Page 38 of Wreckage of My Life
“What kids his age are supposed to be like,” he shrugs like that should’ve been the obvious answer. “What they like, or don’t like, what they should know by now… Stuff like that.” The fucker is right. I should’ve looked that shit up. Then again, I guess I didn’t really believe this was real and that I would end up with this kid in my care.
“He sure has taken after your woman,” I decide to change the subject. I know this will get him going, and I thrive on it. “When’s she going home?”
“She’s not.” His eyes grow cold, daring me to say more. I love dares.
“Maybe I can find a nice piece of ass like that back home so that she can look after the boy.” It’s not even a bad idea, I muse. Because what the fuck else am I gonna do? When I go on runs for example, who’s gonna watch him then?
“Talk about her like that again, and you may not make it back home at all,” Wyatt threatens, but it’s only making me smile. He’s the least of my worries.
“Ah, I see how it is.”
“That’s how it is,” he confirms, his voice dipping in a low growl. I’d do the same if he talked like that about Becca.
The thought shocks me to my core.
* * *
The next couple of weeks go about the same. I can’t connect with this kid no matter how hard I try. Not that I try that hard. I feel emotion as far as being responsible for him. But I don’t really feel like he is mine when I look at him.
He is obsessed with Alison and Wyatt though, and the three of them do all sorts of family oriented shit together. He calls my brotherUnkaWyatt. And even I have to admit that he sounds cuter than hell.
He asked me once what he should call me.
“You can call me whatever you want,” I almost got chocked up a little when I saw the relief on his small face. “As long as it is not a bad word. Like Ali there,” I pointed at her. “Don’t ever call me what she called me,” I joke, the tone of my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.
He settled for Dylan, which is perfectly fine with me. I am not ready for anyone to call meDad, or, God forbid,Daddy.
We had a couple of gentler moments as well. Like on his first night here when he fell asleep on the couch across from my chair, then woke up crying for Ali.
“Ali is sleeping, buddy,” I forced my voice to sound as happy as I was capable of. “Everyone is sleeping. We need to be quiet, okay?”
The boy nodded, but his distress was obvious. His next words would’ve cut me at the knees, and the rage I felt on his behalf just didn’t feel normal.
“Like when Mommy’s friends are at the house?”
“Not exactly,” I barked out, sounding harsh and unforgiving. I’m gonna kill that bitch with my own hands, I decide. “We just don’t want to wake them up, right?” I force myself to calm back down.
“Ali too?” was the only thing he really cared about.
His infatuation with Alison is worrying me, and I need to get us out of here before things get even more complicated. Puck and Sully are supposed to be here on Tuesday. They’re bringing a large van that can accommodate us three adults, a kid, and my bike that Wyatt was able to have fished out of the corn field.
I wonder how in the hell the ride home will be. I wish I could call Becca to ask for her advice. I need her to tell me that I am not making a mistake. That I am not going to ruin this little kid’s life any more than his mother has already so obviously done.
“Fuck my life,” I chuckle to myself and rub my hands up and down my face. I need to get this girl out of my head. Maybe once I’m home and I fucked a couple of whores, my life can get back to normal.
“Unka Wyatt, not that way,” the boy’s voice floats from the back yard, a heavy reminder of why my life will never go back to normal.
Thishas to be my new normal now.
17
Becca
I have beenin quite the mood for the past two and a half weeks. Ever since Dylan texted me out of the blue at two in the morning.
My heart was full when I saw his name popping on my screen, grateful that I saved the last number he used to call me. And it went really well until I told him that I really liked him. Apparently, he really liked me, too. He just didn’t want to have anything more to do with me.
“You’re about to scrub the enamel off that sink,” Colton teases me from his spot at the kitchen table where he’s having his breakfast. “Is it over a boy?”
