Single (Single Dads Book 1)

by RJ Scott

  I should have tried to sleep as Mia dozed on my chest. I was messing up any chance of refilling my energy tanks, but when the next post I saw was from a man called Tim in New York who posted an entire essay entitled, lonely and alone, I couldn’t stop reading.

  By the time I’d read the post and the comments and found my eyes filling with tears, I went back to my profile and added San Diego to my address, and my email contact. I wanted to connect with these guys because I was exhausted and needy, and I wanted to know I wasn’t alone.

  I couldn’t help with their grief or their sadness or loneliness, at least not yet. But I could learn about these things, and somehow I would grow into someone who could help.

  One day.

  When I finally got sleep.

  The forum was the first thing I thought about the next day. I reached for my iPad as soon as I had a spare moment and saw I had four emails from the forum. One was from a guy in Oceanside, a thirty-minute direct run north up the coast from me. His name was Brady, and he didn’t seem to be able to get all his thoughts down in a coherent fashion. I could imagine him sitting there, desperate for a connection to some other man in a similar position. You and me both, Brady. He’d added his Messenger details, and I connected and left a short hello with an explanation of who I was. His icon was blank, so he wasn’t online, but I already felt a kinship with him simply because we were both single dads. Then his icon turned green, and three dots bounced, indicating he was typing something back to me.

  Brady: Hi

  Ash: Hi

  I watched the dots bouncing again. They seemed to move for a very long time, and I imagined Brady at the other end thinking about what to write. Then they vanished, and disappointment coursed through me. Maybe Brady had second thoughts about connecting with a stranger? I flexed my fingers, ready to type something, and then a long message appeared.

  Brady: I copy pasted this from a document, so don’t think I can type this fast really. LOL. I’m going to be honest and tell you I have dyslexia, which makes using Messenger hard at times. I mix up things, and it takes me a while to get back to people, so apologies in advance. I use voice to text a lot, but you know how that works sometimes and then fails spectacularly. Nothing says stupid as when you type bank manager as wank manager.

  So, long story short, I worked out all of this to post to anyone I connected with in advance, and got a friend to amend and spell-check it. I wrote a couple of replies depending on who contacted me, and I had this one all ready to go if it was to another dad in the same position as me. Or at least a dad who is wondering about his place in things.

  I’m really pleased you reached out to me, and I want you to know that even though I might not be able to type super-fast or make a lot of sense with what I write, that I would love to connect online to other people in my position. So if you don’t mind me sending you messages that have short words, I’m happy to talk.

  I care for two children: Lucas, who is eleven, and Maddie who is nine. Their parents, my sister and her husband, died some time ago now. In their wisdom, they gave me guardianship of the kids, so I’m both uncle and dad. It’s hard but rewarding, and I love them, although they don’t always love me. LOL.

  A bit about me - I was working for a graphic design company, but it was impossible fitting work around putting Lucas and Maddie first. I do freelance drawing, which I have some talent in, and work hard to be a good dad, which it seems I have less talent in. So yeah, that’s me. I’m twenty-eight, gay, and currently in a relationship with Robert, but I think he’s about to walk out on me. I don’t blame him. I don’t have the time for him when he is home. Right now I think I’m losing him, so I’m feeling isolated and lonely because he isn’t here, and I’ve never really had long-term friends. Not that you really need to know all of that.

  Anyway, that is my story, and I’d love to connect if I haven’t scared you off.

  I reread his long post and then decided that I needed to take the plunge and connect with someone who was as lonely as I was. Particularly a guy who had a boyfriend who was at work a lot. When Darius had been doing that kind of shit, he’d been sleeping around. Not that I would say that unless this Brady person asked for my advice. Instead, I was all about reassuring Brady.

  Ash: Hello, Brady. I’m not worried about spelling or grammar, in case you’re worried. I’m dad to Mia. She’s only a couple of months old, but she’s my everything. I write code for games. It’s really nice to meet you. Ash.

  The dots bounced, and before I knew it, I was knee deep in a very slowly typed conversation with Brady about lack of sleep and grief.

  Brady: I’m line on in every evenings

  Although on and line were a little jumbled, I realized that somewhere along the way I had begun to pick up on the style of his writing.

  Ash: I’ll hit you up tomorrow evening, then. Really good to talk.

  He answered with a smiley, which he did a lot through our online chat. I guess the cartoon images were a lot easier to work with than the mess of letters that made up words.

  I sent him a smiling emoji back, along with a thumbs-up, and signed out of chat. Maybe we could meet up face-to-face one day, and maybe I could start to make friends outside of the ones I’d had through my ex who’d all vanished when he left me.

  Two of the other three emails were general forum posts, and the last one was from Nick, who gave me the address details for a San Diego SDT group meetup, which was at his house.

  Am I really going to go?

  The address was thirty-two minutes away according to my maps app, but it would be the first journey I’d taken with Mia that wasn’t us coming back from my sister’s house. All I wanted now was email exchanges that confirmed to me that I was doing okay, so did I genuinely want to meet up with other dads?

  What if those other dads told me I was doing everything wrong?

  And what if they were right?

  Sean

  I really wanted to see Ash, to go next door and see if he was okay, which was just a thinly veiled excuse to see him. This was necessary after meeting his sister and having a weird-ass conversation that somehow ended up with me not only telling her I was gay but also agreeing her brother was hot.

  That girl, his twin, had crazy mad interrogation skills. After the chat, in which it was explained very plainly that her brother was also gay, I had this insane idea that I might ask Ash out for coffee; a notion that wouldn’t leave me alone.

  So asking him out for coffee is what I wanted to do.

  Unfortunately, what I had to do was attend the 6th Annual Trauma Awareness Expo and man the stall for Soledad Memorial Hospital. In fact, all three of us, me, Leo, and Eric were there. Leo and Eric in uniform, me in my scrubs.

  Scrubs for fuck’s sake.

  It’s how the public perceives the ER now, Sean. Suck it up sunshine.

  Whatever. Scrubs were my uniform, and they were super comfortable, but it wasn’t bling like my friends had going on. The fire department had brought a big shiny engine, and Eric was busy dealing with herds of kids and their admiring moms. Of course he was. He was a six-five, distinguished firefighter and could bench press who knew how much.

  Leo, handsome and slick in his dress blues had his police car, along with special dispensation to pretend to lock kids in the back seat and turn on the blue lights. Between him and Eric, they had the sexy first responders thing all sewn up. They were goddamn heroes.

  And what did I have? I had Tracy from IT, who didn’t want to be there, and an anatomically correct cross section of a human heart, with real pumping blood. Well, not exactly blood, but synthetic liquid that was leaking from somewhere and left my hands smelling of bleach.

  “What happens if I poke it with a stick?” a kid asked me, all ginger hair and wide eyes, pointing at the fake heart. “Will that blood gush out all over me?” He couldn’t have been more than ten, and there was no parent who appeared to be responsible for him. The last thing I wanted was for him to poke the expensive prop with the shar
p, pointy stick that he was waving in front of me.

  “Would you poke a real person in the heart?” I asked and nudged the display out of his reach.

  “Only if they ’served it,” the kid stated, and jeez, he seemed as if he really meant what he was saying. Did we have a future serial killer on our hands here? I searched for Leo, and if I could catch his eye, maybe we could haul in the kid for questioning. “Nah,” the kid added, “it was a joke.” He peered at the table, at the pile of heart-shaped stickers with the hospital logo. “Can I have a sticker?”

  “Sure you can.” I picked up a sheet to peel off one, but he grabbed a pile of ten sheets, then ran before I could stop him. That was the most excitement I’d had all morning, apart from Tracy telling me in no uncertain terms that she was sick and that she had to leave. I offered to check her out if it helped, but she ran before I could catch her. Which meant I was now on my own, with the stickers, in my scrubs, and with a bleeding heart.

  “You ever saved anyone?” another kid asked, this one maybe fifteen, the right age for my target market. I wasn’t completely sure why I was even there—whether it was to sell the hospital services or encourage kids to concentrate on science more so they might one day become medics like me.

  “I try and save a lot of people.” I waited for a follow-up question.

  “But not for real? Like from fires or from people with guns, right?” The boy stared right through me, and I was stuck in that awkward place between wanting to explain that I was one of those who tried to save the people after the disaster, or saying no and letting the kid move on.

  “The stickers are lame.” The boy picked them up, then dropped them and left.

  Yep, I was not manning what people would call the heroic-sexy stall at all. I wasn’t a firefighter, I wasn’t a cop, but I was the one who would attempt to mend these people enough to stop them from dying if they ended up in my ER.

  I’m a quiet, understated hero. Obviously.

  Eric looked my way, and I caught his gaze as someone took a photo of him with their mom scooped up in his arms. He winked at me, and I gave him the finger. Subtly of course; I didn’t want to be caught on camera giving a firefighter the bird. The woman threw her arms around his neck, and it took two other guys from his engine to assist her from Eric’s hold. That made me smile, and this time, it was my turn to wink at him.

  The event was crowded, people spilling out of the tents, stopping, talking, some eventually worked their way over and asked me what I did. I explained I worked in the emergency room at Soledad Memorial, and got the same question asked in many different ways. For the older generation, it was questions about the television show. Was I like George Clooney in ER? Or “You sure don’t look like George Clooney in ER.” Then there were the ones who came over and told me all of their symptoms. By the time I’d dealt with my third case of possible hemorrhoids, it was two p.m., and I was done. The space in front of my table was so sparse of people I expected to see tumbleweed. The heart, which I’d named Henry, had somehow stopped pumping the fake blood, even though it was all plugged in to the portable generator. I was caught up in wondering if I should find a sharp stick and poke it when a commotion broke out in front of me.

  “My daughter!” someone shouted. “Help us.”

  “Someone call 911!”

  “She needs a paramedic!”

  Then I heard Leo call my name, and I grabbed my medical bag, jumped the table, knocking Henry-heart to the ground and sprinting as best I could to where I thought I’d heard my name called. I recognized the woman; she’d been to the stall and spoken at length about her husband’s diabetes. It was probably the only sensible conversation I’d had all day.

  I slid to a halt and fell to my knees next to the young girl who was on the ground, foot bent at a weird angle, a cut on her forehead, and sobbing piteously. Leo joined me.

  “Paramedics five minutes out,” Leo said.

  “There’s bleeding,” Eric added.

  “What’s her name?” I asked the mom.

  “Becky,” she said, and gripped her daughter’s hand. “The bouncy castle is supposed to be safe, but she fell as she got off.”

  “Can you get me some room here?” I asked Leo and looked at him pointedly. This was a young girl on the ground, and a crowd of gawkers staring. Eric and a couple of his firefighter buddies formed a protective circle around us all.

  “Becky? I just need to check your eyes, okay?” I flashed the light but everything was okay, pupils reacting as they should. The head wound was superficial, it was the ankle that looked bad. “And now I’m going to check your ankle as gently as I can, sweetheart.” Leo cradled her head, and I examined the area. “It looks to me like it’s just a sprain,” I lied. She was already crying, no point in making it obvious it was broken. “The paramedics will take you to the ER and get X-rays.” The paramedics arrived, and I passed on what I knew, adding quietly what I suspected about the break, and watched as Becky and her mom left. The drama was over.

  The crowd of watchers melted away, and it was just me, Eric, and Leo in a circle.

  “Now who’s the hero,” I deadpanned.

  Leo snorted, but Eric frowned. “I have a bone to pick with you, Doctor,” he announced and tugged me over to the big shiny scarlet engine. “Look.”

  All across the back, spelled out in the stickers I’d been handing out was one word. ASS. It was artistic, and I could make a good guess who had done it and that he probably had ginger hair.

  Eric muttered as he peeled each sticker off, then patted the big rig. Any minute now he’d start talking to it. I sidled away, back to my stall, which was a little busier as people had followed me back, and I tried to fix Henry-heart, who now had a new hole.

  “I’m not sure I can save you,” I told the model and laid him on his side to stop the seeping scarlet fluid.

  By the time volunteers from the hospital had dismantled our stall, the crowds had thinned, and those who were left were picking up trash and what looked like all the stickers I’d given out. I made a mental note to suggest that Memorial needed to rethink next year’s marketing, and said my goodbyes. Leo and Eric were both on duty and heading straight out, but I was on day two of my time off, the forced break after working twenty-one days in a row. I left the care of Henry to the support workers.

  Now, I could call a cab or walk, since I’d carpooled with Eric that morning, but I decided that even though I was in scrubs, I would walk home. It wasn’t much more than three miles, right through the park, and I needed to enjoy the May sunshine while I could. All too soon I’d be back on the battleground at the hospital, although with a full complement of docs there now, maybe I’d even get more time off soon.

  And pigs will fly.

  The park was stunning, full of color and life, and I slowed my walk to an appreciative saunter, tilting my head up to the sun and feeling in that single moment that everything in life was possible. It was in that happy positive mood that I left the park, rounded the corner into our road, and spotted Ash collecting his mail. I quickened my pace to cut him off, glancing at his bandaged hand and noticing it had been redone.

  “Hi, Ash,” I said in my best neighborly way.

  He blinked at me, and I could see he was working through his memories of who the hell I was.

  “Oh, hey,” he offered and then lifted his cut hand. “Thank you for the fix, if I hadn’t already said. I mean, I probably said something, but right now, it’s a blur.”

  “New babies will do that to you,” I offered and was aware I came over as a combination of preachy and lame.

  “My sister is visiting again,” he said. “She told me that her psychic twin connection told her I needed help.”

  “You have a psychic twin connection?”

  “She says we do, but it doesn’t seem to work from my end.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  “I should be in there.”

  I got the impression he was defending why he wasn’t in the house with his baby. “She s
aid I needed to let them have girl time for at least an hour. Do babies need that already?”

  “I doubt it,” I reassured. “At this age, all a baby wants is to drink milk, have hugs, and not have dirty diapers. Oh, and sleep.”

  “I have to go…” He began to walk backward to the house, and I went with him, desperate to connect. Why, I don’t know, but there was something about him that meant all I wanted to do was talk to him and then maybe stare at him some more. He stopped just short of his porch and tucked his mail under his arm. “Do you know a lot about babies?”

  “I know enough, but I’m an ER doc, not a pediatrician.”

  He sunk to the step. “I don’t know anything about babies.” He sounded lost. “We read all the books, or at least I did. Then I went to classes on my own, but none of it is working the same as what I read or learned. I have this schedule I made, from all the advice, and I pinned it to the fridge, about sleep routines and milestones, but I’m not following any of it. We had all these ideas, and now…”

  I took his pleading look as an invitation that he wanted to talk, and sat next to him. It hadn’t bypassed me that he’d picked up on the use of the word we. Did he mean a boyfriend? Or maybe his sister? She seemed a pretty hands-on aunt.

  “We?” I asked gently.

  “My ex, Darius, and I, we started this journey,” he let out a full body sigh, “but it was me who decided to keep going. He kind of left me holding the baby. But, not really…well, yeah I guess he did. Only having Mia in my life balances everything. I wanted her, I wasn’t left with her.”

  “He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Mia is the perfect baby.”

  He shot me an amused look. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d been the one changing her diaper last night. I’ve never seen anything that color before.”