Page 29 of Wreckage of My Life
In another moment of weakness, grateful that I saved Becca’s number on this device, I call her, even though I know it’s a mistake.
“Hello.”
My heart slams into my ribs when I hear her sweet but cautious voice over the line.
“Becca,” I finally murmur just as she’s about to hang up on me when there’s just dead air in response to her greeting.
“Dylan?” Yeah, I am just as surprised as she is that I called. Except for the fact that she sounds excited about it.
“How are you doing, babe?” I try to keep my voice light, but I know that she can hear the distress in it.
“I’m okay, Dylan. How are you? You don’t sound so good.” I love hearing the worry in her voice. It’s comforting to know there’s someone out there who sincerely cares about me just a little.
Although, there is my mother, who does care. And there’s also Wyatt. He cares, I know he does or he wouldn’t have helped me as much as he has for the last six months. But none of it feels the same as the worry I hear in Becca’s voice.
“I’m on my way to get my son,” I admit to her as I stand in the middle of No-fuckin’-Where, Wisconsin.
“Ethan?” I hear the smile in her voice.
“Yeah,” my voice comes out gruff and unfriendly. I can’t help it. I am in a fucked up situation, and I’m trying to make the best of it. So far, it’s not working out so well.
“It’ll be okay, Dylan,” she whispers. “You’ll be a great father, I just know it.”
That makes me laugh, and not because she said something funny. “You wouldn’t say that, Bex, if you knew the man I have as an example for fatherhood.”
“You’re right,” she agrees. “I don’t know him. And I don’t even know you that well either,” she adds, taking me by surprise. “At least not like that, right?” she laughs nervously.
“You know me well enough,” I grunt into the phone. How can I miss someone I spent only one week with? This is so bizarre, the weirdest experience of my life.
“What I do know of you,” she is getting serious now. “Is that you are a good man somewhere deep down. But you try to hide it underneath this rough biker persona. You do play a very good thug, I have to say.”
“That’s because I am a thug.” My lips stretch into a grin without meaning to. I wish I could see her face when I told her that.
“I can’t believe I spent the hottest time of my life with a thug,” she’s smiling now, too.
“Hottest, huh?”
“The best,” she whispers. “I wish we had more.”
“Me too, babe,” I nod at nothing in particular and continue staring at the abandoned dirt road I am currently on.
I hear a loud noise on her end, then someone talking over a speaker.
“I’m so sorry, Dylan. I’m at work, and they’re paging for me. Will you call me again?”
“What do you do?” I never asked her much about her life in Montana.
“I’m a nurse,” she rushes to say as another loud message comes over some overhead system from what I can tell. Now her voicemail mentioning something about being on shift is making sense.
“I’ll call back,” I promise her even though I’m not sure that I will.
After we hang up, I hang my head down and think again about where I want my life to go. My skills don’t go beyond fixing bikes and, occasionally, cars. I am also good at doing all sorts of illegal activities, but it is becoming obvious this is not the kind of life I want my kid to grow up into. I need a plan.
My burner phone starts buzzing in my hand and am relieved when I see it’s Wyatt calling from his landline. He’s the only one I gave this number to. Well, other than Becca just now, I guess.
“Yeah,” I growl into the phone in way of a greeting.
“Hey, you still on track to get here in the morning?”
