Page 6 of My Boyfriend's Protective Daddy

How that’s better than telling a young kid that his dad is just not present, I’m not sure. But there’s nothing we can do about it now. I’ve got a good relationship with Sarah and all that matters to me now is building a relationship with my son. He’s still guarded with me. He keeps me at an arm’s distance with most things. Our relationship is more or less still kept on the surface, and we avoid delving into personal matters too deeply. It’s as if he’s afraid that I’m going to vanish from his life again and is trying to protect himself from being hurt.

Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m doing with Zane. Fatherhood isn’t really in my wheelhouse. Maybe it would have been different if I’d been in his life from the start, but I find myself treating him like one of my old war buddies more than my son. We laugh and joke with each other, but he doesn’t come to me for fatherly advice. Truth be told, even if he did, I don’t know that I’m equipped to really give it. So, we’re just doing what we do.

But even two years in, it still seems like we’re circling each other out the way boxers test their opponent in the early rounds, dancing around the ring, feinting and throwing a few jabs. It’s like we’re still taking each other’s measures and trying to figure out what we can expect from one another. It’s not just him. It’s me too. In terms of building a family, father-son dynamic, I’m as handicapped as Zane is. Maybe even more handicapped. I want him to open up to me just as I want to be more open with him. But I don’t know how to get there.

“So, what brings you by today?” I ask.

“Didn’t have anything going on, so I thought I’d stop by to say hi.”

“Can I make you something to eat? All I’ve got is bar food, but the wings are pretty good.”

“Nah. I’m good,” he replies. “Thanks, though.”

“Sure.”

He sits on the stool, drumming his fingers on the bar, and although I can’t claim to truly know my son, I’m adept enough at reading people that I can tell when something’s bothering them. And judging by his furrowed brow and clenched jaw, I’d say something’s really bugging Zane.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” I tell him. “Something’s bothering you. I can see it all over your face, kid. So? What is it?”

“My girl and I are having a fight.”

“That’s rough. Been there,” I say. “What’s the problem?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

His relationships are one of those areas Zane makes a pointed effort to keep me out of. Asking him about his girlfriend is a bridge too far. I know nothing about his girlfriend other than she’s cute, smart, talented, and twenty years old. That’s it. That’s all Zane will tell me about her. I want to know what’s going on in my kid’s life, but I’m walking a fine line because I don’t want to push him too hard. I don’t want him to shut down on me completely. So, we keep doing this dance with the hope that one day, he’ll let me in.

“Okay,” I tell him. “Just know that I’m here to talk if you want to. Whenever you want to.”

“Thanks,” he says. “What about you? Why don’t you have a woman in your life?”

“I’ve got my bar.”

“You need a woman.”

“My bar is less complicated. I always know what I’m getting and what to expect from it. There are no surprises,” I reply with a grin.

And up until the other day, that statement was true. But having a beautiful little redhead show up on my doorstep certainly complicated things for me. For a few days anyway.

“That’s kind of sad, old man,” he says.

“It suits me just fine,” I reply with a shrug. “Anyway, what’s in the bag?”

“I thought I’d take you up on that offer to work out with you. If it still stands, anyway?”

I made the offer to work him out months ago, and every time I asked, he begged off. This is the first time he’s ever expressed an interest in it. It’s progress. It’s a step forward for us and one that seems like a big positive.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Yeah. I think a workout would do me some good right about now.”

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