The Storm
Page 21
I could call Jake and get him to come with me.
But if I do, I know he’ll talk me out of going to see Storm. He’ll tell me to do it the legal way—to get my lawyer to contact the mother, get DNA tests and all that shit done first.
And I will do that.
But first, I need to see him with my own eyes.
I just need to meet him.
I need to meet my son.
Walking back into my bedroom, I click back to the picture, staring into my own blue eyes reflecting back at me, as I sit down on the edge of my bed.
I have a son. And he’s beautiful.
My heart starts to race, and I notice my hands are shaking again. Worse this time.
I eye the bottle of Diazepam on my nightstand.
Just a couple to take the edge off.
Grabbing the bottle, I shake out two and then changing my mind, I increase it to four.
Walking over to my dresser, I pick up an already open half-drunk bottle of gin. Unscrewing the cap, I put the pills in my mouth and take a long drink of gin, swallowing them down.
I place the bottle back on the dresser and just stare out the window, running a hand through my hair.
I need to go to Queens, now.
Getting my phone, I check the times for a direct flight from LAX to JFK. There’s a red-eye going out in a few hours.
Perfect.
Leaving my bedroom, I jog downstairs. I grab my jacket off the coat hook and my wallet and car keys off the hallway stand. Leaving my house, I lock up and head for my car parked in the driveway.
Unlocking my car, I climb in and fire her up. The headlights automatically come on in the dark. I shift the car into drive and open my security gate with the remote I keep in my car. As I pull out onto the deserted road, the gate starts to close behind me.
I press my foot on the gas, propelling me forward.
Speed—one of the things I love.
The rush of adrenaline it brings does it for me.
But if this kid is mine—he’s mine—then I’m going to have to change things, especially the way I live.
The drugs have to go. The drinking has to stop.
I’ll get clean.
Go into rehab if I have to. Do whatever is necessary.
I feel a rush of excitement, something I never thought I could feel at the thought of having a child.
Johnny Cash’s “You Are My Sunshine” comes on the radio. Turning it up loud, I hum along, my fingers tapping on the wheel.
This is it. Right here, my life is going to change. I’m going to change everything for him.
Storm is my reason to be a better man.
God, Mom and Dad are going to be so excited when they find out they have a grandson.
I bring my cell to life, looking at Storm’s picture again. I rest my cell on the top of the steering wheel, staring at him.
Screw not calling Jake.
I’m on my way to the airport. It’s not like he can stop me anyway. I have to talk to him about this. I need to tell someone, and he’s always the first person I want to tell the good stuff to.
Clicking off Storm’s picture, I bring up Jake’s number. I’m just about to hit dial when I see a flash of something up ahead in my peripheral vision.
A dog.
Fuck.
It all happens so quickly. Hitting my breaks, I swerve to miss the dog. My tires lock up and I clip the curb. My car spins out, hitting the barrier, and I go straight through.
Fuck no.
The car feels like it’s flying.
Then, down.
Down.
And I know this is it.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to fucking die.
I’ll never get to meet my son.
I never got to tell Jake or my folks about him.
I never got to meet my son.
A tear rolls down my face as I watch the ground coming fast toward me.
I shut my eyes—
But if I do, I know he’ll talk me out of going to see Storm. He’ll tell me to do it the legal way—to get my lawyer to contact the mother, get DNA tests and all that shit done first.
And I will do that.
But first, I need to see him with my own eyes.
I just need to meet him.
I need to meet my son.
Walking back into my bedroom, I click back to the picture, staring into my own blue eyes reflecting back at me, as I sit down on the edge of my bed.
I have a son. And he’s beautiful.
My heart starts to race, and I notice my hands are shaking again. Worse this time.
I eye the bottle of Diazepam on my nightstand.
Just a couple to take the edge off.
Grabbing the bottle, I shake out two and then changing my mind, I increase it to four.
Walking over to my dresser, I pick up an already open half-drunk bottle of gin. Unscrewing the cap, I put the pills in my mouth and take a long drink of gin, swallowing them down.
I place the bottle back on the dresser and just stare out the window, running a hand through my hair.
I need to go to Queens, now.
Getting my phone, I check the times for a direct flight from LAX to JFK. There’s a red-eye going out in a few hours.
Perfect.
Leaving my bedroom, I jog downstairs. I grab my jacket off the coat hook and my wallet and car keys off the hallway stand. Leaving my house, I lock up and head for my car parked in the driveway.
Unlocking my car, I climb in and fire her up. The headlights automatically come on in the dark. I shift the car into drive and open my security gate with the remote I keep in my car. As I pull out onto the deserted road, the gate starts to close behind me.
I press my foot on the gas, propelling me forward.
Speed—one of the things I love.
The rush of adrenaline it brings does it for me.
But if this kid is mine—he’s mine—then I’m going to have to change things, especially the way I live.
The drugs have to go. The drinking has to stop.
I’ll get clean.
Go into rehab if I have to. Do whatever is necessary.
I feel a rush of excitement, something I never thought I could feel at the thought of having a child.
Johnny Cash’s “You Are My Sunshine” comes on the radio. Turning it up loud, I hum along, my fingers tapping on the wheel.
This is it. Right here, my life is going to change. I’m going to change everything for him.
Storm is my reason to be a better man.
God, Mom and Dad are going to be so excited when they find out they have a grandson.
I bring my cell to life, looking at Storm’s picture again. I rest my cell on the top of the steering wheel, staring at him.
Screw not calling Jake.
I’m on my way to the airport. It’s not like he can stop me anyway. I have to talk to him about this. I need to tell someone, and he’s always the first person I want to tell the good stuff to.
Clicking off Storm’s picture, I bring up Jake’s number. I’m just about to hit dial when I see a flash of something up ahead in my peripheral vision.
A dog.
Fuck.
It all happens so quickly. Hitting my breaks, I swerve to miss the dog. My tires lock up and I clip the curb. My car spins out, hitting the barrier, and I go straight through.
Fuck no.
The car feels like it’s flying.
Then, down.
Down.
And I know this is it.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to fucking die.
I’ll never get to meet my son.
I never got to tell Jake or my folks about him.
I never got to meet my son.
A tear rolls down my face as I watch the ground coming fast toward me.
I shut my eyes—
