Dane

Foghorn Leghorn?

I don’t do anger. That’s not how I roll. Not when I had no fuzz on my peaches, not even when I was playing professional football. Heck, taunting them with gratitude was always more effective.

On the field, every hit was answered with a tip of the imaginary hat, or a handshake. And if it was a particularly nasty tackle, it was either, “Damn, baby, if you wanna dry hump, buy me dinner first.” Or, my personal favorite, “I get hard as fuck every time you touch me, sugar. Hold me closer next time.”

That usually got stunned looks followed by angry stares. The next hit, however, was always less violent.

Occasionally I got the once-over and an invitation to drinks. Which I turned down with a wink and a promise that if I ever let my rainbow flag fly, he’d be the first phone call I made. But I never reacted in anger.

Until now.

Foghorn Leghorn? A cartoon character? Hell no. Helllll no. This pintsized porcupine has gotten under my skin in the worst way.

On the way back to my Fat Boy, my cell phone rings, my father’s name flashing on-screen.

“What’s up, Dad?”

“My word, you’re in a sweet mood. What happened, some girl dump you?”

Leave it to dear old Dad to find the bullet hole and pour salt in it.

“First off, I haven’t dated girls since junior high. I date women. And bite your tongue, if anyone’s doing the dumpin’, it’s me.”

“I didn’t call to do a Dear Abby session, son. Your business is your business.”

Bullshit. My father’s the nosiest man I know. If there’s family gossip, we all find out from him. “We need to discuss the ranch,” he says, any amusement present in his voice a moment ago now absent.

“I think it’s time to sell,” I say as gently as possible. I know how sensitive he is about it. This is the only topic he and I argue about. “Carson is willing to buy the land without the house. You won’t have to move and you won’t have the expense of keeping it up. We can sell off what’s left of the stock. The horses can stay...”

“What about Levi?”

Levi’s got plans of his own but I can’t tell him that. That’s Levi’s burden to deal with.

“He’s got enough saved to do whatever he wants.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m saving it for Georgia’s girls.”

“Georgia’s girls are six and nothing. We aren’t keeping the ranch for the next fifteen years to find out later they don’t want it.”

My sister’s pregnant with her second girl. She and her husband, a Navy pilot, are living in San Diego. The last thing they all wanna do is go back to ranch livin’ which is a helluva lot harder than people understand. Something occurs to me then.

“And what about my kids? How do you know my kids won’t want it?”

“Your kids?”

“Yeah, mine.”

“Is this a joke? I’m being serious, Dane. Stop foolin’ around.”

Stop fooling around? What the… “What are you saying, Dad?”

“What I’m saying, son, is that if I have to wait to hand this ranch over to your kids I’ll be waitin’ ’til the end of time.”

“You don’t think I’ll have kids?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. He exhales. “You’re not the type.”

My temper sparks again for the second time today. We’ve never discussed this before. I assumed my own father was in my corner. It never occurred to me he didn’t think I could handle it.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that part of you is a lot like your momma. It’s impossible for you to commit to something long term––a miracle how long you stuck with football.”

He might as well have hit me upside the head with a brick. His words stop me cold in my tracks.

“Dane? You still there?”

I’m speechless. Hurt and speechless. Comparing me to my mother is just about the worst insult he could have thrown at me. A betrayal. The last thing I thought I would ever hear come from my father’s lips.

People move past me. Some pause to take a second look. In this city it’s almost impossible not to be recognized. My face is plastered on billboards all along the West Side Highway and the local papers. In no mood to deal with fans, eyes cast down, I head back to my bike.

“I changed my mind, Dad. We’re not selling the ranch. I gotta go.”

Before he can respond, I end the call.

* * *

Two days later my anger is still on low simmer. I lay awake for two nights weighing the pros and cons. Then I called one of my best buds.

“He’s not entirely wrong, sweetheart.”

I swear Noah Callahan was born to bust my balls. “Whatdya mean, asshole? You siding with my pops?”

A heavy sigh comes through the phone. “Football is the only thing you’ve ever committed to. He’s right about that. And being a parent is nothing like football. It’ll be a long time before it gets fun. We’re talkin’ sacrificing your personal life for a decade or more. You ready for that?”

I give his words the consideration they’re due. Noah, Jermaine, and I have been a triple threat since kindergarten, and the only ones I can always count on to give me the ugly truth. Aside from all the ribbing, his and Jermaine’s are the opinions I value most.

I can’t consult Jbear ’cause I know where his head’s at; he’s got five already. No, I needed an unbiased perspective. That’s why Noah. He’s eternally single for an entirely different reason than mine, and therefore, a neutral sounding board.

“All I’ve ever had is a personal life. I’m damn sick of it,” practically explodes out of me. Even I’m taken aback by the force of my words. “I’m ready for more. I want the family. Minus the woman telling me what to do every minute of every day before she tells me she’s leaving me ’cause she’s feelin’ neglected.”

“And I thought my situation was hopeless. If you’ve got your heart set on it then do it. This woman sounds like a good bet. And there never was a woman born that you couldn’t sweet talk, babycakes. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

His confidence in my abilities immediately elicits images of the little porcupine, as I’ve come to think of her. This is gonna be harder than he realizes.

“She called me…” I probably shouldn’t. Probably a bad idea.

“Called ya what, handsome?”

“Quit it, will you. This is serious.”

“Fine. What’d she call you, Dane?”

“It ain’t gonna be easy to convince her is all I’m sayin’.”

“What. Did. She. Call. You? I gotta get back to work.”

“Foghorn Leghorn.”

Silence. Painful silence. Succeeded by an explosion of laughter. An eternity later, he settles.

“Woooooweeee! I do like this woman. This is definitely the one, Dane. No chance in hell this one is ever gonna fall for your ugly mug.”

He’s right. This woman is exactly the kind I need to mother my child. There isn’t a single chance she’ll develop any feelings for me. Except irritation, that is.

She’s clearly not looking for marriage because she’s a female, which makes her cunning and crafty, and if she wanted to be married she would be. And something about her, probably her generally uptight attitude, tells me she is rock solid. This is a woman that sees her tasks through come hell or high water.

“Thanks for the pep talk, asshole.”

“You comin’ home any time soon?” When his inquiry is met with silence, he sighs loudly. “Didn’t think so. Later, boo.”

My mind made up, it was time to execute my plan. That being to convince the porcupine to give me another chance. After some not-so-gentle, verbal arm-twisting, Ethan eventually gave me her work address.

I’ve been camped out front of her building since noon. By four, it started raining. By six, I’m soaked and in dire need of a piss break. That’s when I see black hair slicked back in a tight bun coming through the revolving doors. Hallelujah, I may not catch pneumonia.

As soon as I take off my helmet––the only way I could avoid being recognized––she immediately spots me. Her expression does a couple of flips. From surprise, to irritation, to anger, and back to irritation. I smile. She frowns and makes a hard right, taking off down the street at a steady clip, her short legs moving quicker than I’d anticipated.

She’s wearing a black suit again. It seems the only thing the woman wears is black so she’s easy to tail. My eyes move down, looking for the swell of her heart-shaped ass beneath that shapeless suit and get nothing.

In seconds the rain goes from a steady shower to torrential downpour. All at once umbrellas of every color pop up. I almost lose her in the crowd. Her stature allows her to make sharp cuts through the congested sidewalk. Mine doesn’t. Not unless I want to end up mowing down a couple of folks.

Breaking into a jog, I finally catch up and step in her path. She makes an abrupt stop and some dude almost plows into her from behind. I reach out in time to block him. For this kindness, I’m rewarded with an eye roll and a none-too-pleased look on her face.

“What’s the rush, Shorty?” Her eyebrows shoot up. Okay, maybe not the best start.

“What do you want, Wylder?”

“I’d love for you to call me Dane.” I smile again, trying to loosen that stranglehold she’s got on happy but it ain’t workin’. This is one tough nut to crack.

“I didn’t ask what you love. I asked what you want.”

Raindrops pelt her rosy cheeks and slide down to her chin. She makes no move to wipe them away. My instinct is to take her arm and guide her somewhere warm and safe but I’m pretty sure I’ll be missing a limb if I do that.

“Can we talk?”

“We have nothing to discuss.”

“What about your hasty departure the other day? You didn’t allow me to explain why I’m the perfect candidate for your babymaking scheme.”

“Babymaking scheme?” she repeats, frowning. I’m guessing those were not the right words because it looks like her mood just took a turn for the worse.

“You know––”

“Yes, I do know,” she says, interrupting. “And what I know I don’t care for. The answer is no. I will not have you co-parent a child with me.”

Stepping around me, she keeps walking and I keep pace. “Why not?”

“For obvious reasons––which are too numerous to list.”

The rain comes down harder. We’re both drenched to the bone. The porcupine, however, makes no attempt to seek cover.

“Give me a chance to change your mind.”

She weaves through the umbrella-armed crowd easily. I almost knock over a teenage boy in my effort to stay with her. Turns out she’s surprisingly nimble which bodes well for my kid’s athletic prowess. The boy smiles when he realizes who almost knocked the teeth out of his head. We’re on the move again before he can ask for an autograph.

“Stella––”

She finally stops at the top of the subway entrance. Maybe it’s the desperation in my voice. Maybe she’s tired of running from me and is ready to negotiate. Either way, I may have scored a point. At least, I sure as shit hope so.

Turning slowly, she faces me with mistrust and irritation in her big eyes. “Look––Wylder. This is a kid we’re talking about. Not a puppy you can drop off at the pound once the novelty wears off. We’re talking seventeen years plus of fevers and dentist appointments and piano recitals and ballet lessons and…and…if I wanted an absentee father I’d go to a sperm bank. I’m not gambling my kid’s future on you. Not on a guy that can barely remember to show up for an appointment and looks like he’s not done fucking around and partying hard.”

A flare of anger kicks up and it’s a big one. It shoots right up my spine and gets my dander up.

“You got that backward, darlin’. I fuck hard and party around.”

The moment the words leave my lips I want to call them back. I want to shout that I don’t mean it, that I’m not that guy. But I can’t because I’m trapped in my own personal hell. She gets me so dang angry I lose all capacity for rational thought and speech.

Her face remains perfectly blank. This worries me even more. I can practically hear what she’s thinking and it ain’t good. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut and a heavy weight sitting on my chest and for the first time in my adult life I’m ashamed of myself.

Raindrops catch on her lashes. She blinks rapidly and licks the water off her lips, expression stoic as she gets hit in the face.

“Thanks for making this easy.”

With that, she turns and glides down the subway steps, disappearing from sight, while I stand there trying to shake off the feeling that I just got pancaked by a three-hundred-pound defensive lineman.