Page 11 of Finding Us
“Yes,” he says, punching his good arm in the air, making me laugh.
This kid never stops eating. It’s like every meal could be his last, which given the state he was in when he came to me, I get it. His mother probably chose to buy drugs over food for her son. His state of dress the day she dropped him off told me his needs weren’t a priority to her. He’ll never want for anything again … I’ll make sure of that.
As we walk down the path to where my bike is parked, an elderly lady and what I presume is her middle-age daughter are heading towards us, and the first thing Blake does is move to the other side of me, creating distance. To me they look harmless, sweet even; to my son, not so much. I could throttle his mother for the damage she’s inflicted on him.
When we reach my bike, I grab his helmet out of the side saddlebag, placing it on his head and squatting down to secure the strap. Once mine is on, I straddle the bike and reach down for him, lifting him up and placing him in between my legs. With one arm out of action, I’m not going to take any chances with him riding on the back.
I had absolutely no desire to return to work after dropping Blake off, so I decided to head to the gym for a workout instead. I only have a few hours left before I need to collect him anyway, and then we’ll head to Bridge. Bridge is the soup kitchen I run for the homeless when I’m not working my regular job—the paying one—the one that feeds and clothes us both.
I text my assistant, Olivia, to let her know I won’t be back today.
Mason: I’ve decided to take the rest of the day off. I’ll see you in the morning. Call my mobile if you need me.
Olivia: All good here, Boss. How is Blake?
Mason: Just a sprain, but he wanted to go back to day care to show off his bandage and sling.
Olivia: Aww, bless him. I bought him a packet of jellybeans on my lunch break, I know how much he loves them.
She keeps a jar of them on her desk; it’s the only way she can get Blake to come anywhere near her.
Mason: That’s sweet. Thank you. You know I’m going to eat all the red ones, right?
Olivia: Is that where my red ones have gone? You arsehole … that’s my favourite flavour!!!
Mason: Mine too, and I don’t think it’s wise to call your boss an arsehole via text. I have it in writing now. If you ever try to sue me for unfair dismissal you won’t have a leg to stand on.
Olivia: Pfft. You’d never fire me, you’d be lost without me. But if you keep eating my red jellybeans I might quit.
Mason: You’d never find a boss as awesome as me.
Olivia: Hmm.
I probably should head home and continue packing, but it’s the last thing I feel like doing. There’s so much to do before our big move, but I have a few more weeks to get it finished. Working full-time, overseeing everything at Bridge, and having my son living with me, doesn’t leave much time for myself.
So, today I’m going to do something forme… a workout. I rarely get time to go to the gym anymore. If nothing else, it may help release some of this tension. It’s not like I get to fuck the stress out of my system anymore. I haven’t been with a woman since Blake moved in. This is my longest dry spell in history, but the mental health of my little boy is well worth the sacrifice.
After two hours of pumping weights and some cardio, I find my mood hasn’t lifted; instead, I can now add exhaustion to the list. My mind kept going back to what the doctor said about Blake’s old fractures. He’s such a sweet kid, and it kills me to know he’s been mistreated. It brings back a lot of bad memories from my own childhood, which is something I try not to think about. It’s too painful to relive.
Grabbing the towel that’s slung around my neck, I wipe my face as I head towards the exit, only to be greeted by my best friend, Connor, as he pushes through the door. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and his face lights up as soon as he notices me.
“Hey, man. I was thinking about you earlier. I was going to call you tonight,” I say, extending my hand and wrapping it around his.
We’ve only been friends for a little over a year, but I feel like I’ve known him my entire life. We met when he first joined the gym, and needed someone to spot him on the bench press. That was when I was living my carefree party life—prior to Blake. Connor told me he was new in town, so I invited him out for a few drinks that night, and the rest is history.
He’s a good bloke, and I soon found out our lifestyles were very similar … he was just a big a man-whore as I was at the time. The only difference being, I didn’t want to settle down because of my childhood traumas, and he was anti-relationships because he’d had his heart broken by what he claims to be the love of his life at the tender age of nineteen. I don’t believe in that kind of stuff, but I never voiced it out loud.
Needless to say, we became good friends fast … he was the ultimate wingman; but that all changed when my son came into my life. His help in gaining full custody of Blake only cemented our friendship.
“It’s unusual to see you here this time of day,” he says.
I lift one shoulder. “I had a shit day, so I needed to work off some steam.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just stressed is all.”
“Nothing a bit of action between the sheets wouldn’t solve … oh, that’s right, I forgot you’re a practicing monk now.”
