Camden by Shey Stahl

 

Stupid fucking car seat. Why do they make these things so complicated?

Do they do it to stress new parents out even more?

Wait. Do we even have diapers at home for him? Did I forget them?

I stare at the back of my truck, and then the car seat base, scratching the side of my head. There are clips that are supposed to attach to something in the seat, but I’m not seeing them. Am I blind? Do you see them?

Right. You probably read the directions. I did not. In fact, they blew away with the wind.

Just as I’m contemplating just buying a new truck since River puked in this one and it smells horrendous, I hear, “You’re doing it wrong,” from behind me.

I freeze. Every muscle in my body tenses.

I know the voice.

Do you?

My heart sinks immediately, my throat tight. Adrenaline kicks in. “I do a lot wrong if I ask you.” My hands start to shake so much I can’t even get the buckles in at this point.

“True, but that’s not how you do it.” Tiller bumps my shoulder. “Here, let me do it.”

I step out of the way and let him have at it. It’s clear I’m not getting that damn thing in there the right way and I’m ready to throw it across the parking lot at this point.

Sighing, I turn and lean into the bed of my truck. Did you expect him to show up? He’s been gone three weeks now, and honestly, I wasn’t sure when he’d show back up. I glance over at him, working and cursing as he too tries to get the base of the car seat attached to the backseat. I take in his appearance. He’s lost some weight, his hair is longer, scratches and bruises cover his arms. “Where have you been? You look like shit.”

Grunting, he slams the base into the buckles. “Baja.” It’s a short answer as he backs up a step and stares at the backseat. “Who bought this fucking thing?”

“Scarlet,” I mumble, squinting into the sun shining in my face.

He regards me, dark eyes bloodshot and weary. I wonder if he knows he’s a grandpa yet. I wonder if he knows Cullen has his middle name, or his last name, because I didn’t want Cullen having mine. I didn’t want my dad’s last name carrying on. I wonder if he knows Cullen has his eyes, and maybe even his temper, though so far, he’s relaxed and mellow.

Leaning into my truck, Tiller rolls his shoulder and faces me, his arms crossed over his chest. At first, he doesn’t say anything. But then he hangs his head and sighs. “When I first saw River, she was a year old and sitting in a grocery cart tossing cans of soup at people as they walked by her. Cute as fucking hell and glaring at me.” I meet his eyes for the first time. I don’t see him now in that moment. I have a flash of me being ten years old and looking up to the man I thought was the epiphany of cool. I see him saying, “I should kill you,” and the regret in his eyes when he muttered, “I wish I had it in me.” Because he didn’t, couldn’t, do it. Blowing out a heavy breath, he drops his arms and then runs one over his tired face. “I didn’t want anything to do with her, I knew I wasn’t good enough for her.”

My throat tightens more and my heart pounds. I fight through emotions I don’t want him to see. Ones that are buried deep and I’m not sure they will ever come out. “Why wasn’t I good enough?”

His jaw clenches and he shifts his position, another deep breath. Our eyes lock and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Tiller show emotion like this. He squints, as if he’s trying really fucking hard, but it’s in the way he reaches a shaking hand up and scratches his eyebrow. It’s in the way he sniffs, tries to edit his reaction but fails. He’s hurt, but not physically. He knows he fucked up and this conversation is one he doesn’t want to have, but needs to. “It wasn’t about you not being enough. It was about her. Me as a dad, I failed her. Over and over again.”

I squint into the sun. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he laughs, shaking his head. Another deep breath and then he makes eye contact again. “But I do know this. You, Cam-Man, you are good enough.”

Emotion tugs at my heart. I can be mad at him all I want, but it doesn’t change the past. Anger fades. Forgiveness isn’t a trait of the weak. It’s mastered by the ones who fight for their happiness.

Tiller, Roan, Shade… they’ve always had my back. Yeah, Tiller’s morals balance precariously on the edge of what the fuck is wrong with you and oh, that was nice of him, but still. He didn’t mean to hurt me like that. Deep down I know that because this guy standing before me is still the one who took me under his wing and bought me my first bike when my dad wouldn’t.

I smirk. “Are you trying to say you’re sorry?”

He smiles too, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”

I shift my stance, my arms crossed over my chest. “I deserve to hear it.”

“You do.” He nods. “But I can’t say it, because in part, I was right. You guys lied to me.”

“We knew how you’d react. And you played the part we thought you would. We set each other up to fail.”

He thinks about what I said. At least I think he is when he nods. “I guess we did, didn’t we? In my mind, nobody was going to be good enough for her. Nobody.”

I swallow over the lump forming and tell myself, don’t cry. But the tears, they’re there. Especially when Tiller pulls me in for a hug and says, “I’m sorry.”

At first, I’m caught off guard because Tiller hugged me, and I don’t think—in all the years I’ve known him—that sadistic son of bitch has hugged anyone. Even his wife. In any case, you know what really gets me is those fucking tears of mine. I laugh around them, pretend they’re not there and shake my head, staring at the ground. “Should we call you pop-pop now?”

He laughs, clearing his throat. “Fuck you.”

“Pappy?”

Glaring, he steps away from me. “You want me to break your face again?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I slap my hand to his back. “Gramps it is.”

You think he got off easy, don’t you?

Remember what I said a few minutes ago?

Forgiveness isn’t a trait of the weak. It’s mastered by the ones who fight for their happiness.

It’s the truth.

Be the game changer. Be different than the last. Put an end to the sick cycle of hurting others and holding grudges.

I say that now, but do you see me calling my dad to tell him he’s a grandpa?

Nope.

Will I trust Tiller again?

Uh, well, that’s debatable. I know I won’t keep a secret from him again. And if I miss out on Erzberg because I’m not cleared, I can’t say I won’t have a few choice words for him. But for now, today, I’m soaking in the high of being a dad for the first time.

I have a son to think about now.