Aced

“No.” He sighs deeply. “Yes,” he says even softer than I did. And as much as I’m internally freaking out over this, as much as it’s supporting the theory I thought was happening in the hospital, I also know Colton well enough that I need to sit back and listen because he deserves a minute to explain. “It’s not him, Ry. It’s not you . . . it’s just me being a dad is stirring shit up I thought I’d come to terms with.”

“That’s understandable.”

“No, it’s not. It’s fucking bullshit. You can sit there and carry our son for nine months, go through all that labor pain like a goddamn champ, looking no worse for wear, and hell if I’m not the asshole so fucked up with nightmares, I’m afraid to sleep in the bed in case you have Ace in here.” His words hang in the silence as it expands angrily in the space between us.

“Kelly found your dad, didn’t he?”

Colton looks over at me and even though it’s dark, I can see his jaw clench and the intensity in his eyes, and know the answer before he nods ever so slowly in response. Everything clicks into place for me.

“Yeah, and between that and the dreams, my head’s one goddamn patchwork quilt of bullshit.” The pain in his voice is raw, the turmoil within him almost palpable, and while I rarely press him to talk about things, this time I am.

“How so?”

“How so?” he mocks me, sarcasm lacing the laugh he emits after it.

“Tell me about your dreams.”

“No.” The quick response unnerves me and tells me they are worse than the normal ones he usually has no problem sharing. And that in itself worries me.

“Do you plan on going to see your dad?” I ask, knowing full well what happened the last time I made a suggestion like this to him. How he’d sought out his mom and that night at the track where he’d bared his past, let go of the demons that had spent a lifetime weighing him down. It had allowed him to begin the journey forward. When he doesn’t answer, I respond in a way completely contradictory to the way I did when he first told me about this. “I think you should.”

Colton startles at my comment, confusion over my about-face written all over his handsome features. “Come again?”

“Maybe you need to look him in the eyes, see that you are absolutely nothing like him. Maybe you’ll find out he knew nothing about you or—”

“Or maybe I’ll find out my dad was my abuser and not only is her blood running through me but so is his.” His anger causes my mind to spin in a direction I’d never considered before.

“What are you saying, Colton?” I push gently for more because I hadn’t expected that response.

“My dreams,” he begins and then stops momentarily as he shakes his head. He reaches out to hold Ace’s tiny hand that has escaped from the blanket. “I’ve been having this dream that I walk in that room and my mom is there. She’s younger, prettier, not at all how I remember her, and she’s holding a baby. I think it’s me. She sings to me and there’s a man in the corner I can’t see. I think he’s my dad. When I look back to her she’s how I remember—strung out, used up . . . It’s so real. I can smell her, the stale cigarettes. I can hear the drips from the apartment faucet I used to count. See the superheroes I tried to draw in crayon on the wall so I could focus on them when . . .” His words break my heart for the horror he endured and survived and is now reliving now due to circumstances beyond my control.

I wish there was something I could do to help him, comfort him, anything to help take this pain and conflict from him. But I can’t. All I can do is stand beside him, listen to him, and be here for him when or if he decides to face this ghost head-on.

“Fuck,” he curses as he shoves up from the bed again. Baxter lifts his head to see if it’s time to go out as Colton walks to the wall of windows looking into the darkness of the night to his beloved beach down below. “The fucking problem is it’s me in the dream. His body. His hands. His stench. But my goddamn hands reaching out to take Ace and do God knows fucking what to our son.” My stomach rolls as I look down at Ace’s angelic face. I can’t even fathom how much I’m going to hurt for him when he gets his first set of shots, so I can in no way comprehend the horrors Colton’s mom made him endure for a five-minute high.

“Oh, Colton,” I murmur to his back, needing him to come closer so I can wrap my arms around him and reassure him. But I know even my touch won’t calm the stormy waves crashing against each other inside him.

“You know . . . I asked Kelly to find my dad so I could come full circle with my history and put it to bed. I sure as hell don’t want a Kumbaya session with him that’s for sure. Wasn’t even sure I’d speak to him, but deep down I think I wanted to see if we were alike in any way. Stupid, I know, but a part of me needs to know.” He turns to face me now and in a sense I get he’s asking for me to understand something he doesn’t even understand.

“And now?” I prompt in the hopes he’ll keep talking, that voicing aloud his fears will allow him to overcome them.

“Now it’s like,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, such a striking silhouette against the moonlight coming through the windows at his back, “now I wonder if the dreams are true. Was that fucker my dad?” he asks, voice full of distraught disbelief. “I never once thought that as a kid. Never once made that connection. I knew I had her tainted blood in me, have dealt with that, knowing the other half of me was at least okay . . . but what if he’s just as bad? Even worse? What if I go to see my dad and it’s true? Then what, Ry?”