Page 2 of Ringer

“Jack, dude,” says Owen. “Take it easy.”

Back up. Breathe.

Punch. Dodge.

Better this way.

Punch.

Never loved each other anyways.

Punch.

Not better for my son, who should be near his father, but he’s happy with his new stepsiblings and half-sisters. We talk everyday and loves the big house on the West Coast.

Kick.

The golden retriever. The fancy karate school. “So much better than our old house, Dad.” Plus, I get out to California and see him every chance I get.

Slam. Punch. Jab jab jab. Straight to the heart.

Can’t afford much on Marine pay – not even Special Forces officer paygrade. Can afford even less with child support and alimony. At least the alimony only lasted the three days it took my ex-wife to get hitched after the divorce was finalized.

Punch.

I hate how bitter I sound.

Honestly, I just want her to be happy. Even now, the look on her face the day she tracked me down three months after a one-night stand to tell me about our son haunts me. Just an idea then.

Dodge.

Tear-filled eyes. Fear. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want me. Didn’t want the military wife life. None of it.

Still, I’d offered. Marriage or to support any decision she made. I am a different man from my father; a man that takes responsibility for his actions.

Duck. Punch.

I just wanted to do the right thing. Give her whatever she wanted. Make a good life for my kid and for her, if she’d have me. I barely knew her, but I thought we’d grow to love each other in time.

Punch.

Shows how little I know. Spent thirteen of the first eighteen months of JJ’s life on missions overseas. No choice.

Punch-punch-punch.

Came home to the first request for marriage counseling. Counseling. Guys like me don’t go to fucking counseling.

Kick.

But I did it. For the kid. And for her. Just wanted to make them happy, the way nobody ever thought about making me or my mother happy.

Work hard, make a steady paycheck, stay faithful, don’t hit anybody. Four things my old man never managed.

Just do that and it’ll work out fine.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

Four more years. Five more counselors. Six more deployments. And then one night. Finally coming home for good.

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