Gunner

My mom is alive again, but Sol is dead. The doctors call her condition postpartum depression, but, to me, she looks like she’s dead. A walking corpse that’s breathing and nibbling food. A ghost floating between time and space.

It seemed to be okay until Asher was five weeks old. Those five weeks were crazy—I slept on the couch in Sol’s house; I cleaned, cooked, and bathed Asher. Mom did the rest. Sol was just feeding Asher all the time, day and night. He woke up hungry almost every fifteen minutes. I didn’t notice Sol’s poor mental condition. Nobody did. We were just drunk with Asher’s presence in our family.

But one day, Sol stops talking, refuses to get up and starts crying all the time. She becomes so unwell she is admitted to hospital.

I look after Asher and hope she gets better soon.

He is my whole world. My little treasure.

My mom comes every morning to look after him when I’m at work, but after 5.30 pm I’m all for him. Sive and Axel kidnap him three times a week, which is really pissing me off, because he loves sleeping on my chest and loves listening to my stories about the Shadow Wolves, but they’re his grandparents, so I have to allow them to see him.

I buy a small house ten miles away from the garage. Asher’s cot stands by my bed. When he wakes up at night, I just need to reach out for him and give him the bottle of formula.

I’m not allowed to visit Sol at the hospital for three months, then I put smart clothes on and go to see her on a sunny autumnal afternoon.

As I enter the hospital garden, I see her sitting on a bench, sheltered by a low tree, the red bricked walls of the building rising around her like those surrounding a fucking prison courtyard.

“How are you, baby?” I ask, kneeling in front of her on the concrete path.

I curse myself in my mind for choosing the black trousers I have on. They’re unbelievably uncomfortable and itchy.

A ghost of a young woman passes me and sits on the bench at the farther end of the garden, about twenty steps away from us. The girl lights a cigarette and she shoots me a pale glance, so I nod at her and gaze back at Sol.

I notice dark circles under her eyes and a deep wrinkle on her forehead. Her skin has a greyish tinge like she’s been held captive in a dark cell for a year, but I know it’s because of the lack of sleep.

“They said I could be discharged in a few weeks,” she says.

“That’s great.” I stroke her outer thigh. “You’re great, baby.”

Everything is ready for her—me, Asher, our little house, our happy future.

I hold her hand, bring it to my lips and kiss her knuckles. She flashes me a translucent smile.

“You need anything, Sol? Just tell me, darling.”

“No.”

“Maybe some books?”

“I have four books. Still haven’t read them.”

“More cookies? Apples? Strawberries?”

“No, thanks.”

I nod and take a deep breath, wondering what else I should say to her so as not to upset her. “Asher is growing, Sol. He is so funny, you know. We both miss you.”

Tears flow from her eyes and it breaks my heart. Fuck. Wrong again. Am I stupid or what?

“You have to go,” she says.

“I’ll visit tomorrow, okay?”

She nods, averts her face and stares at the wall as I rise to my feet and kiss her forehead.

“Have some rest, baby,” I say and freeze, really surprised by my stupidity.

She’s at hospital. She’s in bed almost all the time. I should have advised her that she took part in some workshops or something.

“Maybe I could bring a movie and we could watch it together?” I ask.

“Maybe,” she hums. “See you.”

“See you.” I stroke her head and walk off.

Sol

I watch his back as he disappears into the hospital building and the glass door slides shut behind him.

“A boyfriend?” a breathy female voice asks.

I turn my face to the girl sitting on the bench by the flower urn and trash can.

“No,” I say.

“It looked like you were together.” She rises to her feet and moves towards me, dropping onto the bench beside me. “Christa.” She extends her arm to shake hands.

I don’t want to talk to anyone, but she’s waving her hand in front of my face so I have no choice but introduce myself to her.

“Sol,” I say, dryness coating my voice.

We shake hands and I avert my eyes to get rid of her.

Christa nudges the side of my chest with her elbow and offers me a cigarette.

I hesitate before pulling one out. I don’t smoke. I tried a few times when I was younger—five cigarettes and one joint. I was so sick after the weed that even the memory of the smell of it could make me feel nauseous. And I’m kind of scared of lung cancer. Athena always moans about cancer prevention.

Christa lights my cigarette; I inhale the smoke and the choking density of it pervades my lungs. I cough, as my eyes turn glassy.

Christa chuckles. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

“No, not really.”

“Your boyfriend is really hot. So caring. So sweet.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Right.” She exhales a grey cloud of smoke. “But you have a kid together?”

“None of your business.”

“You’re blind, you know.”

I crush my cigarette under my foot. “And you shouldn’t eavesdrop on others.”

She rises to her feet and stands in front of me. “They’re kicking me out in about one hour, so I just wanted to say it was nice to meet you.”

I flinch in shame. I’m so dumb, so desensitised. The doctors suggested antidepressants, but I refused, choosing my own misty dimension instead.

My eyes flick over Christa’s wrists and I notice scars from cuts. My heart stops beating. Our glances meet and I drown into the green ocean of hers.

“Christa, listen,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I take a tiny notepad and a pencil out of the pocket of my hoody and scribble my phone number. I hand it to her. “Call me if you needed help or something.”

“You need help,” she says with a half-smile playing on her asymmetric lips, but she grabs the piece of paper from my hand and shoves it into the back pocket of her jeans. She sweeps her long red hair away from her face. “Let the doctors help you. I’ve seen you in the garden a few times. You’ve been here for a long time. Let others help you.”

“I will think about it.”

“Think, think, little girl. That kid of yours and that boyfriend of yours are waiting for you.”

She waves her hand and walks off. My jaw drops. Then heavy greyness falls upon me and suffocates me.

Gunner

Sol deteriorates and she spends two more months at the hospital, but then she starts to recover. I visit her every day, practicing our conversation before entering the hospital building so I won’t upset her and make her deteriorate again.

Three weeks later, when I visit her on a sunny afternoon, she looks much better and that brings hope to my tormented heart. She has good news for me. I go back to my house excited and nervous.

This morning, I’m in my kitchen, all for Asher. It’s my day off.

Asher pushes the bowl with soup and it bangs against the tiled floor.

“You will clean it,” I say. “I’m not joking, Ash.”

He raises his hand armed with a plastic spoon and flashes me a grin, exposing his first tooth.

Mom walks in and puts two bags with grocery shopping on the kitchen table. She kisses my cheek and tears off a piece of kitchen towel.

“I can do that, Mom.”

“Off you go. Now, it’s my turn.” Her eyes gleam; her movements are energetic and springy as she deals with the soup splashed all over the floor.

I lean towards Asher and kiss the top of his head. “Be a good boy, Ash.”

He giggles and snorts.

I kiss my mom’s head and go to collect the car I ordered two weeks ago. It takes me about two hours then I pop into a shop to buy a new child’s seat and return to the house. Mom is sitting in the kitchen and drinking a cup of tea.

“Where is Asher?” I ask.

“Asleep, honey. Are you hungry?”

“No, I’ve had a burger in town.”

“Tea?”

“Orange juice.”

Mom rises to her feet and moves towards the fridge, taking a yellow plastic bottle out. She pours me a glass of orange juice as I drop into the chair. She hands me the glass and sits opposite me.

“Sol will be alright,” Mom says and flashes me a warm smile.

Sol is going to be discharged tomorrow. I’m trying not to think too much about it and I’m trying to focus rather on practical things. Thinking of her would make me nervous. My nervousness would make me say or do something stupid and I could jeopardize her recovery.

“What if she doesn’t like the house?” I say.

Mom frowns as her eyes blink a few times. I know that expression of hers. She’s going to tell me something I won’t like.

“She may not like the idea of living under one roof with you,” Mom says. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I did what I could. Asher needed a home, a parent.”

“What is it between you and Sol?” She looks at me sternly.

“Nothing.”

“You’re looking after her like you’re her husband.”

“Nikko would do the same. She was Shay’s wife.”

Her lips form a thin line and her eyes turn glassy for a moment. She clears her throat. “Nikko’s got no chance to even take Asher out for a walk. You took possession of Asher and Sol and you’re saying there’s nothing between you two?”

“Jesus, Mom, you’re so annoying.”

“I’m just trying to say that she’s recovered and your life may change. She may want to take him from you.”

“Asher needs me,” I growl. “He’s mine.”

“I know. But—“

“I’m going to bed.” I hate myself for cutting her off, but I can’t stand her remarks.

Even thinking about Asher moving out to live somewhere else makes my veins fill with ice. He’d cry without his funny evening routine when we’re bathing twenty rubber toys and I’m talking to them. He’d be scared. I’d dry out without him. He’s part of me.

Mom sighs and rises to her feet then kisses my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

She leaves the house and I go to Asher’s room. I take him out of the cot and hold him tight against my chest.

“You, little guy, you know who your daddy is, right? Never forget who your daddy is.”

I don’t know whether Sol will be pissed off with me or not. She’s better. That’s all that matters.

Sol

They’re staring at me like I’m a monkey in a zoo, a monkey doing funny things. My eyes sweep over their faces—Gunner Senior and Carrie, Dad and Mom, Hawk, Nikko. Gunner Junior with Asher hopping in his arms.

My son is scared of me.

It hits me hard. It stabs me like a knife. It devastates me to the point where I can’t breathe.

I fucked up. I fucked up the most important thing in my life.

I fucked up with Shay and I fucked up with Asher.

I choke back tears as my eyes slide over the facade of Gunner’s house. Asher’s house. It’s a bungalow with a tiled roof and a small garden.

Gunner and Asher have been a family.

Fuck. It hurts so much, like a heated pole has touched my heart and has left an oozing infected burn.

Gunner pulls Asher to his chest like I’m some fucking villain who has come to kidnap him. It hurts even more.

“Let’s eat,” Carrie says and enters the house first.

We queue in front of the burgundy door until it’s finally my turn to step inside. I stop in a narrow hall and hang my biker jacket on an iron ornate hook. The smell of detergents wafts through the air—the smell of cleanliness, care, and effort. Gunner Junior is like his dad when it comes to cleaning. I’m like a filthy tramp and Shay was no better. Rot and worms would have eaten my house if Gunner hadn’t taken care of me.

A thought blasts in my head. Gunner has never made any comments about my lack of skills to keep my house tidy. He just shook off his cut and did whatever was needed. And a lot was needed. A meal for me. A bath for me. Laundry. Dusting. The repairs of the roof.

A punch bag was needed and Gunner took every punch.

I flinch in shame.

Mom guides me to a square dining room with a round table dressed in white and pink. A silver candelabrum holding five candles adorns the top.

“Who’s been cooking?” I ask.

“Me,” Mom signs and kisses my cheek.

There will be a lot of fish, I suspect. She’s obsessed with seafood. I hate it. My dad hates it. Hawk loves it.

“Salmon,” Mom signs and winks at me like she knows my thoughts.

I move closer to Gunner and Asher and stroke my son’s hair, but he looks at me like I’m an old ugly witch. I’m shaky. My chest feels like I have a stiff corset on.

We take our seats and Carrie takes over Asher.

“The house is really nice,” I say. “The décor is very warm like it’s a cottage.”

“Mom helped me choose the colours,” Gunner says.

I notice my mom’s three drawings on the walls—each represents two fallen angels holding hands, one has my face, and the other has Gunner’s face. I will kill her. It’s not even funny.

Uncle Gunner and my mom start delivering the food on the table and I focus on eating.

“So, are you still on drugs?” Hawk asks.

Yep, I can always count on my brother’s straightforwardness.

“No, I stopped my antidepressants two weeks ago,” I say.

“So what was it like when you were on drugs?” Hawk asks.

“Like all the problems didn’t concern me,” I say. “I had a cool head. I had endorphins in my blood.”

“Cool,” Hawk says and I see he’s genuinely interested, intrigued even.

“Yep,” I say. “Very cool. And it helped. Now, I have to deal with all the problems with my shaky mind.”

Our forks screech and scratch against the plates. Glasses clink. Cans of beer click.

“So,” Dad starts. “Where are you going to live now?”

I knew he would ask. Why would he let me eat my first meal after leaving the hospital in peace?

“In my house,” I say.

“This is your house now,” Dad says.

“No,” I snap. “This is Gunner’s house.”

“Your kid has to stay here,” Dad says, anger sizzling in his eyes.

“My son is going to live with me,” I say.

“You can’t take the kid out of the only house they know,” Dad rumbles.

“Asher is my son and he will go where I go,” I hiss.

“You can’t take my son from me, Sol,” Gunner says, his voice cold, sending a warning.

“Excuse me?” I rise to my feet as my chair screeches against the cream tiled floor.

“You heard me,” Gunner says.

All the gathered people freeze as electricity oscillates in the air.

“We need to talk, Gunner,” I say. “Seriously.” I grab my head in both my hands as my eyes roam over the gathered people. “Fucking hell. You people can’t decide about my son’s and my life. I’m not five years old any longer.” I turn my face to Gunner Junior. “Outside. Now.”

He smirks and makes a gallant gesture with his hand. I walk out of the room as he follows me closely behind. We step out of the house and walk towards a stream burbling behind a line of trees. A car hums in the distance.

“I want my son back,” I say.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know anything. He’s my baby, Gunner. I want to give all the time we lost back to him. I’m not a selfish stupid bitch, Gunner. I can see what you did for him and for me and I’m so so grateful. But I need to be with my baby now.”

“He’s my baby, too.”

The rough emotion in his voice makes my own throat tighten. “I can see that too.”

“Why can’t you just live with me and Asher in this house I bought for you?”

I can’t articulate a single word. He’s talking to me like we’re married. Like we’ve been married for years. And I fucking don’t want to stab him. I don’t want to argue. Gunner is a good, caring man. I can see that. I’m not that blind or stupid.

“I can’t, Gunner. I need to be on my own now. I need it. And I need my son with me.”

Anger fills his eyes. “You won’t take him from me.”

“I don’t want to take him from you. He needs you, I know that. Let’s meet half-way, Gunner, like two parents who are divorced.”

Gunner

A very fucking brilliant idea. My hands itch to twist her neck or bend her over the table and fuck her raw, I’m not sure which is more appealing to me. Or maybe both are equally appealing.

I’m losing her now like I’ve been losing her over and over again since she fell in love with Shay. I can’t lose Asher.

“Alright,” I say. “I want him four days a week including the nights.”

She nods. “It’s very reasonable.”

“I want him every Sunday.”

“Okay.”

“I want to go on a vacation with him sometimes.”

“Okay.”

I nod. “Tomorrow I’ll bring him to your house.”

“That’s sensible.”

We stand in silence for a moment. A sense of loss wafts through me. Something between Sol and me is breaking and turning into ashes and it’s inevitable.

“What about us, Sol?”

“There’s no us, Gunner.”

Right. There can’t be any us if I’m the only person interested in building us.

I nod several times, my heart crumbling into pieces, hurting, dying. “Good to know.”

She looks at me with cold eyes. “Let’s go back to the house. The dessert is on the table.”

I’m cold inside too. Detached. That ungrateful bitch has just stopped existing for me.

“Let’s go then,” I say.

I return to my seat and I am the old Gunner, the Gunner from before Shay’s accident. I used to be a funny guy.

I say jokes that make everybody laugh; I make sure glasses are never empty.

It feels good to be the old me. Sol’s surprised expression when I ignore her entirely feels even better.

Later this evening, when Asher and I are finally alone, I focus on him. I’m the new Gunner. The Gunner who loves his son more than anything in the world. The Gunner who’d die for his son.

I tell Asher to be brave. I tell him to be a good boy and to love his mom.

When tears prick my eyes, I tell him to sleep. He’s a good boy and drops off to sleep at once.