Dean

I inhale the cigarette slowly as I wait for my daughter to give me shit, my body dragging the sweet nicotine into my lungs like it always does.

When this time of year comes, it kills me knowing I still haven’t told her the truth about Landon, but I do it to protect her. She’s been through enough, and she’s been torn apart more than any one person ever should be.

She’s too young to be dealing with the burden that to this day continues to wear me down. The guilt weighs heavily, and I’ll be damned if I can shake it off me. So, I live with it. Put all my extra time into focusing on watching Leila grow; her independence and stability in life are the most important things to me. She’s helped me heal in more ways than she will hopefully ever realize.

“You need to quit, Dad. Maybe you should see a doctor while we're here and have him prescribe some of those pills,” Leila clarifies as she meets me in front of my truck. I take one more drag, put the cigarette out on the tip of my boot, and toss it in the garbage as we make our way across the parking lot to the hospital.

“I bought these.” I pull out the gum I bought last week, sling my arm around her shoulder, and wave the packet in her face.

“Yes, those are perfect. Start chewing and toss the rest of your smokes in the trash, or I’m never speaking to you again.” Sure, she won’t. This young woman has me wrapped around every one of her fingers, and she knows it.

“Right. The whole world knows you can’t resist the charm of your old man. Besides that, you need me to pay for the rest of college and to keep the men away. These things work, by the way. I’ve cut down to about five or six a day.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about guys right now. My last boyfriend was a jerk. I’ll stay single for a while after dealing with him. I’m proud of you. Don’t give up. Oh, I forgot to tell you I got a job.” Her last outburst has me pausing in my steps.

“That’s great. Where?” Up until last year, she had a job in a clothing store at the mall. When it became hard for her to juggle between work and her heavy class load on top of a possessive boyfriend, she quit working, dumped the asshole, and focused on her studies.

I might have a shit ton of money, but I told my kids they needed to learn how to make it on their own. Not that they weren’t spoiled, because they were. Leila still is. However, I want her to know how great the reward is of earning a living and getting through life on your own.

“At a little chocolate shop at the farmers market. It’s on the corner right by a parking lot, so you won’t have to worry when I walk out at night, and the owner is young and pretty.” She lifts her brows, showing me the hint in her eyes.

The young and pretty isn’t what has my mind ticking. It’s the place she’s describing that does. The place sells chocolate, alright. Several different kinds of it. Including the dripping sexual lick-off-your-body kind. Shit. And here she said she wasn’t looking for a man. I hope this place and the owner don’t give her any ideas.

“How young and how pretty?” I ask, pretending I’m interested while my mind reels with the fact my daughter is working in a man’s fantasy land.

“Early thirties, if I had to guess. She has long black hair. It’s thicker than mine. She’s cool; I think you’d like her.” I have no doubt about that. Especially with what she sells for a living. Not even going to go there with her, though. The age difference doesn’t mean a thing to me. The fact remains this woman will be Leila’s boss.

“Didn’t know you were looking for a job. You sure you can handle it?”

“I’m sure. Actually, I wasn’t looking for one. Roman told me about the place a while ago. I went in this morning before class to get chocolate coffee beans, and she looked tired and worn out. I offered to help her fill the displays, and we started talking about her getting some help. The next thing I knew, she asked me if I could start tomorrow.” Christ, she sounds happy, and I’m over here ready to smack Roman down for telling her about this place.

“Chocolate coffee? That shit sounds disgusting.” I hope to God those beans aren’t some sort of aphrodisiac. I’ve never been inside of this store, but I remember Roman rattling off about how he and Joslyn love the place a time or two.

“It’s good, Dad. Everything in her store tastes good.”

“I’ll have to try it,” I lie. I’m over this conversation already. Fucking hell.

“Make sure you do.” She draws out the word ‘do’ and nudges me in the gut with her elbow.

“You trying to hook me up?” I laugh while she rolls her eyes.

“Maybe I’m doing it for her and not you.”

“Same thing, sweetheart. I love you all the more for it.” I wink, kiss her cheek, and the all-consuming feeling of luck over being this young woman’s dad hits me in the chest.

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Like the little mother hen she is, she snatches the gum from my hand and starts to read the entire thing out loud. I bust out laughing until they fall from her hands the second we are ambushed by at least several dozen reporters.

“Shit,” I grumble, take hold of her hand, and try to steer us back the way we came. I’ve just gone from having a good time with my kid to wanting my fists to fly.

I’m one to turn a blind eye these days to the paparazzi. These clowns make it damn near impossible as the cameras flash, and the questions hurl like grenades in a war zone at the two of us. They circle like vultures, causing us to stop right in the middle of the parking lot.

“Dean, can you confirm that Roman and Joslyn had a son? We’ve heard he was named after Landon? Wasn’t yesterday the anniversary of your son’s death?”

A painful gasp erupts from Leila. I squeeze her hand, a silent reminder that I got her.

I’d love to beat these dirty motherfuckers’ asses and whoever leaked word about the baby. I’m damn certain it wouldn’t come from any of us.

I rip my arm free from whoever grasps hold of my elbow before I say something that will only make me angrier, but when someone shoves a microphone in Leila’s face, my eyes flame with a red rage of fire. I lose control of my sense of calm and clench my fist before the urge to deck him in his face wins the battle I’m right in the middle of.

“Get the hell away from my daughter. Jesus Christ, you people make me sick!”  I shout angrily. A rebellious frenzy starts boiling in my blood, my annoyance unyielding and thick enough to drain the blood from this motherfucker.

This is why I’ve vowed to protect her from the truth for as long as I can. They circle and prey, swoop in and blindside you, and won’t shed a tear or give a fuck if they’ve wounded your already injured soul more.

They’ve stayed away from me for a long time, and so has the one man who carelessly tried to drag my son’s name down, the guy I hate more than anyone: Sam Borst. He’s left me alone since the night I saw him on the beach. I didn’t pry into his world and ask him what the hell was going on with him and his woman. I helped save her, and even though all she kept asking me to do was get her away from the lying asshole while she frantically kept trying to claw his eyes out, I held her down until a woman who said she was her sister took over. She was a Goddamn mess. Don’t know what happened between the two of them. All I know is, he left the state, and rumor has it he’s back.

That night has visited my dreams often, and so has she. Her eyes caught me off guard. They were blue like the clearest part of the ocean, crystal-clear blue. The kind where if you stared at them long enough, you could see into her soul. And I did. I saw them glistening with pain and crashing and churning in chaos, just like the water was that night.

Still, after everything that went down last year with Roman and Joslyn, his ex, and some crazy idiot who thought he could blackmail them, I don’t trust a single one of these sharks. They’ll either swallow you whole or take as many bites out of a person to get what they want.

My chest tightens to the point of pain, anger scraping to the end of my nerves. Swear on my life I could kill them and not think twice.

I’m not screwing around with this crap. These people are the bottom feeders of the press. Lingering and clawing until they frustrate you enough that you holler out what they want.

“This is public property, Mr. Wagner. We have every right to stand here as much as you do. I don’t know why we even try with you guys. Maybe your fans would like to know. Did you ever think of that?” he spits, reluctantly taking a step back and dropping the microphone from her face.

I’d love nothing more than to tell him why they don’t need to bother with us. It’s called fucking respect. Their brains are too warped on a repeat cycle to make our lives hell to understand what it means. “You’re right, asshole, this is public property. My daughter is not. What that means to you is, touching her, touching me is not something you are allowed to do. We might be inclined to talk to you if you’d learn to handle yourselves with a little bit of professionalism. We have nothing to say. Get the hell out of our way, or I’ll be calling the cops. You alright, sweetheart?” I ignore his jab about our fans. Pretty sure our PR has already taken care of it.

Leila nods, her head down far enough to cover her face. Just like the way she was taught. The problem I have with this Goddamn shit is, she shouldn’t have to hide who she is whenever these people come around. I place my hand on her back and begin to push our way through when a soft yet hard female voice from behind us grabs my attention.

“Carl, what in the hell do you think you're doing? Leave them alone.” Damn, that sexy voice shoots right to my cock. I’d love nothing more than to take a quick peek at this woman, but when Leila’s shoulders shake and she keeps on walking, I follow her inside.

“I hate them.” Loathing drips in her bitter words as we continue to the elevators.

“I do, too. They bugging you at school?” I ask, push the button, and the shiny silver doors open. Leila attends UCLA. She has one more year before she finishes her degree. Couldn’t be prouder of the woman she’s become despite the harsh way life has tried to drag her down.

“No. They haven’t bothered me in a while. Why would they bring him up? Don’t they know it hurts us when they do?” Her lips start quivering, and she slumps up against the corner. I know my kid, and she’s hurting in ways she won’t admit. It might not be the proper place to talk, but she’s not visiting with Roman and Joslyn like this; they will see right through her.

“I don’t know, Leila. You cannot let those no-good sons of bitches get to you.” I place my hands on her shoulders and steer us down the hall and into the waiting room once the elevator doors open. “Talk to me and tell me what’s really going on in that mind of yours.” I tuck her hair behind her ear and then do the same thing to mine. Not only do I need to quit smoking, but I also need a damn haircut.

I automatically reach for my smokes only to realize I left them in the truck. I then go for the gum, only to remember it’s probably smashed all to hell. Doesn’t matter. I’ll quit regardless if I have it or not. Been wanting to for a while now. That was the reason I bought the gum.

She sighs, her words spilling out of her on shaky breaths. “Landon would have loved meeting Joslyn and Roman’s baby. I’m honored they named him after my brother. Do you remember how he always helped kids get their kites off the ground?” I hate seeing her this way. I’d rather drive a stake through my heart than to sit here and watch her cry. There isn’t anything I can think of worse in life than watching your child suffer and knowing there isn’t a damn thing you can do to take away her pain. Well, that’s a fucking lie. The worst thing is burying your kid and wishing like hell it were you instead of them.

My mind shuffles back to a time when the twins were eleven, and a little boy was so frustrated when he couldn’t get his kite up in the air. The kid scanned the beach for who I assumed were his parents. When no one came to help him, he slumped to the sand and cried. Landon got to him before I had the chance; he kneeled down and talked to the kid for a bit, then took his kite and showed him the right way to go from loose to taut with his string. After a few tries, the kid had his kite in the air and a smile on his face while I stood there and nodded with pride at my son. He ended up hanging with the kid most of the day while I hung out with Leila, pulling around a big pig-shaped kite behind me.

I remember everything about Landon. The good and bad. The thing I’m struggling with now is, how in the hell do I sit here today of all days and rehash memories?

I suppose it’s a good thing she wants to talk. Leila shelters herself from the loss at the same time she’s always checking in to make sure I’m alright. Kind of funny that no matter how hard I try to get her to talk about him, she doesn’t, and now suddenly, she does. I don’t want to talk about him today. I did enough of it at home by myself yesterday morning and while I lay in bed last night, but I’ll do anything to wipe the sad expression off my gorgeous daughter’s face.

“I remember, sweetheart. He was a good kid. He loved you.” Leila is right. Landon should be here rejoicing in the birth of the newest member of this family with the rest of us. Knowing he never will be spikes my anger until it slices me deep.

“I loved him, too. I miss him so much, Dad. I thought it would get easier as time goes on. It’s the happy times that have me wishing he were here. Then I realize he’ll never witness our happy. There are times I’ll see something that reminds me of him, and if I stop to dwell on the fact he would love it, I start to cry, and the next thing I know, my friends are consoling me. I can never comprehend why God would give us someone so good only to snatch them away. I miss Mom, too, but not the way I do him. I felt like I lost her to the drugs. I don’t know why I’m bringing this up suddenly. I’m sorry.”  

Fuck me. This girl is everything to me. Seeing her like this feels like someone is fisting my heart.

“Don’t apologize to me, Leila. I’m your father. You can talk to me anytime about anything, and yes, you do know why. You're still grieving. You’ll always grieve. Happy times like these are the hardest, and those idiots out there pulled the plug and struck a nerve. You can talk about both of them anywhere you want, Leila. I love you so damn much.” I smile at the older couple across from us and lift my chin when I see Joslyn’s brother, Alex, coming our way all decked out in camouflage.

He frowns before stepping on the elevator. Damn good guy right there. I’ve no doubt he didn’t come and talk to us because he felt it wasn’t the right time.

I give my attention back to Leila. Yesterday marked another year. One more year without him in our lives. He’s been gone six years. Died on Valentine’s Day. The very same day little Nash was born. Coincidence or not, it will always be a bittersweet day.

I’ve pushed myself to the limit every single day since he’s been gone. Traveled all over the world and loved every second when I got up on stage and beat on my drums. The sweat, the adrenaline, and the vibes from the crowd kept me going.

I’ve also done things that would make my daughter hate my guts. Women, gambling; I was the epitome of a fucked-up man for a long damn time. One who couldn’t swallow the way his son died. Couldn’t get past my own two feet half the time. But ever since Roman and Joslyn got back what they’d lost, I’ve strived to be a better man. To not drink as much, to lay off fucking anything with two legs and tits. Hell, I haven’t gotten laid in almost a year, and even though Leila has always come first, I’d love nothing more than to find a woman to spend the rest of my life with.

“I love you, too, Dad.” A smile spreads across my face hearing her say that. It never gets old. Doubt it ever will. I’ll take her telling me that twice in one day over anything.

“Life sucks. The one thing I know for sure is, your brother does see how happy we are, Leila. You have to hold on to that. Hold on tight and remember everything good about him. No matter what, always remember the good. Tell me more about this job. What made you decide to get one?” I exhale heavily, tilt my head back on the leather sofa, train my eyes upward, and stare at the ceiling. I place my arm around her shoulders, draw my reason for living into my chest, and wish to fuck I could take the weight of affliction off her.

I’ve come to grips with his death, and when life drags me down, I remember the good in my son, and it gets me through missing him.

Christ, I’ve struggled over the years. There isn’t an explanation to describe grieving. It comes and goes.

I close my eyes, and instead of seeing Landon’s face, I see the trembling lips of the woman on the beach all those years ago. Her fragile body was quivering in my arms from being cold. God, was she ever beautiful. Hope she’s happy now.

“Yeah, it does suck. It’s a sign they had their baby on the anniversary of his death, don’t you think?” Leila sighs. I feel her eyelashes flutter closed briefly before she lifts her head and searches out my response.

My girl is a dreamer. Always has been. She’s continually carrying on about the alignment of the stars and shit. I usually listen because whatever she says is important to her. This certain subject, though, in some way does set my mind at ease. I’m too old to believe in karma, fate, and all that other bullshit, but when Roman called me yesterday and said Joslyn had gone into labor, I about fell off the chair in the restaurant where Leila and I were having lunch. We finished in a hurry, paid our bill, and sat in this very same room with Miles, Brock, and Markus while we waited for Roman to give us the news. The look on his face when he walked out to tell us it was a boy and everyone was healthy hit me square in the gut. I would have buckled to my Goddamn knees from lack of air if I had been standing when he also told me the baby’s name was Nash Landon Nixon.

It ignited the memories of the best day of my life. The day my kids were born.

Since their mother and I weren’t together, she never asked me if I wanted to come in and witness their birth. Instead, I stood in the waiting room with her father drilling holes in the back of my head while her mom was with her. Kind of sucked I didn’t have parents of my own to be with me. Never even knew who they were. They tossed me away the same way Roman’s parents did him. I’ve never heard a word from them since. My life was shit, but I came out on top, or at least I thought I did when I caught the first glimpse of my kids.

The minute I held them both in my arms, though, was the minute I felt a change in my life. Unconditional love will do that to a person, and Christ do I love my kids. I always will.

“I do. I also think we should go meet him.” I wink, wipe a straggling tear away, and kiss her forehead.

It isn’t until we’re walking down the hallway toward their room that I feel like I can breathe again.

The fucked-up thing is, all the air in my lungs leaves the second we walk through the open door and see the woman I was just thinking about sitting there holding Nash.

Our eyes clash when she lifts her head.

“Tatum. What a surprise. We were just talking about you,” Leila says with excitement. My chest constricts.

Tatum’s blue eyes scatter between my daughter’s and mine.

Fucking hell. Maybe I do believe in fate after all. It seems the woman I saved is my daughter’s new boss.

You have got to be shitting me.