Page 8 of Razor
"Got you again!"Dante's laughter bubbled up, bright and uninhibited, filling the dingy room with a sound I'd almost forgotten.How long had it been since I'd heard him really laugh?Weeks?Months?
A smile crept across my face without permission.The sight of my son—my constantly vigilant, too-quiet son—playing without fear hit me like a physical blow.I blinked back unexpected tears, grateful that both wrestlers were too engaged to notice.
"You're too good," Razor groaned in defeat, carefully setting Dante aside to flop dramatically on the bed."I need a break."
"No breaks!"Dante insisted, crawling over to poke Razor's shoulder."More wrestling!"
Razor chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through the room."How about we build something instead?Save my pride a little?"
"Like what?"Dante asked, instantly curious.
"How about..."Razor glanced around the room, eyes landing on the pile of flat motel pillows."A fort?Every warrior needs a fortress."
"Yes!"Dante bounced on the mattress, excitement radiating from him in almost visible waves.
I watched as Razor slid off the bed and began gathering pillows from both beds.His movements were efficient but unhurried, giving Dante time to scamper after him, offering enthusiastic "help" that probably slowed the process.
"We need to prop these up like this," Razor explained, his large hands—hands that probably knew how to break bones, hands that had likely been in countless fights—carefully arranging pillows in a semicircle at the head of the bed."And then we'll use the blankets for the roof."
"Higher!"Dante directed, pointing imperiously."It needs to be taller."
"You're right," Razor agreed seriously."A warrior of your stature needs a fortress to match."
I sank onto the room's single chair, my vigilance slowly ebbing as I watched them work.Dante's entire focus was on the construction project, his small hands attempting to mimic Razor's movements.The contrast was striking—Razor's forearms covered in intricate tattoos, muscles shifting beneath inked skin as he arranged pillows; Dante's arms still baby-soft, his movements uncoordinated but eager.
"My kid's got some good building skills," Razor said, helping Dante position a blanket across the pillows to form a roof.Then he froze, his hands suddenly still on the fabric, as if just realizing what he'd said.
My breath caught.My kid.The words had slipped out naturally, unplanned.I studied Razor's profile, the way a muscle ticked in his jaw, the slight widening of his eyes—surprise at his own words.
He glanced up, our eyes meeting over Dante's head.A quiet understanding passed between us—a question, a possibility, a door opening to a future I hadn't dared imagine.For a heartbeat, we just looked at each other, the air suddenly heavy with words neither of us knew how to say.
Then Dante tugged impatiently at the blanket."We need another one here," he instructed, oblivious to the charged moment.
Razor blinked, the connection broken."You're right," he agreed, his voice rougher than before."Every good fort needs multiple escape routes."
I watched his tattooed hands return to their careful work, gentler than they had any right to be.Those same hands had probably thrown punches, might have even killed—Pretty Boy had never been specific about what Wicked Mayhem did beyond their legitimate businesses.Yet here they were, arranging motel pillows with the precision of an architect, all to make my son smile.
"Look, Mommy!"Dante called, noticing my attention."We're making a fort!"
"I see that," I said, forcing steadiness into my voice."It looks amazing."
"It'll be even better when we're finished," Razor promised, shooting me a quick glance I couldn't quite decipher.Was he talking about the fort, or the fragile future taking shape between us?They worked together for several more minutes, Dante growing increasingly bossy as his confidence with Razor grew.Instead of getting frustrated with the constant redirection, Razor took each new instruction seriously, repositioning pillows and blankets until Dante approved.
Finally, the fort was complete—a surprisingly sturdy structure of pillows, blankets, and the room's single chair dragged over to support one corner.
"Now we need to test it," Razor announced, gesturing for Dante to enter first."Commanders always lead the way."
Dante didn't need to be told twice.He crawled into the fort, disappearing into its shadowy interior with a delighted giggle.
"It's perfect!"his muffled voice proclaimed from within.
Razor straightened, rolling his shoulders slightly as if to release tension.His eyes found mine again, and this time I didn't look away.There was an honesty beneath his tough exterior that made me want to trust him, despite everything experience had taught me about trusting men.
"Thank you," I said quietly, the words inadequate but all I had to offer.
He nodded once, understanding in his eyes."He's a good kid."
Such a simple statement, but worlds away from how Tyler spoke about our son—always with disappointment, always finding him lacking.Three simple words that revealed more about Razor than perhaps he intended.
