Dustin turns and our eyes meet, his full of warning—don’t. He needs time to process, to cool down from this unexpected assault. I let him pass by me, but before he steps inside his hand reaches for mine and our fingers hook together long enough for me to run my thumb along his skin and reassure him that I’m here to stay. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how hard this gets.
He steps inside and I wait on the stoop until I hear the water rush inside from the shower. He’ll wash this away, renew his focus. We’ll see Bristol soon. And Alex, he won’t be forever.
“Miss? I’m sorry, but—” Trisha’s raw voice pins me to the ground and my eyes fall closed. I don’t want to have this conversation without Dustin here. Trisha is not my demon. And it’s not that I don’t want to take her on, but I don’t want to betray him and have any connection to her without him knowing.
“I’m sorry, but Dustin told you—”
“I know,” she says, gripping the side of my shirt. I jerk, twisting to glare at her with disgust. That’s an invasion of my space. An absolute no.
She holds a note in her hand, along with a pen. My eyes dart to it in the middle of my ire.
“It’s my phone number, and the place where I’m staying. He doesn’t have to do anything with it. But if he needs me, or anything. Or changes his mind, which . . . I know he won’t. I need him to know where I am, though. Even if he throws this in the trash the second you give it to him.”
I stare at the paper and grit my teeth. I don’t want to take this. It’s only going to make Dustin angry.
“Please,” she says, thrusting it in my face.
I snatch it and turn my back to her, walking through the door and closing it behind me, latch and all. Shower steam trickles from the bathroom, the water like a rainstorm pouring down, and all I want to do is strip out of these clothes and step under the stream with Dustin, holding him tight. I shove Trisha’s note in my back pocket with plans to throw it away when I’m far from here, somewhere Dustin can’t come across it. Then I strip away my clothes and toe my way into the bathroom, stepping into the water along with Dustin so I can help him wash this from his life once and for all.
18
What gives her the right?
I can’t let go of her invasion into my life. Trisha Miller. Nothing to me. A placeholder. The person who signed my school forms when her arm wasn’t too limp to hold a pen. The woman who taught me how to hold a spoon over a candle when I was seven. The last defense I had in my life from the hands of Colt Bridges.
Useless.
I steel myself to forget about her completely the moment Hannah and I walk through her family’s front door. This threshold washes me clean of all things Trisha Miller. The anger she brought out in me made my insides boil and my skin burn. I must have looked like the devil in her presence, and I hate that Hannah had to see me like that. That’s the man I fight against. Colt’s DNA.
I won’t drive that way and I won’t live that way. I haven’t since the day Hannah left, not that it matters since Alex won’t let me win. But that’s not my fuel in life. The pain will no longer drive me. Not for anything. I won’t let it.
The house smells of bacon and Hannah’s mom’s buttermilk pancakes. Since my attempt at breakfast was a major fail, both Hannah and I race for the open stool at the counter, knowing whoever sits there gets the freshest cakes, hot of the griddle.
I beat her there, but let her push me off because I want her to win. I want to give her everything. Might as well start with warm batter and pork.
“Please say I don’t need to burn my sheets,” Tommy says through a full mouth. Hannah snags the rest of the pancake from his plate rather than slapping him in the arm. “Hey!”
“I wanted Hannah to see the view,” I say, realizing how much that sounds like bullshit the second the words leave my mouth.
“Uh huh. The view of your—”
“Tommy Judge, don’t you dare!” His mom smacks his hand with her spatula before he has a chance to be utterly crass.
“I’d love to hear the rest of what Tommy has to say. Go on, son. Tell me, what view does Hannah need to see of Dustin’s—” The spatula raps Mr. Judge on the top of the head.
“Oww!” He rubs the spot while my head sinks deep between my shoulders. I’m not easily embarrassed, and I’m not sure it’s so much that I’m being called out, but that it’s the man whose permission I hope to get one day for his daughter’s hand that’s doing it. Yeah, I’m doing it all backward. But the order doesn’t matter so much as the final destination.
The next hour passes like the most normal morning of my life. The Judge house fills with my favorite people as Virgil, Douglas, and Ernie arrive to devour the world’s greatest breakfast before they hit the road ahead of me. It’s time to get to the track, and as much as I want to take Bristol and Hannah with me, it’s too dangerous to keep them close. I won’t leave until tonight, though, so we’ll have our day. A day I hope we can spend as a family, the three of us. That notion presses a permanent smile into my cheeks.
I haven’t shared the news with the guys yet. It’s an awkward announcement to make, and an even stranger talk to have with Bristol. I spent the early morning hours while Hannah slept Googling every fact I could find about a two-year-old’s mind, and I basically still know nothing. It’s clear she understands that Hannah is her mother, that she’s her caretaker and protector. The way she suddenly curls up in Hannah’s grasp is evidence of how safe she feels. I’m not sure how I foster that with me. It’s clear she likes me. I’m the funny man who makes her giggle. I got her an extra candy cane from Santa, so that’s a score. But she’ll forget those details almost as soon as they happen. The article on short-term memory is the only one that really stuck in my mind, I guess.
How to you teach a child that you’re their father, though? How do they simply know?
I’m deep in thought when the house clears out, and I almost miss the guys before they pack up the van to head to the track and ready the truck. I make it outside in time to get my lucky pat on the back from Virgil—three pats and never any more, superstitious motherfucker—and then I stand back as my mighty team pulls away.
“Your Uncle Jeff called,” Tom says, turning my attention to him. “He’ll be at the race. Wanted you to know.”
I nod, my mind whizzing around dozens of facts that don’t fit together in my puzzle. My uncle, who isn’t even blood, stood up for me the way his sister never could. And the kind-hearted man who spends every waking moment of his life trying to make the world better is giving up an entire day to come watch me lose a race. What a joke.
“Thanks,” I say, my noticeable pause pulling at Tom’s brow.
“He’s proud of you no matter what, Dustin. You know that, right?”
I nod and accept his words as fact. I know it in my gut. I just don’t feel I deserve it.
Hannah, Bailey, and her mom are all inside, giving Tom and me this rare moment alone. We haven’t talked since Bailey’s dad basically broke the news about my real mom. I know Tom wanted to tell me, so I don’t hold any resentment toward him for that, but it’s hard not to fall into the trap of what ifs.