Then I fucked him into next Tuesday.
Now it is next Tuesday.
Dirk’s ironically not here, but Dash and Stacey are. Besides Dirk, Dash is the only one still working here, but Dash declared him and Stacey as attached at the hip, so Stacey comes to work with him and hangs out until his shift is over.
Some might think that’s strange, but I’m all for it, especially now that Robin’s out.
Yesterday.
My hunch was right. Even with all the bureaucratic bullshit, he got an early release. Now he’s out there somewhere, could be around any corner, and I don’t want Dash alone. I’m trying not to be overbearing, but that’s how I’m wired. I haven’t told him. I don’t want him worrying. Everything’s finally going his way; he doesn’t need this, and it’s this, the dark shit, that I was made to handle for him. I might be a rusty weapon, but old reflexes wake up, honed muscle memory, fashioned from years of grit and blood rise to guard the castle wall.
Every time the fucking door to the restaurant opens, my eyes are on it, clocking every motherfucker walking through. My head lifts at every sound. My pulse doesn’t spike, it slows, narrowing into clarity. Into danger.
Is it Robin? Has he come to take my boy away again? Ending that motherfucker began as justice, but it’s become a raw craving. He abused my son; he doesn’t deserve to live.
Get your shit together, Nolan.
I lurk nearby. I doubt I’m fooling anyone, but seeing that he’s here, safe, is the only thing calming my nerves. Well, that and the thought of ending Robin’s life. If I weren’t with Dirk, I wouldn’t think twice. But I do have Dirk, and I know he said that if I go through with this, it doesn’t mean we’re over, but it will be something I’m asking him to live with.
That’s not small either; that’s what spawns resentment, and it might be a close second to him leaving my ass.
But it's hard to rewire my brain after all these years. Robin gone is simple math. One son minus one monster equals safe.
“Hey, Dad. Why don’t you join us since you’re over there, pretending not to have both eyes on me?”
Yeah, guess I’m obvious. Instead of sitting beside Stacey at the bar top, I head behind the bar. I kinda need to be near Dash. Make sure he’s real. Overboard, I know. But fuck, now I’m craving a cigarette. I quit smoking twice. The first time Dash was a little boy. I picked up the habit again when Dash came to live with me after Robin. The disappointment I saw in Dirk’s face—and a few of his barbs about my health—helped me quit the second time.
Mostly.
I have been guilty of the odd one now and then, and a cigar when the mood strikes.
Can right now be a “now and then”? Probably not. Dirk’ll kill me.
Dash leans against me, just for a moment, but it’s enough to remind me of how much he leaned on me when he came to live with me. Nostalgic warmth tenderizes my insides. I love it, and it’s killing me.
“I think you’d like what we’re talking about,” he says, moving away to start on the drinks that just popped up on his bar screen.
“Yeah?” I look to Stacey for a clue, but all he does is smirk.
“Babies,” Dash says.
“Babies?”
“Your grandchildren,” he adds, since I’m not getting it.
“Really?” I don’t expect that to hit me so hard, but it does. I can see it. A few little ones running around here, playing hide-and-seek under the tables, Stacey scolding them to quit standing on the barstools. Dashie would be holding their newest one, feeding them a last bottle before they spend the night with Grampa Nolan.
I clutch my heart, and my throat burns. I can already feel them in my arms.
“Yeah. Not for a few years, so you gotta wait, Gramps,” he says. “But we want them. A few. Hell, maybe six or seven.”
“Um, how about we start with one, sweetheart?” Stacey says.
“You give him as many as he wants, Alderchuck,” I demand, having gotten way too caught up in the moment.
Dash laughs. “Stace is probably right, we’ll start with one and work our way from there. But I love how into it you are.”
Can’t help raise grandchildren if you’re in jail for manslaughter.
