic. Not exactly a career that’s going to get me rich.
My point is, leaving someone is harder than it looks, especially once you’re married. And when you have no friends and no family around, it’s even harder because you have no support. No one to fall back on when the plan doesn’t work.
Ben is inside, sitting in his chair and staring blankly at the beer in his hand, tearing at the paper label wrapped around the outside of it. The television’s on, though he’s not watching it. No, he’s obsessing. I don’t even have to look at him to know.
“Hey,” I say, testing out his mood and easing into conversation.
He doesn’t say anything.
Nothing.
Great. So it’s going to be one of those nights. Awesome.
And when he does speak, I wish he wouldn’t. “Why were you working late?” His voice is throaty as if he just woke up, but I know that’s not true.
Here’s the thing about living in the middle of nowhere on a dead-end street. You generally know everyone that comes down your street, or leaves for that matter. That rusty black 80’s Camaro that was creeping down the road when I came home didn’t belong down here. But you know, if she wants to fuck my husband while I’m at work, go for it. I don’t give a rat’s ass at this point.
I roll my neck, the muscles sore from lying under a car all day. “Eric needed me to finish up an alignment for a customer who was waiting.” I place the carton of milk on the counter next to the two boxes of cigarettes for him and the case of Coors Light. “Sorry I was so late.”
I’m not sorry. I’m never sorry anymore.
He’s silent for a moment. “No, you’re not.” He stands, coming closer to me so his breath pelts the side of my neck, his fists tightening at his side, making the veins stand out on his tattooed forearm as he sets his beer on the counter.
Breathing in deeply, I study him, taking in the stiffness to his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw.
Great. Tonight is going to go badly.
Ben leans into the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw set. “Got off work early today. Thought I would come by the shop and surprise you. Guess I was the one who was in for a surprise.” And by surprise, he means check up on me.
“What are you talking about Ben?” I sigh, not wanting to hear the answer. There’s a heaviness in my stomach, a chill crawling up my spine that tells me to stop now.
“I saw you. Why were you flirting with him?”
“I wasn’t. I don’t want to go through this with you again. I work with Eric. There’s nothing to it. And in case you’ve forgotten, Eric is your step-brother. Why would I cheat on you with your brother?” And then, I laugh because I can’t seem to help myself tonight. Especially not after seeing Val leaving just as I was pulling in.
That sets him off. “Why are you laughing? You think it’s funny to disrespect me?”
I take a step away. “It’s funny that you’re accusing me of flirting when we both know you’ve done more than flirt.”
He sighs and adjusts is stance, his legs wide apart. He’s trying to be intimidating. Ben doesn’t react much, doesn’t get emotional, but when he does, it’s not pretty. It’s actually terrifying. He’s like a tornado. No warning at all, just bam, deal with this side.
His eyes narrow. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to step out if you’d give it up som
etime.”
It’s always my fault in some way. It’s how guys like him work. Accuse to avoid being accused.
Drawing in a deep breath, I try to keep myself from reacting too much. “Whatever, Ben.” I blow off his words just for the hell of it. It helps me in some way. Pretend I have the upper hand in a situation that I never will. My whole life has been a fight for some kind of control when I know I might never have it. “Don’t blame me for you being a two-timing piece of shit.”
He snorts, wetting his lips. “Tell me, though….” He waits for me to look at him and then smiles. It’s not that he thinks this is funny. He’s vindictive. There’s a difference. “How long have you been fucking him?” The question’s asked in his low, labored voice, the one that demands my attention.
I scrunch my face in incredulity that he thinks I would do that. I consider the possibility of saying nothing, turn the words over in my head before I say anything, but my mouth has a way of remaining quiet at times when I need it the most. The selfish bitch.
“Keep in mind you live in my house,” he reminds me, as if I would have forgotten. “You sleep in my bed. It’s because of me that you have anything. Be careful how you talk to me right now. Show me some fucking respect in my home.”
Breathing deeply through my nose, I push him back, needing the distance. “Screw you, Ben. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m tired of this crap. I can’t live like this anymore. This isn’t a life. It’s a fucking prison sentence.”
He reacts, smiling and takes a step back, his arms widening as if he’s inviting me in. “There’s the door, sweetheart. Go for it. Just remember when you come crawling back, you’re gonna be doin’ it on your goddamn knees.” He reaches for me, a fist full of my hair in his grasp. “Matter of fact, maybe you need to be reminded of how that feels.”
This is why I hate my husband. One of many reasons.
Instinctively, I stand my ground, despite him moving his hands to my shoulders and struggle against him. He’s stronger than I am, my defensive stance absolutely no match for his bulging muscles. With as much strength as I can muster, I push against his chest only to crash back against the wall, my head connecting with the wood paneling.