Chapter Eighteen

 

Houston

 

The last couple of weeks have been perfect. Our joint birthday party was amazing, and I guess it doesn’t feel as bad to turn thirty as I thought it would. Culhwch said I was being irrational, and I guess he was right. I feared everything from thirty being downhill, and that I would be past my prime. But Cul loves me as much as ever, and I love him more than I ever thought possible.

We’ve done a little planning for the wedding, and I have to say, I cannot wait to make Culhwch “Mr. Wainwright”.

The great thing about The Bellevue where we had our birthday party is that we can have our wedding there. We loved the venue, but when we saw it all decorated for the party, we loved it even more. They’d had a cancellation, so we’re getting married eight months from now.

The unfortunate thing is that that date falls during when Lawrence has booked The Descendants’ next tour. It means me and the boys will have to travel back for the wedding and then go back on the road, which completely sucks. Cul and I won’t get our honeymoon until the tour is over, though I’m trying to convince him to take some annual leave from work and join us on tour so that we can at least be together.

I’m trying to decide what to cook tonight, as the boys from the band are joining us. I haven’t spent much time with them recently, and as immature as those jerks can be from time to time, I miss them and their antics. Not that I’d ever tell them that.

The farmers market is busy today. As it runs down by the lake, and the sun is shining, it seems like everyone is out to enjoy the good weather.

I’m gathering the vegetables I need for the stew––the beef is already in the slow cooker––when I hear a familiar voice. My spine goes ramrod straight and the hairs on my arms stand on end––but not in a good way. This is not good at all.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. No sweets. You can pick something for later, after you’ve had your tea, but you can’t have any until then.”

I don’t want to turn in the direction of the voice. I want to simply walk away and never hear her grating voice again. But I find myself trying to discreetly look over my shoulder to locate her anyway.

“Denny, would you please give mummy five minutes without your incessant questions?”

She sounds frustrated. I can just picture the look on her face. When she was angry, her nostrils would flare, and her skin would be flush. A frown would mar her pretty face––lord how I detest saying she’s pretty.

“Denny, please,” she shouts. “Just be quiet.”

I told Culhwch that if I saw her again, I’d ignore her, but I feel my temper rising. I want to turn around and shout at her for raising her voice to Denny. Why? I don’t know. There’s just this irrational feeling of wanting to challenge her for the way she’s speaking to my son.

My son. Where the fuck did that come from? He’s not mine. And with a mother like his, he never will be.

Culhwch and I discussed the possibility of me wanting access to Denny. But if I’m totally honest, I don’t know what I want.

On the one hand, I’ve always wanted kids and now I have one, so I should do anything I can to see him and make sure he grows up knowing me as his dad.

On the other hand, he’s her son. I don’t want to have to see her in order to see him.

Then you’ve got the fact that the way he was conceived wasn’t exactly consensual. Culhwch wanted me to go to the police, but there are a couple of reasons I won’t do that: a) embarrassment––I’m embarrassed to admit a woman could rape me, and I don’t want the world finding out that I have a son and that’s how he was conceived; b) it’s got to be hard to prosecute historic rape cases––plus I have utterly no evidence, it’s merely my word against hers; c) if I want access to my son, prosecuting his mother for rape is hardly the best way of going about it.

I’ve told Cul, and he supports my decision, even if I could see it was hard for him to watch me list my reasons not to do it. I saw the pain in his eyes, but also the understanding as he held me close that night in bed.

“For god’s sake Denny.”

That’s it. I can’t take another second of her shouting at him. I spin on my heel, and as my eyes find her, I see the anger on her face.

They say not to judge a book by its cover, and that we all have bad days, but from the expression on her face, this isn’t the first time she’s gotten so angry, and it won’t be the last.

Other people in the market are staring at her. Some openly, some trying to hide it but failing abysmally.

It takes a few moments, but as she looks up, I see the shock register in her eyes as she spots me. Her cheeks tint pink and she grabs for Denny’s hand.

She takes his hand and marches him away from me without a backward glance. There’s a pit in my stomach as I watch my son disappear around the corner. I want to follow them, but I know what it will and won’t achieve. It will only achieve bad things, so it’s best––as much as it might hurt––for me to pretend she wasn’t here and go about my day.

A few people recognise me and ask for my autograph, so I go about signing them on autopilot and my mouth tilts up into a smile as they take their selfies. I guess autopilot and muscle memory have served me well. But now I have to get what I need and get out of here.

***

“This stew… man, when did you learn to cook?” Jensen asks as he takes another bite.

“Hey man, if you want seconds, you’d better not piss off the cook,” Jack says with a laugh.

“As a matter of fact, there are a few things that I can cook really well, thanks to my mum teaching me how when I was growing up. I guess she wanted to make sure I didn’t starve when I moved out.”

“This is really great, man,” Mack remarks as he wolfs down his second bowl. Such a greedy fucker.

“So, anyway, tell us about the wedding,” Lucien chimes in.

“We don’t have much organised yet, but we do have a venue and a date,” I reply as I look at Cul with a smile.

I’m grateful to have a supportive fiancé and a beer in my hand right now. This afternoon wasn’t exactly a huge deal. A mum told her kid off, a kid that just happens to be mine. But it left me feeling as though Denny needs me.

I explained to Cul when I arrived home and he woke up––he was on a night shift last night, so I’d left him to sleep while I’d gone out.

I feel like that kid is missing out on what I could offer him as a father. I don’t know exactly what he’s missing, but somebody that cares about him and treats him better than Ana does has to be a good place to start. Doesn’t it?

“It means I need to ask Lawrence not to book any venues for that night because we’ll be on tour at the time. But we should still be pretty close to home as we usually are that early into the tour. So, it means us travelling back here for the wedding and then back out on tour. But I’m hoping to convince Lawrence to at least give me my wedding night and one extra night back home first.”

“So, you guys can’t even go on honeymoon?” Mack asks.

“It’ll have to be after the tour is over,” I sigh sadly.

“I’m trying to get some time off work to join you guys,” Cul says with a smile.

“You’d better get a hotel if you do. I don’t want to hear you guys’ sex noises on the bus, thank you very much,” Jensen says with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Yes, you clown, we’ll get a hotel,” I chide as I grab some more beers from the fridge.

I open the bottles and pass them to the boys, all except for Jensen, who can find a way to open his own.

When he uses his teeth to open it, I shudder and wish I hadn’t made him do that. He throws the cap at me and Mack cuffs him round the back of the head… maybe a little harder than necessary.

“Have you picked the song for your first dance?” Mack asks.

“Actually, we haven’t yet. Any suggestions?”

“Not really, but I have a suggestion for a wedding band. I’m sure they’d do mates rates if you asked.”

“Who?”

“You’re looking at ’em,” he replies with a chuckle.

“You think we ought to hire you guys? I don’t think so. I mean not one of you can sing for toffee.”

“You cheeky swine,” Jensen says as he chucks a piece of buttered baguette at me.

“What? It’s true. The only one who can sing is me, and I’m not playing my own wedding.”

That earns me another piece of bread from him, but also a cackle from Jack that could rival one of the Sanderson sisters.

“Seriously though, I don’t want you guys to have to work at my wedding.”

“It would save you paying someone else,” Mack replies with a shrug.

“He’s right,” Cul says. “We should at least consider it.”

“Call it our wedding gift to you,” Lucien says.

“Because you’re too tight to buy us a real gift?” I ask with a chuckle.

They all give me a dirty look, so I hold my hands up in surrender.

“More people are likely to RSVP yes if they know we’re the band,” Jensen says with a gigantic smirk.

I pick up the discarded bread he threw at me and throw them both back at his head. He ducks the first, but the second one hits him square in the face… buttered side first.

“That’s what you get for being an asshole,” I mutter as he tries to wipe the butter from his nose and chin.

“Have you got a guest list?” Jacks asks, ignoring the immaturity of his bandmates.

“It’s coming together,” Culhwch replies.

Truth be told, the list is far too long. The Bellevue might be big, but it won’t hold everyone. We’re trying to find ways to trim it without hurting anyone’s feelings.

“You guys didn’t make the cut,” I say with a cheesy grin as we all head to the decking at the back of the house.

There’s room for us all to sit around the firepit, so I grab the cooler filled with bottles of beer and lead the way.

“You’re a douche. Now you have to hire us as your band if we can’t come as guests,” Jack says as he throws himself down on the comfy couch.

“Nah, we were thinking of going with someone a little more, you know… professional.”

That earns me a punch to the arm from Lucien.

“We are professional,” Jensen remarks as he unceremoniously plonks himself down next to Jack.

“Professional doofuses… yeah.”

“You little shit. We should go on the next tour without you,” Jack says with a stupid smirk.

“Please, feel free. I’d actually be able to get married and have a proper honeymoon then.”

“In that case, we should book a gig the same night so that you can’t go to your own wedding.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” Mack says as he takes a seat in one of the cosy chairs around the fire.

“You’re only siding with him because you want an invite.”

“No, I’m just not a fucking child… unlike some,” he retorts.

“Fine, whatever. Invite me, don’t invite me. See if I care,” Jack says with a shrug as he takes the beer I offer him.

“I forgot the marshmallows, be right back,” Culhwch says.

As he walks back in the house, I beckon the boys to lean closer.

“So look, I need you boys to help me out. I want to do one of those groomsmen dances you see on YouTube, and I want you guys to do it with me. What do you say?” I whisper.

“Oh man, you’re one cheesy fucker,” Jack groans as he scrubs a hand over his face, “It must really be love if you’re willing to look that stupid on your wedding day.”

“Firstly, of course it’s love. Secondly, it might be cheesy, but Culhwch loves cheesy. Are you guys in or what?”

I keep an eye on the door, knowing I don’t have long before he’s back.

“Do we have to learn proper dances? Like, are you making us take lessons with a choreographer?” Lucien asks.

“That’s the plan. Now please, are you in?”

I get a chorus of groans before they eventually agree to do it, just as Cul is about to come back outside.

“What are you guys whispering about?” he asks as he hands me the marshmallows.

“Nothing,” I reply with a smile, wondering if I’ll manage to convince him.

By the look in his eye, I know he doesn’t believe me, but he’s not going to push it. He’ll probably try to get it out of me after the boys have gone.

***

As we head to bed after tidying up and loading the dishwasher, I blurt out that I saw Denny. I don’t know what makes it come out of my mouth, but it does, nonetheless.

“You didn’t speak to her?” he asks as he takes a seat on the bed.

“Nope, not a word. She hurried away as soon as she saw me.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Honestly? A little sad.”

He pulls me close as I take a seat next to him. I snuggle into his embrace and let my head drop on his shoulder.

After a few minutes of sitting still, Cul gets up and strips to his boxers, urging me to do the same, as he pulls back the blankets and gets into bed.

I strip and throw my clothes in the hamper before getting into bed next to him. He curls up into me with an arm over my chest.

We don’t speak, but we don’t need to. He knows that what I need isn’t something he can give. Sure, he can support my choices, but ultimately, he can’t make me feel better about the shitshow that is my life. The only thing that can do that is me doing something proactive instead of sitting here waiting in hope.

There’s no way Ana will reach out to me. I’ve given her more than enough time. So, I guess it’s time to get a solicitor and see where that gets me.

I lie on my back, looking up at the ceiling, unable to drift off to sleep. In all honesty, I don’t know how to be a dad and that’s part of what’s keeping me awake too.

What if I’m no good at it? What if I fail him? What if he hates me? What if Ana poisons him against me?

So many questions, but zero answers to go with them.