I fought a couple more times, too, just quick gigs, three or five rounds, always aiming to submit my opponent as fast as possible. Dee told me no bruises, don’t get beat up, don’t get hurt.
So every fight was technical. Take-down, submit. After those two gigs, people were trying to book me for bigger fights. They wanted to bring big boys in for me to fight, ex-pros, other underground fighters with some real training.
I declined. We had our cash, enough to make a good run for it if we ever had to, a nice emergency fund. I walked away with one-hundred grand, and promised Dee I wouldn’t fight anymore. It would only draw attention to myself, anyway.
I look over at her in the car. She’s staring out of the window, hand on her chin idly scratching. She’s so beautiful when she’s lost in thought, in a different place. I love everything about her, and I can’t believe that, for a moment, it all hung in the balance.
What if I never tracked her down?
What if we never reunited?
She would be dealing with all of this on her own.
In fact, that was her plan all along. She took on all the responsibility, all the burden.
But I know she’s no shrinking violet. She’s as strong as they come, and our son… Thom… he’s only given her a greater reserve of strength.
Dee can dig deep, deeper than even I can, I suspect. Her spring of conviction is unmatched by any opponent I’ve ever fought in the cage, and that’s saying something.
“We need to go for a shop,” she says. The glass fogs up on her side. “We’ve got no greens at home.”
I nod, pull us into the nearest supermarket to home, and park the car in the outdoor parking lot.
“You want to wait in the car?” I ask. It’s cool outside, and a longish walk to the supermarket entrance.
“No,” she says, undoing her seatbelt and getting out faster than me. “I’ve been sitting down all day.”
“The kids don’t make you run around?”
“Well, they make the teacher run around. As the assistant, I don’t actually do all that much.” She pats her belly. “Plus, they take it easy on me.”
“The kids?”
Dee laughs, shakes her head. “No silly. The other teachers. Kids that age never take it easy on anybody.”
Together we walk to the supermarket, hand-in-hand. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what Dee said when we were still living in Glass’ house together, about how growing up in a group home or even in an inadequate foster-care situation doesn’t prepare a child for life.
It certainly doesn’t prepare them to one day be parents themselves.
Part of that makes me nervous. Most men probably start out with the sole intention of being a good father.
No, that’s not the case. The fathers and husbands who left... the fathers like Glass… they don’t care or don’t know to.
But I care. I want to be a good father, but, deep down, I’m afraid that I don’t know how.
She will give birth to this little, innocent life, one who will be shaped by us, will take from each of us a part. She’ll form a bond with it instantly, something closer than any man can ever achieve.
But I just hope I’ll form a bond, too.
I have to be able to protect my family when Glass comes calling.
And he’s going to, that much is sure. We both know it, even if we don’t vocalize those thoughts as much anymore. We’re both as mentally prepared as we’re ever going to be.
We’ve got the emergency equipment all set up. We’ve got supplies loaded in the trunk of the car, cash packed away in a duffel bag, the gun – even if we only have a single loaded clip. We’re ready to leave at the drop of a hat, at a moment’s notice.
But… this is no way to live.
I can’t stand the thought of living like this, of Dee having to live like this. I put out some feelers to try and get a hold of Glass’ location, to see if anyone can tap into his emails or his phone.
So far, nothing has turned up. If there’s one thing a mob boss is good at doing, it’s keeping under the radar.
Only, I’ve got this sensation that he’s headed right for us… maybe not today, maybe not this month or the next, but my radar is pinging like mad.
I need to protect my family.
“What are you thinking about?” Dee asks me. I tell her the truth. “Of course you’ll be a good father,” she says, slapping my arm. “You just need to… adjust yourself a little bit.”
“How so?”
“Well, you can’t beat up another kid’s dad because their kid bullies our kid, for example.”
“Thom won’t be bullied,” I say.
“That was just an example. And, actually, he might be. You never know these things ahead of time. At the school I see kids bully each other all the time. They’re horrible to each other. Sometimes, I think kids are more capable of cruelty to each other than adults are.”