“Hey Alex, it’s me… you’re probably on your honeymoon right now, but um…”

**BEEP**

**BEEP**

**BEEP**

**BEEP**

**BEEP**

I sighed heavily as I placed the phone back down on the receiver. Sitting there, pressing the number seven on the dial pad to delete all his voice messages had became habitual for me. It had been two weeks since I set out to find him and deliver the box of our wedding favors. Rochelle and I just returned from our relaxing honeymoon to Bali; a sure retreat and escape from the chaos that seemed to surround my life as of lately. I felt that nagging pain in my heart though as we descended down on the runway of LAX and taxied up to the gate of which we would exit… stepping back into the chaos and bullshit I had left behind. There it was… still waiting for me.

And here I was now, not even ten minutes of being home, and I found myself glued to the chair next to our house phone, listening to the messages of my father’s broken voice on the other line, deleting it, never to be heard again. Fucking spare me. You think he gave a shit when he heard my messages, and my broken voice trying to make up excuses for him and beg and plead him to come and see me, if only just once? That fucker probably did the same thing I’m doing right now… deleting the messages without a care, cutting off the wrecked person on the other line mid-sentence with no regret.

“Baby?”

Her soft, beautiful voice could easily calm every storm that seemed to weather up within me. “Hey my monkee.” I sighed as I reached my arms out towards her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked me as she walked into my open arms, allowing me to embrace her by the waist and pull her down to sit on my lap.

I nuzzled my face in her neck, taking a deep breath in of her intoxicating smell; she was truly my safest place to hide. “For seeming so wrapped up with this man. It should have only ever been about you and me.”

“Baby,” she whispered as she grabbed my face, gently tilting my head up to look at her, “you have nothing to apologize for, this is your father we‘re talking about. You know, as well as I do, that regardless of the past, this man is still your one and only father.” she pulled me further into her, allowing my head to rest against her chest, hearing the steady rhythm of her beating heart, truly music to my ears in a time like this. “You have such a big heart baby, and I can’t stand knowing of all the pain that he put you through, but… that is still the man that helped to give you life. I have you because of your mother and him.”

I clenched my eyes tightly closed, willing back the emotion that threatened to bubble over within that moment, knowing she had a point. My anger and resentment towards him definitely helped to keep him on his toes when it came to me, and he knew that I would never just let him walk back into my life as if nothing happened. But, at the same time, part of me wants nothing more than to start over and try to salvage whatever we could between us, perhaps even create some new, older father-son bonding moments. Then I remember how he promised he’d be in attendance for our wedding, and his absence only proved that nothing had changed. My hopeful thoughts are quickly shattered.

“Why do you think he hates me so much?” I voiced out, in barely a whisper against Rochelle’s chest. My eyes remained shut, and the feeling of hot tears seeping out and Rochelle’s fingers raking gracefully through my scalp blended together. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this from him.”

“Sweetie, shh…” I heard her coo as she tilted my face up to her once more, “don’t think like that. Your father doesn’t hate you, and of course you did nothing to deserve this.” she fell silent for a while, and I knew she was trying to think up excuses for him. My mother would do the same thing whenever she tried to think up an excuse to tell me of why he was unable to spend time with me, yet again. Even I did it with myself. “I think he just ran away scared is all.”

That was the harsh truth of it all, huh? My father thought he was man enough to fuck my mom, but wasn’t man enough to stick around with the outcome of it. He ran away from his creation, as if I were some mutant he surely couldn’t father. That fucker was scared?!? Try growing up without the man that’s supposed to protect you from the boogeyman in the closet; or the man that’s supposed to comfort you when you’re crying, alone in your darkened room, telling you there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Maybe, just maybe if he stuck around, I wouldn’t have been taken away from my mother by that stupid ass fucking clown! I would have fit so perfectly between my mother AND my father, both of them holding my hands, as it should have been, as we walked through the carnival that night. That fucking clown wouldn’t have been able to grab me, wouldn’t have been able to take me away. If my father were in my life, maybe I wouldn’t have that fear of clowns.

“I’m sorry baby.” I heard her mutter, and it was then that I realized the last part I thought I mentally told myself, I had actually said aloud. “I’m sorry.”

I knew that’s all she could say… what else was there for her to say? She shouldn’t even be apologizing. But yet, as I sat there with my head still resting on her chest, the side of my face and ear pressed firmly against her bosom, listening to the soothing thumping sound of her beating heart, I began to realize that I was more affected by it all than I truly thought.

I felt that writing that song for him, to him was the first step I needed to take towards psychologically healing myself, and I surely felt that I was slowly on the mend. Performing the song, actually singing the song with the raw emotion and power that the lyrics already emanated, was yet another step I took towards accepting the past and moving on. Singing the song to him was a different story; to have him in the midst of fans, listening to the emotion and pain he put me through all these years come straight from me… I had felt that I was finally burning the bridges with him. In that moment, I felt… okay, relieved… I felt free.

Then, having him miss the final most important event in my life quickly doused the flames, leaving me with charred remnants of a bridge that was no longer supposed to be there. At this point, we were supposed to be getting ready to build a new bridge between us, but instead I was left with the haunting memories of the past and possibly the unsettling realization that this bridge could never be burnt down and forgotten. I found myself back to where I started.

“I could never do that…” I whispered out as I shook my head, “I would never run away scared from you and what I helped you to create.” lifting my head from her chest, I looking up at her before my eyes gazed downwards at her bulged stomach, “Do you think I’ll be a good father?”

Her answer laid within a kiss that I truly never wanted to end. “I don’t think you’ll be a good father…” she replied once she unlocked her lips with mine. “I think you’ll be a GREAT father. You’ll be the best father anyone could ever have, and this little one…” she grasped my hand and placed it over her swollen belly, “will be one blessed kid to have you in their life.”

I smiled warmly at her as my hand idly began to rub circles on her stomach. “You see?” she whispered as she reclined back a bit, allowing me full access to our son she bore within her womb. “You two already have a connection… you calm him with such ease.”

As my hand remained on her stomach, I realized what she said to be true. Within moments of rubbing circles, I immediately felt his small form still within her cavity. I smiled, these two were truly my comfort. Leaning down, I placed a gentle kiss on her stomach, near where I hoped our son’s ear would be, “I’ll be the one… who will make all your sorrows undone… I’ll be the light… when you feel like there’s nowhere to run…” I sang out tenderly, “I’ll be the one… to hold you, and make sure that you’ll be alright… cause my fear is gone, and I want to… take you from darkness to light…”

“He loves your voice.” Rochelle whispered out with a smile.

“How do you know?” I asked as I glanced up at her, flashing her a jokingly look.

She grasped my chin and slowly brought my face up towards her, “Because…” she started off, placing a chaste kiss upon my lips, “I love your voice…” another kiss “the world loves your voice…” yet another kiss “so I know he loves your voice. Besides your presence, your singing calms this little one down.” when I flashed her a ‘yeah right’ sort of look, she chuckled, “I’m serious baby, I’m not just saying that! We’re gonna have an active one on our hands, I just know it… I mean, look at who his two parents are!” she joked.

“Got a point there.” I laughed and resumed rubbing her belly. After a few moments of silence, I spoke out, “I have a feeling he’s gonna be a momma’s little boy, just like how I was…”

Her hand crept up towards where my hand was and intertwined with my fingers, stilling my hand over our son, “He’s gonna be OUR little boy.”

I smiled warmly at her before I continued my ministrations. Yeah… he’s our little boy. Deep down though, pessimistic thoughts seemed to dwell within me. I know I would never leave my son, I’d never want to inflict the pain I had gone through all my life on MY own child. Every child deserves their mother AND father… no one should ever go through what I had gone through, but I was always told that’s life. It was that realization that began to make me doubt that I would be a great father.

I knew that I would give everything to my son, I’d do everything and be everything he’d want and need me to be, and then some. I’d be everything my father never was to me. But… what if my father’s tendencies were passed down genetically to me? Is that even possible? What if at one point, my father promised those same things to me as I laid growing within my mother’s womb, and had gone back on his words the day I was born? Would I do the same? Would I end up being just like my father?

“Alex?” I heard Rochelle call out to me, breaking me from my darkened thoughts, “I love you baby.” She knew I was thinking.

I simply grabbed her and pulled her in tighter to me, allowing myself to be reassured and lifted by the sound of two heartbeats, that belonged to my wife and son. “I love you too monkee…” I sighed, “I love you too.”