The days blur by. Every day we grow happier together, find our groove again. Before we know it, a month has passed.
We’ve grown comfortable with each other, settled into a rhythm. I went with Dee to a pre-natal appointment, got to see Thom myself on the ultrasound monitor. It took my breath away, seeing that tiny head move ever so slightly, that little nose. It honestly surprised me even more than when I looked at the printout, just how formed the baby is at such a young age.
I fought a couple more times, too, just quick gigs, three or five rounds, always aiming to submit my opponent as fast as possible. Dee told me no bruises, don’t get beat up, don’t get hurt.
So every fight was technical. Take-down, submit. After those two gigs, people were trying to book me for bigger fights. They wanted to bring big boys in for me to fight, ex-pros, other underground fighters with some real training.
I declined. We had our cash, enough to make a good run for it if we ever had to, a nice emergency fund. I walked away with one-hundred grand, and promised Dee I wouldn’t fight anymore. It would only draw attention to myself, anyway.
I look over at her in the car. She’s staring out of the window, hand on her chin idly scratching. She’s so beautiful when she’s lost in thought, in a different place. I love everything about her, and I can’t believe that, for a moment, it all hung in the balance.
What if I never tracked her down?
What if we never reunited?
She would be dealing with all of this on her own.
In fact, that was her plan all along. She took on all the responsibility, all the burden.
But I know she’s no shrinking violet. She’s as strong as they come, and our son… Thom… he’s only given her a greater reserve of strength.
Dee can dig deep, deeper than even I can, I suspect. Her spring of conviction is unmatched by any opponent I’ve ever fought in the cage, and that’s saying something.
“We need to go for a shop,” she says. The glass fogs up on her side. “We’ve got no greens at home.”
I nod, pull us into the nearest supermarket to home, and park the car in the outdoor parking lot.
“You want to wait in the car?” I ask. It’s cool outside, and a longish walk to the supermarket entrance.
“No,” she says, undoing her seatbelt and getting out faster than me. “I’ve been sitting down all day.”
“The kids don’t make you run around?”
“Well, they make the teacher run around. As the assistant, I don’t actually do all that much.” She pats her belly. “Plus, they take it easy on me.”
“The kids?”
Dee laughs, shakes her head. “No silly. The other teachers. Kids that age never take it easy on anybody.”
Together we walk to the supermarket, hand-in-hand. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what Dee said when we were still living in Glass’ house together, about how growing up in a group home or even in an inadequate foster-care situation doesn’t prepare a child for life.
It certainly doesn’t prepare them to one day be parents themselves.
Part of that makes me nervous. Most men probably start out with the sole intention of being a good father.
No, that’s not the case. The fathers and husbands who left... the fathers like Glass… they don’t care or don’t know to.
But I care. I want to be a good father, but, deep down, I’m afraid that I don’t know how.
She will give birth to this little, innocent life, one who will be shaped by us, will take from each of us a part. She’ll form a bond with it instantly, something closer than any man can ever achieve.
But I just hope I’ll form a bond, too.
I have to be able to protect my family when Glass comes calling.
And he’s going to, that much is sure. We both know it, even if we don’t vocalize those thoughts as much anymore. We’re both as mentally prepared as we’re ever going to be.
We’ve got the emergency equipment all set up. We’ve got supplies loaded in the trunk of the car, cash packed away in a duffel bag, the gun – even if we only have a single loaded clip. We’re ready to leave at the drop of a hat, at a moment’s notice.
But… this is no way to live.
I can’t stand the thought of living like this, of Dee having to live like this. I put out some feelers to try and get a hold of Glass’ location, to see if anyone can tap into his emails or his phone.
So far, nothing has turned up. If there’s one thing a mob boss is good at doing, it’s keeping under the radar.
Only, I’ve got this sensation that he’s headed right for us… maybe not today, maybe not this month or the next, but my radar is pinging like mad.
I need to protect my family.
“What are you thinking about?” Dee asks me. I tell her the truth. “Of course you’ll be a good father,” she says, slapping my arm. “You just need to… adjust yourself a little bit.”
“How so?”
“Well, you can’t beat up another kid’s dad because their kid bullies our kid, for example.”
“Thom won’t be bullied,” I say.
“That was just an example. And, actually, he might be. You never know these things ahead of time. At the school I see kids bully each other all the time. They’re horrible to each other. Sometimes, I think kids are more capable of cruelty to each other than adults are.”
“It’s innocent, though. They don’t know better. That’s what separates us.”
“Are you worried about something in particular? I mean, all first-time parents worry. That’s what all the women at school tell me, anyway. Everybody reads the books, wonders how to raise a child. You’ve got to feel through the dark your first time.”
“I wonder if growing up without parents will make me a bad parent,” I say outright. I have a feeling that Dee is going to keep probing, and she’s the type of woman who when she wants something, she gets it eventually.
“You don’t need to have had good parents to become a good parent,” she says. “I’m going to be a good mother, and I can’t even remember Mom. And Dad…”
“Bad parents have to come from somewhere. There’s enough of them around.”
“Don’t be so cynical, Duncan,” she chides. “Come on, let’s change the subject.”
“We can’t get complacent,” I tell her as we walk through the sliding glass doors to the supermarket.
“I know,” she whispers back. “He won’t stop.”
Bright headlights momentarily illuminate us from behind, and I turn over my shoulder, see LED headlights of some expensive car.
The car’s red brake lights are now all I can see, and it drives out of the parking lot. I wonder if I’m starting to get too paranoid.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just… feel like we’re being followed sometimes.”
“You’re as bad as I am.”
I grin at her. Together, we shop, load up a trolley. The fighting money has allowed us to buy better foods, allowed Dee to stick to a healthier diet. For the baby.
I eat the same things she does, pretty-much, though a lot more protein. It helps her stick to it, and eating healthy is something I’d do anyway to keep my body in fighting-form.
But even so, I don’t have access to the facilities, the supplements I used to. Already I can feel that I’m losing some of that razor-sharp edge, that my quick-twitch muscle fibers are less springy than they were.
It’s amazing how quickly the body strives to achieve homeostasis; the tendency to return to a stable, efficient baseline.
I’ve had to adjust my eating, limit my energy intake, since I’m not burning three-thousand calories a day training anymore.
It’s been an adjustment, like everything else.
We do our shop, get Dee a treat that she’s earned, some vegan tofu ice cream. She says she’s had it before, that it’s not as nice as the real thing, but in a pinch as a healthier alternative that is as good as it gets.
We leave, load the car, and even if only for a moment, Glass becomes just a distant worry. We are getting comfortable. We’re settling in to life together.
I always wanted this, a life alone with Dee where we could both be happy, where we could both be, in a way, out from under the shadows of our pasts.
But when I spot a white SUV, I’m only reminded of the Mercedes. The feeling of comfort, this time, is short-lived. I continuously check the rear-view mirror until Dee asks me what’s up.
“Remember a white Mercedes?” I ask her. “Those LED headlights? The really bright ones?”
She shrugs. “Kind of, I guess. It’s familiar, anyway.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding slowly. “I’ve seen that car a couple of times already. I think I saw it tonight.”
Dee tenses up. “Are you sure?”
I grind my teeth together, shake my head. “No, it was dark, and before I got a good look it was driving away.”
“Damn,” she says, looking over her shoulder out of the rear windshield.
“I can’t see if we’re being followed,” I say. “There’s too much traffic on the road.”
“I wondered why you took this route. It’s quicker to go around the park the other way.”
“I wanted to hit a four-way crossing,” I say, slowing down for a red light. But I see a break, gun the engine, and take the turn across traffic. It’s reckless, I know, but it’s one way to be sure.
“Jesus,” Dee says, clutching onto her seat in between her legs. “Tell me you’re going to do that next time!”
“Sorry,” I say to her. “I only just saw the gap.”
She turns around. “No other car followed.”
“Think we left them behind?”
“I don’t know. You really think we’re being tailed?”
“This is your father we’re talking about, right?”
She nods.
“Then it’s possible.”
I drive us back to her apartment, but steal another resident’s parking space, one that’s covered under shelter.
“Why are you parking here?”
“Just want to hide the car more. They can’t see it from the road from here.”
“You’re pretty spooked.”
“It’s just a feeling,” I say. “You know… You go on up first, I’ll get the shopping.”
“Geez, I can carry a bag, Duncan. Don’t forget, I have to carry kids at work.”
“No, go get changed, get comfortable. I won’t be a minute. I want to look up and down the street anyway.”
“Okay,” she says, getting out of the car. I watch her from my seat. She’s got a habit of rubbing her belly as she walks, almost as if she’s trying to soothe baby Thom. I wonder if he is aware of it.
I reach into the back seats, pull out the shopping bags, and start walking toward the gate of the complex.
It’s not that I expect to glean anything looking up and down the street. If anything, it’s an attempt to calm myself so I don’t project my paranoia, so it doesn’t stress out Dee.
But I notice a white convertible parked on the street outside the complex. Tinted windows, and some custom work done to the body, the three-pronged star on the hood.
I can’t be sure if it’s the same car, and digging into my memories I can’t get a picture if the previous cars I saw had four doors or two.
But nevertheless, I’ve never seen that car parked on this street before, and it’s already dark. I set the bags down onto the ground, move out of line of sight of the gate, and then jump and pull myself up the brick wall surrounding the complex.
I see the bright orange burn of a cigarette through the front windshield.
I watch the car, alert, a sixth sense inside me going off like mad. It’s definitely the same car.
A moment later, the car pulls out, drives off down the street, it’s sleek visage at odds with the deep rumble of its powerful engine.
Shit! He must have seen me.
I drop down from the wall, sprint up the steps.
I burst through the door. Dee is standing at the kitchen counter, rolling some rice that she’s taken out of the fridge.
“I thought we could make some sushi with the left-over rice,” she says over her shoulder. “Just add some white vinegar to it, and—”
“Dee!”
She spins around. “What’s wrong?”
“Get your suitcase.”
Her eyes widen, and without saying a word, she drops everything she’s doing, goes straight to the bedroom.
I reach under the sofa, pull out the pistol. It’s loaded, safety on. I push it through my belt at the small of my back.
I take two four-liter bottles of water and line them up at the door, then open my duffel bag to check the cash briefly. I throw in a change of clothes, and Dee comes out of her room, small two-wheeled luggage in tow.
“He’s here? My father?” Dee asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I saw that fucking car again.”
“Are you sure?”
“They drove off when they spotted me watching them.” There’s this moment where a ripple of panic crosses her face, and I go to her wrap her up, kiss her head. “We’re getting out of here tonight, okay?”
“I’ll call Pierce,” she says. “Give me your phone.”
I toss it to her. “Keep him on the line.”
I shoulder the duffel bag, take Dee’s suitcase, and scoop up the bottles of water into my arm.
Together we’re out of the house, and I haul the suitcase up and take the steps down two at a time. I throw it all into the back of the car, wait for Dee to catch up.
“It’s ringing out!” she says.
“Try again.”
We get in, I gun the engine, leave the complex.
“I need directions!” I say to Dee.
“He’s not picking up.”
“Dial again!”
“Pierce!” Dee says urgently into the phone. “Duncan needs directions to the safe place. No, we’re not being followed.”
Bright white headlights blind us from in front of us, and I swerve the car into an alley.
“Actually, yes we are! Navigate us. How can we lose them?”