by Hunter Rose
And I don’t belong here. My presence is obviously disrupting their harmony. If nothing else, it’s making Scarlet incredibly uncomfortable, and that’s about the last thing I ever want to do.
I hang the chart back on the end of the bed and give Scarlet a small smile. “It was nice seeing you again, Scarlet. Really nice,” I say and then look down at the little girl still hiding behind her mom’s legs. “And it was nice meeting you, Kinsey.”
She giggles and turns away from me, pulling a smile across my lips. I look up to find Scarlet looking back at me completely stone-faced. She doesn’t respond. Seeing the lack of any sort of emotion for me in her face makes me feel like shit in ways I can’t quite describe. But it’s more than clear that I’m not welcome here.
I give Scarlet one last look and a tight smile before I turn and walk out of the room, leaving Scarlet behind for the second time. Only this time, it’s without the promise of calling her and keeping in touch. There doesn’t seem to be a need or a desire on her part for it.
14
Scarlet
“Wait, so Roman is a doctor here?” Tyson asks. “As in Roman, Roman?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Light is streaming in through the windows of his hospital room. It warms the back of my neck as I sit in a chair facing the bed. I’m off work today but dropped Kinsey off at day care and stopped by the hospital before I run some errands.
Thankfully, Tyson is looking a lot better and seems far more coherent than he was yesterday. His color has returned, he’s not strung out on whatever drugs they gave him, and he doesn’t look like he’s sitting on death’s door. Which is a good thing. It makes me let out a long, silent breath of relief. Appendectomies may be routine, but there can always be unforeseen complications. I’m just glad Tyson doesn’t seem to be experiencing any.
“So Roman,” he repeats as if he can’t quite believe it. “As in, Kinsey’s father, Roman?”
I look around, making sure the door is closed and we’re not being observed. The last thing I want is for Roman to walk into the room and hear us talking about him. That would make things even more awkward and strained than they already are. After seeing him last night, I was hesitant to come back to the hospital today. If it weren’t Tyson lying in that bed, I might have made an excuse to skip it altogether. But I know he would have been here for me, even if he’d been in the same position I’m currently in. That’s how good of a friend Tyson is, and that’s why I forced myself to suck it up and come in.
“Yeah, one and the same I’m afraid,” I answer.
Seeing Roman was about the biggest shock of my life. After cursing the man’s name for the last four years, to have him standing right there looking into my eyes after all that time, felt like a kick to the stomach. Even now, having had a day to absorb the fact that Roman was standing right in front of me, live and in the flesh, still makes my stomach churn and sends a steady drip of adrenaline flowing through my system.
“Tyson looks at me completely dumbfounded. “Unbelievable,” he whispers. “What are the goddamn odds?”
I shrug and shake my head. “You know me. That’s just kind of the way my luck runs.”
Tyson takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You know I think that’s bullshit,” he says. “We make our own luck.”
I laugh softly. “If it’s not a case of bad luck, then God must absolutely hate me,” I mutter. “Or he has the nastiest sense of humor ever.”
I look away, doing my best to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall. I can’t stop them from sliding down my cheeks, though. I angrily wipe them away as Tyson gives me a sympathetic smile. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“Stiff and sore. And not in a good way,” he replies. “And stop changing the subject.”
I give him a weak smile. “And why not?”
“Because denial isn’t a good look on you, baby,” he says. “Did you tell him about Kinsey? Does he know? I wasn’t quite with it last night and don’t recall most of the evening.”
I shake my head. “No. Like I told you, he doesn’t deserve to know about her.”
“Honey, this could be a blessing in disguise,” he says, grimacing in pain as he shifts position in the bed.
“A blessing?” I retort. “This is a disaster. I never wanted him to know about her.”
“Think about it; life might not be such a struggle for you if he starts paying the child support he owes you –”
“No. Absolutely not,” I cut him off. “I don’t need or want him or his money.”
“Don’t be hasty, Scarlet,” he says.
I shake my head again. “I’m not doing this, Tyson,” I insist. “I’ve made up my mind. I am not going to let him anywhere near my child.”
“As they say, pride goeth before a fall,” Tyson prods me.
I shrug. “I guess I’m going to fall then.”
He sighs, and there’s a long moment of silence between us. On one level, I know he’s right. Life would be a lot easier if Roman were paying child support. I might actually be able to buy Kinsey a toy when she wants one. But if he knew about Kinsey, he might try to assert his rights as a parent. He might even try to take her from me. And I don’t have the money to hire a decent lawyer to fight it.
“Aren’t you tired of struggling?” Tyson asks. “Of living paycheck to paycheck?”
“Of course I am,” I respond. “But I’m still not willing to give him a chance to take my daughter from me.”
“Why are you assuming he would?”
I frown. “Because he’s an arrogant, narcissistic asshole who does things just because he can?”
Tyson laughs and then winces at the pain. “You didn’t always use to think that, you know.”
His voice is raspy, so I grab the cup off the table next to the bed and fill it with water, then lift it to his lips and help him drink. He doesn’t need the help drinking – he’s not weak and frail after all. I just want to divert this conversation and talk about something else, so I’m trying to distract him. But my mind is so filled with thoughts of Roman, and my body is so consumed by warring emotions that I can’t think of anything else to talk about. I’m drawing a complete blank.
“I’m not an invalid, you know,” Tyson admonishes me with a grin as I set the cup down on the table. “But thank you. And I also know what you’re trying to do.”
I laugh softly. “You always do.”
“Because I know you so well, honey,” he declares. “And let me just say, by your own admission, Roman is – or was – a stand up guy. Yes?”
I shrug, pouting like a teenager. “Can be. But he can also be a smug, entitled, egotistical asshole.”
“Can’t we all?” Tyson muses. “Knowing he is – or can be – a stand up guy though, I would be willing to bet that he would want to be a part of his daughter’s life. I’d think he’d want to own up to his responsibilities as a parent – even if it’s just the financial obligation of it.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what he’d do,” I admit. “And that scares me. What if he thinks I’m not giving Kinsey a good enough life and wants to take her from me?”
“Do you really believe he’d do that?”
I think about it for a moment and then shrug. “I just don’t know. And I’m not willing to gamble with Kinsey’s life. Can you imagine how traumatized she’d be to be taken away from me? Can you imagine how traumatized I’d be?”
“Honey, I don’t –”
I let out a frustrated growl. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Tyson falls silent and instead, takes my hand. He gives it a squeeze and gives me a warm smile.
“If it ever came to that – Roman trying to take Kinsey away from you,” he starts, his voice earnest. “We would fight him tooth and nail.”
I shake my head. “I can’t afford a lawyer, Tyson,” I sigh. “Not the kind of lawyer I’d need to fight somebody with hi
s family’s money.”
He gives me an enigmatic smile. “I have friends in high places,” he replies. “I know some top-shelf attorneys who’d be more than happy to do me a favor.”
I smile and give his hand a gentle squeeze. Tyson is so good to me. He always has been. I honestly don’t know where Kinsey and I would be without him right now. He’s always been my rock, and he keeps me sane. But on this one, I just can’t go along with him.
“Well, the best way to keep it from ever coming down to a custody battle is to never tell him that he’s Kinsey’s father,” I state, punctuating my words with a firm nod. “If he doesn’t know, there’s no fight to be had.”
Silence envelops us again, but I can feel Tyson’s gaze upon me. It presses down on me like it has a physical weight to it. It’s not that he’s judging me – he’d never do that – but I can sense his disagreement in that silence. And I know he has more to say. I look up at him, and his expression is soft. Warm. Loving.
“Can I give you a little bit of advice?” he asks gently. “Or at least some perspective?”
“Could I stop you even if I wanted to?”
He grins mischievously. “Probably not.”
“Go ahead then,” I sigh. “Spit it out.”
He doesn’t even hesitate to spit out the words that have been sitting on his tongue this whole time.
“I know it scares you, honey,” he starts. “But Roman has a right to know he has a daughter. Kinsey is his child, too. I know it’s difficult but try to put yourself in his place. If you were him, wouldn’t you want to know you had a child in this world? Wouldn’t you be pissed if somebody knew, and was intentionally keeping it from you?”
I sigh, knowing he’s right. Damn him. Still, I don’t know if I can do it. As far as I’m concerned, after he ghosted me the way he did, he lost all rights to Kinsey. But I also can’t deny that Tyson’s arguments are sound and are taking root in my brain. In Roman’s position, yeah, I’d be pretty pissed if somebody kept something like that from me. But should that matter? Should I even care about his feelings, since he so obviously doesn’t care about mine?
“Honestly, I don’t even know if he wants kids, Tyson,” I reply. “I mean, when we spent time together back in Syria, he didn’t exactly have a lot of flattering things to say about children.”
I know my argument is weak. I’m just trying to come up with something to justify my position. The truth is, we never really talked about kids all that much. All I really recall him saying is that he didn’t think children were in his future. But it’s what I’m telling myself. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience his life with the burden of fatherhood. Tyson, of course, eviscerates my argument as he so often does.
“People change, honey,” he insists. “Maybe the idea of fatherhood was something that scared him back then. Maybe –”
“And maybe he just doesn’t want to be tied down and burdened by everything being a father entails.”
“Perhaps,” Tyson concedes. “But like I said, people change, and we may not believe in the things we believed in four years ago. Hell, four years ago, I truly believed I was going to have my own show in Vegas and be married to Idris Elba. Our beliefs grow and evolve with us.”
I give him a smile. “You and Idris would have made an adorable couple.”
He returns my smile, but that earnestness in his eyes lingers. “Of course we would have. We would have been fabulous,” he chirps. “But the point I’m getting at is – shouldn’t that be a decision for Roman to make rather than have you make it for him?”
I think about it for a second then shake my head. “I don’t know, Tyson,” I say softly. “I honestly do not know.”
He tries to sit up straighter and grimaces as he’s gripped by pain. I reach for the call button to get him some meds from the nurse, but he stops me and shakes his head. A moment later, he’s sitting up a bit straighter and gives me a thumbs up, letting me know he’s okay.
“The other thing you need to consider is that you’re also taking the choice away from Kinsey,” he goes on. “Don’t you think she’d like to know her father? And I ask that as somebody who has experience dealing with girls who’ve got absentee fathers and see firsthand just how it affects them.”
I sit back and let his words sink into my brain. That’s something I hadn’t even considered before. And it’s a point that hits me hard. I may not work in a school like Tyson, but I’ve known plenty of girls in my life who grew up without fathers and saw what it did to some of them. How it impacted their life choices – and not always for the better. In fact, in my personal experience, it was rarely for the better.
That’s not to say that every girl who grows up without a father around is going to live a dangerous lifestyle. They won’t all have terrible daddy issues that make them drawn to men who will treat them horribly. And they won’t all travel a bad path in life.
But some of them do. I’ve seen it. There’s no predicting or controlling it. Once that train leaves the station, there’s no stopping it. And I have to wonder what path I’m putting Kinsey on by not letting her have a relationship with her father, now that I know he’s around.
“God damn you, Tyson,” I shake my head, chuckling. “I think I liked you better when you were doped to the gills and not making any sense about anything.”
He laughs. “Honey, I think I liked being doped to the gills.”
My laughter fades, and I fall silent again. Tyson is still holding my hand and is looking at me, waiting for me to say something or throw up another weak argument he can take a blowtorch to. I know he wants the best for me and for Kinsey.
But is risking everything that comes with letting Roman into our lives really what’s best for us? Once I open that bottle, there is no putting the genie back in.
“Damn you,” I groan.
Tyson smiles at me warmly. “One way or another, this is all going to work out. I know it will.”
“That makes one of us.”
After leaving Tyson’s room to run my errands, I’m heading for the front doors, my head swirling with a billion different thoughts. I never even saw him until he falls into step beside me. When I feel his presence on my right, I look up to see Roman looking back at me, a half smile on his face. My heart lurches, and my stomach churns, and for a moment as I look into his eyes, I am right back on that rooftop in Syria.
But then I force myself back to the present and the moment passes.
Everything Tyson said to me is echoing through my head. There’s part of me that wants to punch something. Or somebody. Though I hate it with a fiery hot passion, he’s not wrong. I am taking the decision away from Roman, but more importantly, I’m taking the decision away from Kinsey. And by doing so, I could potentially be crippling Kinsey emotionally in some way for her entire life.
I abruptly stop in my tracks, forcing Roman to stop short and making his sneakers squeak on the tile flooring. We turn to each other, and he cocks his head, looking at me with an inscrutable expression on his face. He stands confidently, his back ramrod straight, his chin lifted slightly as if in defiance, and his jaw set. He looks for all the world like a man ready and waiting to take a punch to the face.
But his eyes are cloudy with emotions. Fear and confusion chief among them. There’s something more in them, though. Something he’s doing everything he can to stuff down and hide. But I can see it, and I don’t know exactly what it is.
As if uncomfortable beneath my scrutiny, Roman clears his throat and looks away. And when he looks back, holding my gaze once more, I see that he’s gotten a handle on himself.
“Listen,” Roman starts. “I wanted to talk to you about –”
“Would you like to go have coffee?” I interrupt.
He narrows his eyes, the confusion on his face more than clear. “Coffee?”
I nod. “Yeah. We have some things to talk about.”
15
Roman
She’s sitting across the table from me, flesh and bone, and yet I st
ill can’t believe it. After all this time, to once again be looking into the eyes of Scarlet Carrington is surreal. When she’d asked me for coffee, I can’t lie – there was a small piece of me that hoped this was going to be some sort of reunion and reconciliation. That all of the feelings I’ve carried around with me for the last four years would be returned, and we’d find our way back to each other.
As I look into her eyes though, jaded and hardened, I think those hopes are pretty fucking unlikely to come to fruition.
Which is obviously for the best. I mean, she’s got a husband. A family. I’m a lot of things – I’m self-aware enough to know that not all of them are good – but a homewrecker is not one of them. I would never intentionally bust up somebody’s marriage for my own purposes and goals. I can be an asshole, but not that big of an asshole.
Scarlet looks down into her cup of coffee. I can see the wheels spinning in her head. We’ve been sitting here in silence for the last five minutes, neither of us knowing how to break the ice. I have to imagine this moment is as emotional for her as it is for me. Although it’s likely not in the same way.
I can feel the anger radiating off her from across the table. I don’t blame her for being pissed. For all she knows, I absolutely ghosted her back in Syria. I never called, never emailed, never reached out to in any way. And after what we shared together over those few weeks, it must have felt like a slap in the face. Of course she’s pissed.
At first, I didn’t contact her because I felt awkward. I mean, we spent a few weeks together, and this woman was suddenly somehow my entire world. I was afraid of coming on too strong and scaring her off. I wasn’t able to make any sense of how I was feeling and all of my emotions, so I didn’t think there was any way she’d be able to make sense. Nor did I think she’d be able to handle the depth of them. Hell, I couldn’t.
And after a while, I figured I’d already waited too long. That trying to contact her at that point would have been weird and awkward. I justified it to myself by saying it would make the situation more difficult. More awkward. I know that’s just a dumb excuse, but that’s what I convinced myself into believing.