I pull up to the pharmacy realizing what an ass I’m making of myself, but shrug it off and stroll through the automatic doors, trying to appear as natural and as casual as possible. Whilst standing in the check-out queue, I’m given some second glances and look-overs, but nothing I can’t handle. I’m fairly certain the majority of individuals I encounter here just assume I’m a homosexual and leave it at that. 

As I make my way back to the truck, my cell phone rings. It’s Candace. 

However, as soon as I slide my finger to answer the call, I am interrupted by a man hollering. “Anth-o-ny! Whoo-hoo!”

Ah, jeez…

I’m startled to find Jeff, one of my employees gawking and teasing me, but also looking rather confused.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I reassure him, but he can’t hold back his laughter. 

“I always knew you were a closet tranny,” he remarks. “Cougar Mom! I like that!”

“It was my girlfriend’s idea,” I lied. “She dared me to do it.”

“Uh huh…” He strides backwards towards the pharmacy very slowly, looking completely unconvinced and still chuckling. “Whatever. See you tomorrow, Boss.”

“Anthony!” 

“Oh shit!” I realize Candace is on the other end of my cell, waiting for me to answer. She most likely overheard the whole conversation between Jeff and me. I fumble the phone to my ear. “Candace…what, what?”

I’m not expecting what comes next.

“So, you already have a new girlfriend?!” Her tone is harsh and accusatory. 

I sigh, not wanting to answer the irrelevant and incredibly annoying question. “What do you want?”

She continues, not wanting to let it go. “You’re a filthy, no-good cheater! I need you to come over here and get all of your shit, ASAP!” 

“Is that why you called?” I ask, trying to stay as calm as possible, as I climb into my truck, struggling to figure out where I have just set my keys.

“Actually, no.” Her tone changes. “I had to file a police report earlier this morning. My car was egged last night.“

“I’m sorry. Did you say your car was egged?”

“Maybe it was a group of teenagers or something…I don’t know. I thought maybe you did it.” 

She waits for me to respond, but I feel the anger stinging at her accusation. I focus on my breathing, so as not to lose my temper with her, but when the words finally spill out I can’t help myself. “Why the fuck would I egg your car, Candace?! Who do you think I am anyway? A fucking child?“

“Well, I just don’t know with you anymore,” she snaps back sarcastically, and changes the subject. “When are you going to come see your daughter?”

“So you’re finally going to let me come over there?” The line begins to crackle, and I can hear her trying to speak, but the words are broken up and unintelligible. With no patience left, I hang up the phone, knowing she will surely inform me of when she needs me around. 

To my dismay, however, a series of angry texts from her begin to come through. I glance at the very last one delivered, not wanting to read the others.

Why do you think it’s ok to hang up on me?! Come get your shit, NOW!

Christ…I’m not entirely a rebel, but making my way over to our house to grab my belongings and see Lilly does not sound like a great plan right now, especially with Candace being so heated.

I decide to head right back to Laura’s instead, and on the drive back, I can’t help but feel like I need to show up with a little something extra to surprise her. I pull up to the florist shop just a couple blocks from her apartment, but judging by the darkness within, and the oversized red and white “closed” sign, it’s obvious I need to come up with a new plan. 

I try to remember if she likes chocolate, but then I recall the fact that she enjoys red wine very much indeed. I believe pinot noir is one of her favorites, so I decided instead, to visit the drive-through liquor store on Main Street. I ask them for their finest bottle, which apparently costs a mere $12.99, although I’m certain she won’t complain.

I pull up to her apartment, bandage in one hand, wine in the other, feeling giddy, like I haven’t felt in years. In fact, I feel quite rejuvenated at the thought of spending more time with her. She is just the remedy for erasing thoughts of Candace and Rachel from my memory, and I’m feeling confident that she will sleep with me this very evening.

I knock on her door in a series of taps, creating a playful rhythm to signal it's me. She opens it rather hastily. I hold up the roll of bandage and hide the wine bottle behind my back to surprise her, but to my surprise she’s changed into the most stunning black silk robe I have ever seen. I can’t help but scan every inch of her slender beautiful body, taking in as much as I can, my eyes hungering for more.

“Anthony, you brought me some wine?” 

“Uh, yeah.” I hold it firmly, as she tries to pry it from my grip with what I’m hoping is her good wrist. I am completely mesmerized by her.

“Anthony, let go of it.” She tugs at my hand again, and I realize what’s happening.

“Of course, yeah. Go ahead.” I snap out of it, but I feel the urge to let her know just how wonderful she is. “You…are…” I can’t spit the damn words out. 

She tilts her head to one side, as if trying to figure me out. “Are you okay?” She peers down at herself, then back at me. “This is my robe…” she explains slowly, like I’m a toddler. “I just showered, and I thought I would wear something a little more comfortable. It’s getting late.”

I grin ear to ear, unable to hide my desire for her, and she seems to be reciprocating my advances on a semi-conscious level. I set the bandage and wine bottle down in an attempt to free up my hands so I can touch her, but she gasps before I can do so.

“Oh, thank you! I could really use the bandage right now. My wrist is still feeling very sore. It was so hard to shower and get dressed!”

“I would have helped you, you know.”

She looks at me with her beautiful hazel-green eyes, and her facial expression morphs suddenly into a look of great concern. “I’m worried about Lilly and Adrian. Do you think you will still be there for them in the same way?”

Why is she insisting on bringing this up now? 

“I’ll be an even better father than I was before.” I’m hoping my answer will put an end to the topic. 

She raises an eyebrow in suspicion, not impressed, nor convinced by my response at all.

I reach for the bandage and begin to unravel it, taking her hand to place it gently on the counter. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

She stands there watching me silently, her warm breath caressing the right side of my neck. After wrapping several times, I clip the bandage in place and turn to look up at her, my restless mind seeking answers. I want to ask her so many things. 

As if jotting down notes during a college seminar, a list of pressing questions unfold in my mind’s eye:

1.) Do you still think of me the way I think of you?

2.) Will you ever forgive me for my past regressions?

3.) Is there hope of another chance?

4) Do I even deserve another chance?

I have the feeling I’m doomed to wanting more for the rest of my life, although somehow the thought of being with Laura — the thought of her giving me that second chance, feels so right.

I love her. I know this to be true. Even when I strayed from her multiple times, I still loved her. And when she walked out on me, I was devastated, even if I had failed to make it apparent at the time.

Choosing to be with Candace had felt like the right decision, especially with the unexpected pregnancy. However, my feelings for her were never anything close to what I felt—to what I feel for Laura.

“Thank you.” She smiles, lifting her bandaged wrist to her chest. “You’ve been very kind.”

Although her tone is happy, her face says otherwise. 

“Would you like a glass?” I lift the bottle for her to take a look, and she nods. She makes herself comfortable on the sofa, while I pour us both a glass. When I enter the living room, glass in each hand, I notice she has lit a candle on the coffee table. The room is cozy, the lighting dim and romantic.

She is laying sideways on the sofa, her body spread out rather seductively. Evidently, she has retired her bra for the evening, her breasts pronouncing their peaks with enticing detail, the robe scarcely hiding their perkiness, and I lose it. I can’t contain my excitement as my eyes lock on hers.  

As soon as I’ve set the glasses down, I drop to my knees, like a dog that’s been reprimanded, ready to surrender to her will in whatever fashion she deems necessary.

 My hands settle stealthily upon her thighs, which she presses together, much to my disappointment. Is she teasing me? It's hard to know for sure. She signals with her eyes the desire to feel my lips on hers, but there is an apprehension beneath her surface — a wall to be chiseled and eroded with trust, slowly but surely. 

I have been imagining a scene with her. The fantasy was playing on repeat since my visit to the preschool yesterday. A moment, just as this one, except she allows me to penetrate – allows the pulse of my tongue to thrust fervently between her legs. Her back arching with delight and anticipation. I am desperate to live out my desire.

She allows me to drift closer. My nose and lips graze across the warm skin of her chest ever so slightly, and she lets out a soft moan, forcing me to smile in sheer disbelief. She is definitely keen on having me continue, and I can’t believe my luck, but as soon as my hand slides down her belly, her hand jolts forward to seize my forearm. In simultaneous defense, my phone goes off, completely destroying the moment.

My heart sinks. I want to let it ring, but I see that it’s Candace trying to reach me. I pick up, while mentally preparing myself for the verbal onslaught to come.

“Ugh. Yes, what is it?”

“He—” Her voice sounds choppy.

“Hello?” 

“Anth— I need…” There’s silence on the other end.

“I can’t hear you, Candace.”

“Help! There’s—“ The line crackles and buzzes like an old television. “Anthony…quick! I’m so scared…”

My face scrunches up into a bewildered scowl, as Laura lies before me trying to interpret.

“Everything okay?” she asks politely. “We don’t have to do this right now. I don’t know if it’s right, anyway. It’s too—”

I shake my head, narrowing my eyes. “No, Laura. It’s not that. I think…I think I need to go help Candace. Something is wrong over there.”

She sits up suddenly, looking very concerned. “Should I come with you? Is Adrian okay?”

“No! Stay here, please. I’ll check on Candace and the kids and get back to you as soon as I know what’s going on.” 

I rest my hand on hers reassuringly. I need her to be here at home, safe and sound.

As I drive the nearly five whole miles to our house, I realize I’m still wearing Laura’s tight-fitting pink shirt and skinny jeans. 

“Fucking ass hat!” I curse out loud, my hand pounding the steering wheel. I should have changed back into my clean clothes. How completely idiotic of me. 

The dash reads 10:27 pm.

I pull up to the house, turn off the engine and headlights, then scan the premises carefully before exiting my truck. The house is completely dark, the front door hung wide open. I’m prompted to reach for my handgun in the glove compartment and press it into my back pocket as I slide out of the truck. 

As I near the front porch, I notice right away that the glass on the door has been shattered. My pulse quickens at the sight of it, and I find myself fighting a fit of fear and panic. I glance down at the ground to see fragments of glass reflecting the light of the street lamp. I want to call out to see if anybody responds, but I know better than to make my presence known in this type of situation. I reach for my gun once again and hold it tight to my chest, finger on the trigger, listening closely for any signs of life. 

As I listen closer, I swear I can make out Lilly’s cries, faint yet audible with their high-pitched tone. I move quietly and cautiously up the staircase and toward her room. I nudge the closed door open quietly to reveal her standing there in her crib, the nightlight illuminating her terrified little face. I feel an immediate surge of relief.

“Da-da.” She extends her arms when she realizes it’s me.

“Shhhh.” I motion a finger to my lips. “Where’s Mommy?” I ask, knowing full well she is incapable of answering. 

I reach out to pat her soft blonde curls. “Wait right here. Dada be right back.”

Suddenly, light little footsteps can be heard scurrying across the hallway and heading in my direction. I hold up my weapon in defense as I wait for the sound to reveal itself. 

“Adrian?!”

My son is standing there in the darkness, his eyes filled with complete terror.

“Where’s Candace?” 

He doesn’t respond. I pick him up and set him beside Lilly in her crib. 

“Adrian, can you tell me what’s going on?!”

He manages to make out some words. “The bad man came…”

“The bad man?! Who is the bad man?”

He shakes his head slowly. “The bad man. He came right now, Dad. He took her.”

Now I don’t have time to ask anymore questions. 

“Adrian, I need you to stay right here with Lilly. Please don’t move. I will be right back.”

I shut Lilly’s bedroom door and rush toward ours in search of Candace. I flick the light on, scanning the room quickly. The bed is a complete mess. Sheets, pillows, and articles of clothing are strewn about, like someone was searching for someone or something.

“Candace!…Candace!” I yell to no avail, then conduct a hasty search for evidence, any clues whatsoever as to what could have happened. There is nothing at all that stands out.  

Should I call the police? 

I do one final search of the entire premises, including the backyard and garage. Even her vehicle is still sitting in the garage, so I search it, pulling out gum wrappers, tissues, and jackets, all to my dismay. I recall her mentioning that her car had been egged earlier that day, but the car is clean—freshly washed, in fact.

That’s odd. Besides the messy bed and shattered door glass, there are no other signs to indicate what may have taken place. I let my nerves settle for a brief moment before taking out my cell to dial 911. 

The first responders arrive within a few minutes, as I stand there with the kids, completely dumbfounded. 

Their questions are firing rapidly. I scarcely have time to think. Before I can finish explaining, my hands are thrusted behind my back, the ice cold of metal gripping my wrists. I sit in the back of a cop car, the odor of vomit and cigarettes filling my head with an overwhelming sense of malice. I want to go home – back to Laura home, but it would appear the odds are against me.