Chapter Twenty
Axl
After another solid block of time spent riding, we’ve stopped again. It’s another motel room, another night. She’s on the bed, lying on her back and my head is resting on her ribs. Her fingers are combing through my hair and she’s talking in a low, intimate voice that ignites desire in my blood. But I promised myself I’d let her be tonight.
She needs rest and I need to figure out how the fuck to back the hell off her. She’s not mine. I’m just having a fuck ton of trouble convincing myself of that.
The vibration of her chest as she talks is a low, soothing rumble in my head and I feel content. “I just want a little house.” I hear her smile without even looking at her. I know her gaze is far away, lost in something only she can see. And I know she asked me for permission to tell me her plans. I’m not sure if she wanted permission because she’s used to needing permission to speak from Carl or if she was worried about boring me with her ideas. Both thoughts are troubling.
“Something with a backyard.” The hope in her voice is infectious. “Not a huge backyard, but big enough for a little garden. For a swing set for the kids I plan to have.” She gives a low, sensual laugh. “Two kids. Hopefully an older boy and a younger girl. That way he can take care of her as they grow up.”
It’s hard not to imagine her as a wonderful mom.
“Of course,” she continues, “it would have to be someplace nice enough I’d be willing to bring my parents to visit. You fall asleep yet?” she teases and I shake my head. I could listen to her talk all night.
“Am I boring you to tears yet?” her voice is joyous, like speaking these hopes out lout is solidifying them. Making them possible.
“No,” I say. I want to ask her to keep going. Because when she talks about these things, I can imagine them for myself, too. Her plans sound perfect. They’re things I never even wanted. Life as a kid who lost his mother was rough. Life as a teenager in the system after losing both parents… fucked me up. I didn’t want to have kids. I didn’t want them to ever be in a position to go through what I went through.
But when she says it, it’s like my brain suddenly sees it as a real possibility. A home. Roots. A wife. Kids. A dog. I can see it in mind’s eye. See her laughing as the kids play in the dirt. See her teaching them to plant and pull weeds. See her pushing them on a little backyard swing set. I can see her being a mother that children would need. Someone strong, loving. Firm, yet kind. She’d be incredible at it.
“Have you ever considered settling down and having a family?” she asks.
I shake my head. Before her, before this moment, I swore I’d never have kids. “I told myself I’d never have kids,” I say. I feel her tighten up. Feel her sharp intake of breath.
“You’d be a great dad,” she says softly, her fingers still coming through my hair gently.
“My dad was a bastard,” I say, bitterly hating the man. “After my mom died, he drank himself to death. He didn’t give a shit about Dex and me. He didn’t give a fuck that we’d wind up in foster care. He told us he lived for her, we were just the pesky side effect of loving her.”
She doesn’t say a word, just keeps stroking my head sweetly and I keep talking. “But my mother was incredible. Five feet of sweet kindness without a hint of fire in her. She deserved better than us boys.” Memories of the things we’d broken, the fights we’d had fill my mind and regret crashes in behind them. I can still hear her begging us to break it up I can still see dad on the couch, yelling at us to stop interrupting the game.
“It’s just you and Dex, then?” she asks. “No grandparents, not aunts and uncles? Anything?”
I shake my head and feel her inhale sharply.
“I never wanted to bring kids into such a cruel world,” I say. A cruel world where their parents could be ripped away at any time, leaving them alone and at the mercy of people that didn’t have their best intentions in mind. I found my family in the wrong place.
“You’re not your dad,” she says, conviction in every word.
But I’m not so sure. “How do I know that? I’ve never been in love before you and how can I be sure I won’t feel the same way he did?”
She’s quiet a moment. “You’re right,” she says finally. “There’s no way to know for sure. But I do know that you’re not selfish. You’re not that kind of man.”
She doesn’t know what kind of man I am.
“I’d like to think I know you,” she says softly and I realize I must have spoken my thoughts aloud. “You dropped everything to ride across the state with me. You gave up a lot to help me, risking your own neck, your business, your time. You’re not selfish.”
Neither of us say anything for a few minutes.
When she does speak, her voice is soft and soothing. “You’d be a great dad.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I let her words flow around me. “You’re a good man.” Her fingers slide along my scalp and the tension ebbs out of me.
And I relax, feeling at peace with this crazy world. Maybe there is hope, after all. Maybe life is shit wall to wall, but perhaps there’s hope. Maybe a family, a wife are the glimmers of joy that would make everything worthwhile.
“What kind of dog?” I ask.
“Dog?” she says, “I’m a cat person.” I lift my head to look at her with disbelief and she laughs.