Young Writers Society

“Tara... Tara...” Gary stumbled down the stairs, squinting at the ceiling lights and headed to the wide open back door.

Brittany was attempting to swim laps across the pool by herself and Brooklynne was daring her toes to touch the chilly water on the steps leading into the in ground football length and width pool.

“Good morning sleepy head, or should I say good afternoon? Want a sandwich and some chips? We just had lunch.” Tara stood up and wrapped her hands around Gary's waist.

Gary rested his chin on the top of her smooth, golden hair, breathing in the rose scented perfume she enjoyed so much, “Hey, why didn't you wake me?”

“You tossed and turned all night long. Once, you even sat straight up and started yelling about someone being a murderer and how you'd make them pay. It must have been one helluva nightmare, so I decided you needed your rest, sue me.” Tara kissed his cheek lightly, held his hand, and led him to the patio table where the sandwiches were cut into twelve small squares and a bowl of maybe five chips sat.

Gary looked at the food, his kids, and felt his wife's tender touch on his knee; his heart felt like it was jumping out of his chest and sweat was dribbling down the inside of his shirt, “Actually, I think I'm going to head to the gym. I think I've caught your love for being exhausted and having burning lungs.”

Tara looked cautiously at her husband, who had black circles around his eyes and sweat beading along his hairline, when it was only in the mid sixties outside, “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Really, I'm fine. I just need a few minutes at the gym, work off last nights pizza and beer from watching the game with the guys.”

That's what he had to tell her, so he could sneak off and drive under the night sky and find an abandoned field to sit in and yell at God clear into the morning hours.

“Okay, take my car, your's is out of gas, remember?” Tara stood as he hugged her and kissed the top of her head. The girls didn't even notice he had arose and left the house.

The gym was crowded as usual, and after Gary found a parking spot in the parking lot at the grocery store adjacent from the gym, he grabbed his headphones, phone, and wallet then jogged over. That was enough to put him out of breath and slow to a stop. Everyone assumed it was easy to keep in shape because he was running around on stage during touring time, but really it was much easier to get back out of shape at home, lunging around with your wife and kids.

Grabbing some tape and boxing gloves, Gary headed to a punching bag and prepared himself to get lost in his thoughts. I'm too old to have more kids. A baby... I remember when I watched Tara have Brittany. There's a magic about watching the woman you love go through so much pain to have this perfect tiny human being. When she cried for the first time, my heart burst, and I cried. God, I cried. What happens when Tiffany has that baby? I won't be there to hear them cry... what if she's alone? Oh no, doesn't she have a boyfriend... Matt, no, Mitchel, no... Marcus... Marc? Yeah, Marc. Shit, I wonder if he knows. Will she tell him it's his baby? No... That's my baby! Oh God, that's my baby.

Gary slowed the punching bag to a stop and quickly noticed everyone was watching him. He hurried off to the locker room where he took off the gloves and unwrapped his hands to reveal bleeding and cracked knuckles. Boxing in high school offered him a full ride to any college of his choice and still is as good as any stress reliever.

Standing in the hell water and steam blasting from the gyms shower head, Gary closed his eyes and tried to remember the dream he had the night before. It went a little something like this: Gary was racing through lanes of traffic and lights through downtown. He slammed the truck into park and rushed through the sliding glass doors of the hospital. The lights were blinding, and he couldn't find her anywhere. Gary started shouting Tiffany's name through out the halls with nurses and doctors following him, trying to calm him down. He ripped through the curtains of a recovery room, where Tiffany was laying in a hospital bed, fast asleep. Blood was dripping through a stream down her legs and onto the floor. A haunting scream gathered in his gut and forced it's way out through his lips.

Gary forced his eyes open and shut the water off, grabbing a towel, and getting his clothes on. They clung to him as he run out to the truck and slid into the driver's seat. They needed to be on the same page. He had to talk to her before she told Marc anything.