Page 31 of Halo

Fucking little shits. “Does Mommy know?”

He shrugs.

“What about your teacher, Grady? Does she know?”

He shrugs again.

“Well, partner, you gotta stand up for yourself.” I take a seat on the mulch.

“Stand up for myself?”

“You know … stand your ground. If they start pushing you around, you push back.”

He peers up at me. “Push them back?”

I wince. “Well, not push them, push them. You just gotta let them know you don’t like that, and that it’s not okay—”

“Grady!” Tiffany hurries toward us, her blonde hair falling out of its bun.

“Mommy!” He jumps up, his mom catching him in a hug. “I made a friend. His name is Nick, and he’s from a place with lots of cows. And-and he wants me to be his partner because cowboys have partners!”

“Is that so?” She winks at me, patting his back.

“Uh-huh. Can me and him play again?” he asks, longing in his voice.

Tiffany works her jaw, her attention bouncing between us. “Well, I mean … uh, it depends on if … uh …”

“I’d like that,” I interject, “if that’s okay with y’all.”

Grady pulls on her hand. “Please, Mommy, please? Can he?”

She mouths the words thank you. “I think we can make something work, buddy.”

“Really?” He bounces on his toes, adjusting his glasses.

I chuckle. “Really.”

He takes a few deep breaths, his fingers tangling in his hair. “Tomorrow?”

“Oh … uh—” I frown at Tiffany, silently asking for some help.

“Grady, Nick has an adult job like Mommy. But we will plan something when I get home tonight.” She squeezes his hand. “C’mon. Let’s get some juice before Mr. Bob comes by.” She turns back to me. “We’ll work something out.”

I slip my fists into pockets. “Yeah. Sure. Just … let me know.”

“Bye, Nick!” He hurries off with his mother, holding tight to her grip.

“Bye, partner.” As soon as the restaurant door closes behind them, a rush of anxiety plummets against my chest. I can’t breathe; I can’t think. I …

Shit.

I’m a dad.

Chapter 8

Nick

Wind whips through the open windows of the truck, tangling my hair and carrying away the sweat clinging to the back of my neck. The loop stretches endlessly ahead, illuminated by vibrant city lights. Mile after mile disappears beneath my tires. Two hours after meeting my son, my lungs still feel too tight for a full breath.