My lies, the things I’ve told my son to protect him, are coming back to bite me in the ass. There’s no way this isn’t going to destroy him. When he came home from daycare at four, wanting to know why others at school had daddies and he didn’t, I told him his daddy died. He didn’t understand death, but he accepted that his father would never be around. When he was older, asking for more details after my own dad died, I lied again, telling the most precious person in my life that Ignacio was a bad person who died while doing terrible things. I could blame the bitterness I was feeling at the time for losing my father, but honestly, I’d hoped all those years that Ignacio went back to the life he was so good at before I left. I needed him to be a bad person because it made it easier for me to keep Alex away from him and safe. No one in their right mind could fault a parent from keeping their child away from a drug-dealing criminal, right?
I still don’t know what Ignacio has done with his life. Mike said Alex would benefit from a positive male role model, but the man has always had more faith in people than they deserve.
What I do know is that Ignacio showed up at my door looking better than I remember him ever being, and the expensive truck parked at the street didn’t make me think he was hurting for money like we have been since Dad died.
People don’t make it out of this neighborhood legally, so there’s still a chance that Ignacio is the bad person I’ve let myself imagine he was all these years. Only now he’s right in the middle of our lives holding a grenade that’s going to ruin everything.
I haven’t regretted the lies I told Alex very often, but when I get home and yell at him for his behavior at school, it kills me to hear him mutter something about being exactly like his father.
I stand at his bedroom door, head pressed against the worn wood, trying to build the courage to turn the knob and tell him the truth, but I just can’t. I need more time. I need the help I so quickly dismissed when Mike offered it earlier. I just need.
I need understanding, someone to tell me I made the right choice all those years ago. Someone who can convince me that the lies I told were the only option even though I know they weren’t.
Regardless of the fact that Ignacio hurt me, he deserved to know. My mother has told me as much for years even though she has respected my wishes and gone along with the lies I’ve told my son. My dad had the same mindset as me. If a man could hurt me as much as he did, then what kind of damage could he do to a small child? I was convinced that I did the right thing until a handful of days ago when the ghost from my past showed up demanding answers.
I’ve been balancing my entire life on unsteady ground, and all it’s going to take is one confession to make everything implode around me.
Last week Alex told me he hated me for grounding him. He may actually mean it by the time Ignacio is done infiltrating our lives.
Chapter 7
Ignacio
Although I gave the testing facility permission to text the results, it seems like too big a piece of news to share via two short sentences and a secure link.
Even still, I spend the next couple of minutes entering my information to create my one-time use account to get the news I already know in my heart.
Wren: I’m here if you need someone to talk to.
The text rolls from the top of my screen, and of course that fucker would know before I do. He’s probably been back in St. Louis tracking every dime I spend and using a tracking device to make sure I’m not camped outside of her house or Alex’s school like a psycho. Well, not really a psycho, I guess. Both Deacon and his right-hand man Flynn pulled that shit, and it ended happily for both of them, but they don’t have a hidden damn-near teenager to contend with either.
Me: Thanks, man. I appreciate that.
The text is just another way to avoid the inevitable for a few seconds longer, and I scoff in irritation when Wren chooses now to remain silent. He can probably tell from his mega machine that I haven’t clicked the direct link to download my test results.
With one final deep breath, I click the link, the results telling me exactly what I already know. Alejandro Cooper Holland is my son. My heart pounds, and it’s as if the confirmation changes everything. Although I’ve known the truth for days, the confirmation makes everything real. I don’t know what Tinley did to get Alex’s DNA to the testing sight, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind she didn’t tell him the truth and take him up there in person. I guess I should count myself lucky she didn’t turn in her own spit swab so the results would come back in her favor. It was clear from our brief interaction that she doesn’t want me in his life in any form or fashion.
I need to go to her, but I’m warring with a million-and-one emotions right now, and no good will come of confronting her when my head is this messed up. I have no way to calm down, no way to release all the pent-up anger and hostility I feel, all the pain from missing so much, but time machines aren’t a thing. We’re just going to have to navigate this situation as best as we can manage. Not knowing what the future holds for my son makes me antsy and nervous. I’ve never had
