“You have one minute, and if you’re not through this course, you’ll be running all night long. Do you hear me, Marines?”
I don’t glance up and focus on getting through the course, carrying well over one hundred pounds on my back. My knees threaten to give out while my back spasms in sheer pain. I focus on the end in sight, vowing to not let my body give up. It’s all mental. I’ve got this. Those are the words I repeat over and over in my head.
I’m well and alive, with my soul thriving with what it was always searching for. I’m serving a purpose surrounded by others who have my back. I’m a part of something big here.
Once our whole group is accounted for before the timer goes off, there’s a collective sigh of relief, and slaps on the back ensue.
“You looked like you were gonna piss your pants, James.” Smith slaps me on the back.
“Damn near did when I saw your ugly mug.” I split a wide grin, struggling to catch my breath, hunched over, sucking in oxygen in long deep pulls.
Boot camp is no damn joke.
Drumming my fingers on the keyboard of my Mac, I stare up at the framed picture on my wall of Smith and myself in our fatigues. He was a damn goofy bastard, and after serving nearly five years with him, he became my best friend.
The ringing of my phone pulls me from memory lane. I grab the cellphone and, not recognizing the number, I ignore it. These days I only answer four people. Mom, Dad, Whit, and little Jack are the only ones in my life, even though I live a good eight hours away from there and have never returned home. I never want to go back to the place, remembering the person I was and the way I was treated.
My legs grow numb from sitting most of the day designing websites and managing different divisions of my fast-growing company. Running is the one thing that clears my mind and exhilarates me.
I don’t stop until my legs give out. I flop down on a bench in a local park. A ten-mile loop where I let go of all the stress that’s built up over the day. My phone chirps with a text. It’s Whit reminding me about our trip to the cabin next week. Like I’d forget. It’s our ritual every other month. It’s a four-hour drive for all of us to the family retreat.
It drives Mom nuts I can’t go home. That town holds way too many nasty memories, and my greatest fear is retreating back to the beaten boy if I ever return. It may sound silly to some, but serving the military breathed new life back in, and I won’t let anything take that away.
My phone rings, and this time, I answer it without looking.
“Whit, you seriously think I’m gonna forget?” A smile graces my face as I tilt my face up to the sun.
A throat clears on the other end. “Is this Mr. James?”
I hang up, not even answering, letting sun warm my flesh. I have no interest in talking to anyone. I’ve got everything in my life I need. The phone rings right away, and it doesn’t stop. It continues until my temper threatens to explode.
“What?” I growl into the phone. I get so tired of all the telemarketing calls anymore.
Once again, a throat clears. “Mr. James.”
It’s an honor being called by my last name. Jessie and Jules gave it to me the day they legally adopted me. I wanted nothing to do with the past or my mom, even though it ripped a part of me away.
“Max,” I correct the woman on the other end just to be an ass.
Her voice quakes with nerves. “Max, this is Kate Wilson-Valentukonis.”
“Kate who?” I bark.
“Just call me Kate.” There’s rustling on her end then the sound of a door slamming. “I’m the kindergarten teacher at Valley View Elementary.”
“Good for you.” It’s out before I can take it back. I slump forward, resting my elbows on the top of my thighs. Sometimes I think Mom is right and I need to socialize more. I’m becoming quite the hermit. A contempt one, but my social skills are severely lacking.
My snide comment doesn’t stop her determination. She doesn’t even waver.
“The reason I’m calling concerns one of my students. I’m breaking all kinds of rules and ethics here, but he needs help.”
I stand, confused, and pull off my damp shirt then place the phone back to my ear. Once it’s slung over my shoulder and there have been a few beats of silence, I’m the first one to speak up.
“How does this concern me? Pretty sure, darling, you have the wrong number.”
“This is not a joke. It concerns Finn Ellington. You’re listed as his father on the birth certificate, and he needs help.”
My world freezes. Not even my worst nightmares have near the power those words do to bring me to my knees. Ellington…that’s Ally’s last name. A name I haven’t heard or spoken since the day I left Michigan after the last home game.
“Finn,” I whisper. It’s the name Ally claimed she’d name our little boy. It was nothing profound, just the name of her favorite character from Glee.
“Yes, Finn. He’s my student and has recently been removed from his mother, Ally, by CPS for the third time this year. This time, it doesn’t look good. He’s going to be put in the system. I just thought, well, I thought maybe you could help him.”
“Kate, was it?” I grip the back of my neck, grinding my teeth together. “I don’t have a son.”
“You’re listed on the birth certificate as the father.”
“Are you sure?” The question sounds idiotic as it leaves my mouth.
“Yes, I am. And I figured you could help.”
“There’s no way I have a son with Ally. I’d know.”
Wouldn’t I? I ask myself silently.
“I haven’t seen her in six years,” I blurt out.
“Finn is five,” she whispers.
Silence floats between us for a long time.
“I don’t have a son. I can’t help you.” I end the call and pace back and forth.
The time lines up, his name, and my world blurs. I dial a number on my phone.
“Max.”
“Dad.”