Donovan

7 years, 6 months, and 23 days ago

I grimace when my cell starts ringing. Allison has no goddamn chill. My teeth grit as I prepare to make nice. As mentally prepared as I can be, I slide my finger across the screen to answer the call.

“What’s up?”

“Just making sure you remember that I’ll be over at four.”

It’s a wonder my teeth aren’t dust from all the clenching and grinding I do whenever she calls. “You’ve called nine times in the last three days, Alli. I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be ready for you when you get there.”

“Just making sure,” she answers. “My sister loses her mind when things don’t go just right and if I’m even a second late… well, you know how it is. I figured I should check and make sure you remembered.”

If anyone here needs to be checking in on the other about reliability, it would be me. I just don’t care enough to bother.

“While we’re crossing our ‘t’s and dotting our ‘i’s—you know I’m only letting you do this if you come alone, right?” I ask, my voice firm.

“I told you I would and I am. We broke up, I swear. He’s not going to be around at all anymore.”

I’ve heard this from her before and the fucker always, always turns back up. What’s worse is that I see his stupid ass at work from time to time. The only thing that’s saved the situation is that I work 7-3 and he’s on 10-6 in the morning. If I saw him on the regular, I’d probably be sitting in a cell. I have no chill when it comes to assholes that bully women. It’s fucked up that I’ve reported him to the chief a half-dozen times and nothing has happened.

Ending the call, I get out of the truck and head for one of the best parts of my day. The sound of happy laughter greets me as I pass through the door. I wave to Carol at the desk before taking a turn down the right hall toward my destination. As is my habit, I stand at the door for a few seconds and observe before entering. My heart fills when I see my son playing happily at a table full of rice and plastic measuring equipment. Opening the door, I step into the classroom and sneak up behind him, smiling and mouthing a greeting to his teacher as I do. My boy lets out a shriek of happy surprise and turns to me the second I tickle his sides.

“Daddy!”

Bending down, I pull him in for a hug and plant a kiss on his chubby cheek.

“I missed you today,” I tell him.

“I misted you too,” he answers as he steps back.

When I stand, he puts his hand in mine and tugs me toward his cubby. “Did you awwest any bad guys today?”

Laughing, I shake my head. “Not today, bud.”

“Aww, no siwens?”

Brady is obsessed with the sirens on my squad car and pretty much anything else that relates to being an officer of the law. My dad tells me that I was just as passionate about it when I was a kid, which isn’t a surprise. My son is undeniably a chip off the old block.

“I used my siren twice,” I tell him as I crouch down to tie his shoe. “But only to pull people over who were driving too fast. No need to arrest anyone for speeding.”

He lets out a sigh and says, “too bad,” as I help him put his little backpack on.

Picking him up, I head for the sign-out table by the door to note the time—3:15—and sign my name on the line next to where his is printed. Setting his head on my shoulder, he waits patiently as I go through this part of our daily routine. I spend a minute talking to Miss Marie about his day—all good, no surprises there—before we wave goodbye to her and go on our way.

I don’t put him down once we get into the hall. Although he’s a self-proclaimed big boy, we’re not yet at the place where he won’t allow me to pick him up and carry him. Knowing that it won’t be long before he cuts me off, I tend to do it whenever I get the chance. My mom says it’s a wonder he walks at all since we all spoil him so much, but I can’t find it in me to care. He’ll only be this young once and before I know it, my three-year-old will be four and I haven’t seen a dad carrying a kid from the four-year-old class even once in the last few months. I fear all bets are off once Brady moves into that room, which is why I dread it. I never thought I’d be the kind of dad who would be emotional at each milestone, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I glance at him in the rearview mirror as I pull to the stop sign at the end of the parking lot. “Mom will be at our house to get you not long after we get home. Are you excited about going to the park for Janie’s birthday?”

Whoever made the decision to have a kid’s birthday party on a Friday night needs their head examined. Bearing in mind that it’s Alli’s family throwing the party, I’m not surprised. Their weekends are sacred—so much so that I’m a little surprised this party wasn’t scheduled for a Wednesday. They’re those assholes.

Brady’s grin is a good indicator that while I’m not pumped about missing our Friday pizza ritual, he’s thrilled about getting his party on. “So excited, Daddy. Mom said thews gonna be a moon bounce. She gonna bwing me two wed lollipops and two gween plus I get to have chewwy soda and cake!”

I shake my head as I turn my attention to the road and take the turn toward home. I hate when she promises him shit without thinking. I try not to let him eat too much sugary garbage, but she goes crazy and overcompensates for the fact that she doesn’t feel the things she wishes she did by letting him eat and do whatever he wants. If she ever gives him an actual fruit or vegetable, I’ll probably pass the fuck out. I force myself to relax by reminding myself that she’s been more consistent for the last few months, which is good for my son.

I hate that this is the situation we’re in. I don’t want to dislike my son’s mother, but by my count, she’s done two good things in the entire time I’ve known her. Giving birth to my son and promptly abdicating the responsibility of parenting to me were her least selfish acts. I put up with a lot from her because I’m grateful for both. We had drunken sex once after a night at the bar. It wasn’t memorable, and we didn’t talk again until ten weeks later when she turned up to tell me she was pregnant. Since we’d used protection, I was dubious about the claim at first, but it didn’t take me long to realize that her panic was real.

I was a twenty-two-year-old kid fresh out of the academy who didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground, so I hadn’t argued when she’d originally declared her intent to have an abortion. I’d given her the money for it without a second thought, something I pray my son never knows. When Alli couldn’t go through with the termination, she’d bluntly asked me what my thoughts were on taking the baby and raising him or her myself. It was that or adoption, she’d said.

I’d been terrified of the choice because, really, what the fuck did I have to offer a child? I’d hemmed and hawed until the moment I heard his heartbeat for the first time. That was when I knew that no matter how scared I was there was only one choice. Looking back, I can’t believe I ever doubted that this would work. The moment the nurse put my son in my arms, I was a changed man. My son is my life and the idea of how empty it would have been without him in it—if I’d chosen the adoption route—makes me ill. Being a single father is hard, but worth it.

She asked for visitation from the get-go and I gave it to her, but she’s not been what you would call consistent. She couldn’t handle him at all when he was an infant and it only got a little better once he became a toddler. Still, I can see that she loves him in her way, even if it’s not what I would choose for him. If the cost of having him is tolerating Alli’s flightiness and sporadic interest, so be it. It doesn’t bother me when she disappears for three months at a time, but for Brady’s sake, I need to encourage her to foster a positive relationship with him.

Lately she’s been showing up for a visit every two weeks like clockwork, which is a good thing. I think. I just hope he doesn’t come to rely on her only to be let down. She does better when Joel—otherwise known as the piece of shit she can’t stay away from—isn’t in the picture. That overbearing and abusive blowhard isn’t fit to wear a fucking badge. There have been at least eight visits by the police to Alli’s apartment on nights when he’s put hands on her, but she never presses charges. One of my co-workers told me about it so I dug in and found that the guy has had literally dozens of complaints leveled against him by citizens who have dealt with him in his role as an officer, but they too never go anywhere. The miserable fuck keeps his job because his mommy works at internal affairs.

What’s saved him from meeting my fist is that Brady never spends time at Alli’s house, which means Joel has no real access to him. All bets are off if he ever goes for Alli in front of my son, something that I’ve told her many, many times. She might excuse the shit Joel does, but my son will not be affected by her shitty choices.

With Brady securely buckled into the car seat in Alli’s car, I give him a kiss on either cheek. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

“And you’ll tuck me in snug like a bug and wead my favowite book,” he laughs.

“Just like always,” I promise. “Then tomorrow afternoon we’re going with Poppy to Uncle Ron’s new work site to see the big work trucks.”

“Twucks!” he squeals. “We see Julie, too?”

My cousin is always willing to spend hours playing with and running after Brady, which has earned her his undying love and affection. “We’ll see Julie and Aunt Margie when we go to Poppy and Grammy’s for dinner,” I confirm.

He grins and claps his hands. “I’ll make pictuwes for them.”

Ruffling his silky-soft hair, I drop another kiss on his cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

After giving him a quick high five, I close the door and turn to Alli.

“If you could make sure he eats a burger or hot dog before he gorges on sugar, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Of course. I’ll make sure he eats before all the sugar,” she assures me.

We go through this whenever she takes him anywhere, and seventy percent of the time she doesn’t follow through. I keep trying though.

“Cool. Have fun.” See? I try to be nice.

“Thanks. We’ll be back by seven at the latest,” she says as she walks around the car to go.

“See you then.”

I stay in the driveway like I always do and wave to Brady until they’re out of sight. Once they’re gone, I go back inside and busy myself with laundry while I count down the hours until my boy comes home.

With only an hour left before Brady gets back, I’m wiping down the kitchen counters. Before he came along, I’d been somewhat of a slob, but I’ve slowly but surely changed those ways. The two things I rely on most as a single parent are scheduling and order.

I’m startled by the sound of banging on the door. Tossing my cleaning rag into the sink, I hurry to the door. Flinging it open, I find two of my fellow officers, Jack Samson and Dan Martinez on my porch. The overwhelming certainty that something is terribly wrong is immediate and damn near staggering. I can tell by the looks on their faces and the pallor of their skin that everything is about to change.

“What is it?” I ask.

They look at each other before looking back at me. “There was an incident at the park,” Dan says. “They had to life flight Brady to Children’s Hospital.”

Suddenly feeling like my legs won’t hold me up, I grab onto the doorframe. “Life flight?” I repeat like some kind of idiot.

“You need to come with us now,” Jack says. “There might not be…” he looks away and swallows thickly before adding, “time.”

And I know, I fucking know, down to the depths of my soul, that he’s telling me that this is bad and my son may not make it. I understand this, yet I’m fucking paralyzed. I’ve been trained to respond swiftly to emergencies, but that means fuck all right now. If I move, this is real. More than anything, I don’t want this to be real.

I stumble when Dan grabs my free arm and tugs me forward. “We have to go, Beckett. Now.”

I’m at least a mile away from home in the back of the police car before I realize I might not have shut the front door.

“I think I left my house open,” I murmur, more to myself than to them.

“Everything is okay—we closed it for you,” Dan says in his super official next of kin notification voice. It’s something we’re all taught, something I’ve done myself about a dozen times since I put on the badge. I just never thought someone would be using it on me.

The need for my parents to be at my side is all consuming. Fumbling into my back pocket, I pull out my phone and dial my dad. I don’t even know how I do it or what I say, but somehow I get the little bit I know across. He tells me that he and Mom will be at the hospital as soon as possible. I hang up without telling him I love him, something that bothers me all the way to the hospital.

When we finally get to Children’s Hospital, we have some trouble turning into the parking lot. I’m confused by the sight of several news vans that all have their satellites up. There are lights and cameras, women and men holding microphones for live reports.

“Why are they here?”

Jack and Dan exchange a glance—just a second—that tells me the answer is related to my son. Brady is in that hospital fighting for his life, and I’m in such a state of shock I haven’t even asked what happened. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“It was Joel Ross,” Dan says. “He drove into the park and plowed into a group of nine kids and four adults that were gathered around a piñata. They didn’t realize they should move because they saw the squad car and must have figured it was official business or something. They were sitting ducks because of the goddamn siren.”

Alli’s shithead ex-boyfriend is the reason my son is inside this hospital.

“Where is he now?”

“He ate a bullet after he got out of the car and unloaded the semi-automatic he brought with him.”

I look back at the assembled news media before turning back to Jack and Dan as Jack pulls the car to the emergency entrance.

“Alli?” I ask.

“She didn’t make it,” Dan answers. “Other than Brady no one in her immediate family survived. We’ve got fifteen fatalities and twelve wounded, five of them critically.”

“Let me out,” I plead as the car stops.

Jumping out, Dan opens the rear door for me. I almost don’t make it to the trashcan before the contents of my stomach are ejected.