Unexpected Hero: An age gap forbidden romance, page 4
I didn’t mean to be bad. I always try to be a good boy. A brave boy for Daddy.
But I don’t remember what I did wrong that day. Daddy was very, very mad at me. No dinner before bed, and I had to be very quiet all night. He said that if I talked, my dog would be gone in the morning.
I believed him too. He kicked my dog once. After that, he hid in my closet when Daddy was home. I went in there with him so he wouldn’t be nervous.
So I promised Daddy I wouldn’t talk that night. If I stayed quiet, I would protect my dog.
He needed me to take care of him. No one else could do it but me. I loved him so much, and he loved me too. I think, but I don’t know.
Daddy says it’s hard to love me. I don’t know why.
Maybe I am a bad boy.
I must have been too loud that night or been naughty in another way. My dog was gone when I woke up.
I cried a lot that day.
Daddy spanked my bottom with his belt really hard. He said it was to make me a tougher boy. A brave boy who doesn’t cry and whine. Especially about dogs.
So I’m very brave now.
If I was a better boy before, maybe my real live dog would still be with me.
But I didn’t protect him good enough.
“I promise I’ll protect you better,” I whisper as I hug my stuffed doggy.
Wherever my real dog is now, I hope he isn’t hurt or sad.
When I think about him, I wish Daddy would have let me give him a name before he took him away. He said dogs don’t deserve names. That seems mean. He was such a good boy, and I think he deserved a good name. Maybe I would have called him Cuddles because he was good at giving me those.
Sometimes, he would let me lay my head on his furry belly. He would put his arm around me like a hug.
Mommy used to give me hugs. I don’t know where she went, but I hope she comes back soon. I loved her hugs. She held my hand a lot too. No one holds my hand anymore. Or gives me hugs. She was sleeping on the floor the last time I saw her.
One day, I asked Daddy where she went, and he smacked my face so hard. I cried because of how much it hurt. Then Daddy got even madder because I was crying. He kept yelling that I needed to stop being a little baby and toughen up.
That’s why I’m a big, strong boy now.
I only wish I could remember what I did wrong on the last night I had my dog because I never want to do that bad thing again. Next time, Daddy might take my stuffie.
I squeeze him tighter. “I’ll remember what I did wrong so I can protect you. Practice makes perfect. That’s what my teacher says. So I’ll keep practicing at remembering until I figure it out.”
Back to the game, and then I can get a waffle.
My wall next to the bed has a picture on it. I colored it at school the other day.
That was when Daddy’s grown-up friend with the long black hair was taking care of me. I showed her my picture, and she hung it on the wall by my bed with tape. Now I can look at it when I listen to the clock as it puts me to sleep.
Sometimes, Daddy’s friend is nice to me like that.
Other times, she ignores me. Usually, when she comes over, she and Daddy smoke a lot of stinky things. Not just cigarettes. I cough when she’s here.
Daddy doesn’t like it when I cough because it’s too noisy. But I can’t help it. The smoke makes the air smell funny and tickles my throat.
A bad tickle. Not the good kind like Mommy used to give me.
No one tickles me anymore.
If I follow Daddy’s rules, he might like me better. Maybe then he will tickle or hug me.
When Daddy’s black-haired friend was watching me, she didn’t hug me or tickle me either.
She had a bruise on her face, and her lip looked like it had been bleeding. Daddy must have hit her for being too loud. That’s what he did to make my lip bleed.
The night before she started watching me, she and Daddy fought. A policeman came. I saw the red and blue lights flashing. But I hid in my closet like Daddy told me. I always do what he says.
After a while, I fell asleep in there. The next morning, Daddy wasn’t home, but his friend was. She said it was her fault Daddy was popped, so she would stay with me until he came back. I don’t know what it means to be popped. It sounds bad.
For a few days, she stayed with me. I thought it would be better than being in my room alone. But it wasn’t.
She had lots of people come here who I didn’t know. They were loud and smelly like her. And I think they were sick because they were poking each other with needles like at the doctor.
One time, Mommy took me to the doctor, and I got needles in my arm. She said they make it so I don’t get sick. I had to be brave when I got poked with the needles.
And I’m very brave. She was very proud of me.
I wish I still lived with her instead of Daddy.
He got back from being popped a few days ago, and he was very tired. I needed to be extra quiet then. When he got home, his black-haired friend left. But they yelled a lot first. I don’t think she’s coming back. But that’s okay. I won’t miss her like I miss Mommy. And at least Daddy won’t hit her for being loud anymore.
I’ve been in the same clothes since that day.
That’s enough of the memory game. I can’t think of more things anyway.
My whole body shivers. It’s very cold in here now.
When I get up to look out my window, the sun is getting ready for bed.
My arms hurt from squeezing myself too tight. I try to hug my chest to make me warm. Daddy says I should put on more clothes if I’m cold. But there are no clothes in my drawer. I checked.
I like it when he’s gone. But I also don’t like it.
Maybe I can look for a blanket in the other room.
And get a waffle.
I walk to my bedroom door, pretending to be a little mouse. Small and quiet so no one will see me or hear me.
Leaning my ear against the door, I listen for Daddy to make sure he’s still gone. If I go out there and he’s here, I’ll be in trouble.
He might take away my stuffed dog.
Maybe I should hide it under the bed to save him from Daddy.
When I get to the bed, I have to strain really hard to pick up the corner. I’m such a big boy. A strong boy like Daddy told me to be. I’m able to lift it enough to make room to hide my stuffie. Don’t worry. He doesn’t need air since he’s only a toy.
There. I protected this dog from Daddy. Now that he’s safe, I can look for something to make me warmer.
When I get back to my bedroom door, I lean against it again. It’s still quiet.
So I walk like a mouse into the hallway. I look around but don’t see him. That’s good.
I’ll still be quiet though. Just in case.
My stomach squeezes again, so I decide to get a waffle first.
I push a chair from the kitchen table over to the refrigerator. I push and tug to make it move. It scrapes across the floor. I’m glad Daddy isn’t here. That’s too loud.
Once the chair is close enough, I climb up and open the freezer. The yellow box is there. I’m extra cold now that the freezer is open, so I grab the box real fast and jump down.
I sit down on the floor with the box of waffles on my lap. I open the box. My stomach makes a bubbling sound as I look inside it.
Oh no. No. No. No.
There are no waffles left. What will make my belly stop bubbling with no waffles? It’s hard to sleep when my belly hurts like this.
My eyes burn, and it gets hard to see. My face gets wet.
But I don’t make a sound. I can’t cry.
Brave boys don’t cry.
My nose burns, and my face gets wetter.
But I stay quiet. Holding it in.
The door slams, but this time I flinch. It’s louder than before. It’s close. Too close to where I am sitting.
It’s him.
He’s going to be very mad at me for not being in my room. He looks angry already.
“What the hell are you doing out of your room, you little shit?” he yells at me.
He stomps over, but I don’t cry.
I don’t make a sound. I’m very brave.
His eyes are scary. I can’t see the green that’s usually in his eyes. Only black with white around the outside.
When he gets closer to me, he grabs my arm and yanks me up. It hurts. I don’t yell like I want to.
Because I’m a good boy. A brave boy.
He drags me out of the kitchen. My feet dangle over the floor. My arms hurts so bad. It makes my face get wetter.
“You think I wanna see your dumb face when I get home, boy?”
I know he doesn’t.
When we get to my bedroom door, he shoves me too hard into my room. I fall down, and my knees bang on the cold floor. A sound slips out of my mouth. I tried to hold it in. But it hurts too bad.
Now I’m crying, and I can’t stop.
I crawl toward my bed to get away from him, but he’s yelling. I made him very mad again.
“Keep your ass in here and be quiet. No crying. You hear me?”
I nod, wiping my face so he doesn’t see my tears.
“Are you crying? I just told you not to cry!”
I shake my head no.
“That’s it. I’ll teach you to stop crying.” His heavy boots make loud noises as he moves around my room. He’s looking for something.
No. No.
He sees it. I didn’t protect him good enough.
He sees my stuffie’s tail. I didn’t hide him enough.
Now Daddy has him.
It’s my fault.
“Babies have dolls and stuffed animals. Are you a baby?” he screams and shakes my stuffie in front of my face.
I reach for it, but he yanks it away. “Does the little baby want his doll?”
My hands strain forward, trying to save it. “Yes. I want my dog! Please, Daddy!”
He gives it to me. But not in the good way.
Swinging his arm wildly, he bashes it into my face. Something hard on my stuffie bangs into my eye. It hurts worse than my knees.
And I cry and cry.
But Daddy laughs at me.
I can’t see through both eyes cause of the new pain. But with one eye, I see him leaving the room.
My stuffed dog is in his hand.
I jerk awake, bolting upright. My fists are in front of my face as a shield. Every fiber of my body is on high alert. My head whips around, swiveling from side to side for signs of danger.
But I’m only in my room. In bed.
My ribs and shoulders heave with violent, racing breaths. Blood rushes through my veins, thrumming loudly behind my ears.
It’s okay. Everything is fine. I’m in my room.
I’m safe. He’s not here. It was only a nightmare.
Air zips past my gritted teeth, hissing in and out with my deliberate breaths.
Once normal sensation returns, I take inventory of my body. My hair is matted to my sweaty forehead, and the sheets are soaked with perspiration. My entire body is burning up.
Dammit all to hell.
Haven’t had that dream in a while. A long while.
Fuck that psychiatrist for dredging up old shit that’s better left buried. Right alongside my father’s body. In a cold, dirty grave. No headstone. Not a single mourner.
And fuck Big Al for making me see the damn doctor in the first place.
Big Al insists that all the Redleg bodyguards see a psychiatrist annually for a readiness assessment. Although I’m usually at HQ, I have done a few shifts in the field when we’re short. And since most of us are combat vets, having this requirement makes sense. Especially considering all the shit we saw and did over there. In theory, it’s a good thing.
But in practice, I hate it.
At what point is he going to let up with this asinine annual requirement? Every fucking year it’s the same damn thing. Same doctor. Same bullshit. And it always leads to the same nightmare.
I toss off the covers and get out of bed, giving the clock a quick check on my way to the bathroom. 0400.
Good a time as any to get going for the day. Tons of shit to do today. Redleg doesn’t run itself.
Under the spray of a cold shower, a uncharacteristically vengeful thought hits me out of nowhere.
For a split second, I hope Big Al had a nightmare after his psych eval earlier this week. But that wouldn’t make what I just relived any better. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Especially Big Al.
My ribs constrict, closing in on me.
I shake it off, acknowledging it as an errant thought. I’m still messed up from the dream. That psychiatrist he made me see likely put the thought in my head. Talking about transference or whatever.
Tomer, these unhealthy feelings about your father need to be addressed. It’s no wonder you’ve formed such an attachment to this Big Al person. He’s the father you always wanted. Caring, protective, supportive, and kind. Disciplined, but fair. Firm, but loving. All the things you didn’t have when you needed them most in your formative years.
But you’re just as likely to transfer that rage about your father onto Big Al at some point if you don’t deal with what’s going on inside you.
Not a chance.
I’d never turn on Big Al.
It’s not that I think therapy is stupid or a waste of time. For most people, it provides a healthy outlet — a time and place to explore your feelings and process your emotions in a constructive environment with a well-trained professional to guide you through your healing journey.
Yeah. I read the brochure.
But that concept won’t work for someone like me. I don’t have rage toward my father. Unless I’ve been woken up before the sun from a damn nightmare. I feel nothing when I think of him.
I feel nothing when I think of most people.
It’s an effective system, and it’s served me well through the years.
If it’s not logical, it doesn’t affect me. And feelings, by nature, are illogical. Ergo, they don’t matter.
So I damn sure don’t need to take time away from work to process my emotions. They aren’t there. Problem solved.
So what would I do in therapy for an hour twice a week? Talk about how the Tampa Bay Rays choked in yet another post-season? Who cares?
By the end of the shower, my mind is clear and refocused.
Today’s mission is simple. Find out what the fuck Violet Holt is doing in Clearwater once and for all.
She’s been in town for four weeks and hasn’t attempted to contact Big Al. I’m beginning to think her arrival is innocent or perhaps a coincidence.
But it’s a pretty damn big one.
Of all the places on earth, she ends up thirty minutes away from her birth father.
I don’t buy it.
And that means I need to make contact with her to figure out her intentions. Something is off, and I don’t like not knowing people’s motives. It’s one of my least favorite things. Second only to making small talk.
Let’s hope today doesn’t suck as much as that fucking dream did.
Chapter 5
No takesie-backsie
TOMER
“Klein, since it’s a slow day, I’m going to head out.” Pressing away from my desk, I stretch my hands over my head. “I’ve got some personal shit to take care of. I’ll work from home later tonight. You good to hold down the fort?”
As he looks toward me, his mouth hangs agape, his eyes bulge, and he mumbles nonsense.
I get it. I get it. I’m not known for taking time off.
Whatever.
This is important. He doesn’t need to know the reason.
“Uh, yeah. I guess. You’ll have your cell in case I need you, right?”
In response, I pick up my phone and shake it a few inches in front of me.
A mischievous grin plasters itself to his face, and his eyes dance with mirth. Before saying anything else, he increases the music volume to annoyingly-loud levels and pushes from his seat.
And then he does the ridiculous Carlton dance from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air while Tom Jones’s “It’s Not Unusual” plays throughout the lair. He sings along too.
He’s so annoying.
Most people are, though. But some of my Redleg brothers take the cake. And yet, I love them like family all the same.
I suppress a grin at his theatrics, shake my head, and leave without verbally addressing his insanity.
A few minutes later, I’m mobile and heading toward a blinking red dot on my screen.
Lettie is on the move.
The more I watch this woman, the more obsessed I become.
At first, it was her singing that riveted me. And she’s always using that damn intoxicating velvety voice of hers. In the car. The shower. Around the hotel room. I swear I could listen to her sing the Florida Statutes or the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and I’d probably get as hard as if I’d bound her in a diamond chest harness, accentuating her breasts or tied her to my bedposts spread eagle, exposing her center to me.
That’s how fucking ethereal her voice is.
It wasn’t just her beautiful singing that sucked me under her spell. It was also the melodic quality of her laugh, which usually comes out when she’s talking to her friend Stella.
When I learned she was jogging in the evenings, I decided I needed to follow her to ensure her safety. But to do so, I needed to leave work early — something unheard of for me. And I did it without batting an eye.
That’s when I knew she’d become a full-blown fixation.
Violet, or Lettie as she prefers, comes from a small town where I’m sure it’s safe to exercise right before dark. Although the greater Tampa Bay area isn’t the most dangerous city, there are threats lurking around every corner. Crime, gangs, drugs, trafficking, and more. But she seems entirely oblivious to the risks around her.
So damn innocent.
And beautiful.
Each evening, as soon as Klein leaves for the day, I’m out the door no more than ten minutes later. It’s something I’ve never done.
Until now.
It takes a lot to keep Redleg’s infrastructure pumping, and I’m the only one who can do it. Long hours are part of this gig.
