The Long, Broken Road

"Let him go, sugar. No one can talk to him when he's like this," explained Brette. She understood me. She's so young, and yet so aware. Why she hasn't found a guy already, I'll never know.

Melanie's voice turned indignant, "Look, Missy. I don't know who you are, but I need to talk to him about his daughter."

It's too bad that I was in the middle of finding my center; I would have loved to watch this exchange from the cheap seats with a box of popcorn. Brette is a southern girl, and she certainly wasn't going to take sass from anyone. Plus, she was on my side. Brette knew I would never hit a woman, so she always volunteered gouging out Melanie's eyes with a shrimp fork. Her words, not mine.

While Melanie may have had 20 years on her, Brette's voice sounded like the authority in the room, "Let him calm down, Mrs. Harper." It's intriguing, really. Brette was brought up to respect her elders, which is why she used the formal name calling; however, the way she iterated Melanie's 'new' last name suggested she was out of line, and out of place.

"Doesn't he care about his daughter?"

"Bless your heart..." That's all that I heard her say before there was some kind of scuffle.

There was a weak protest from Melanie, "Let go of me."

The sound of someone being pushed into a chair and that chair sliding across the linoleum floor echoed in the room. This was followed by the slamming of what sounded like cardboard on the kitchen table.

"Care about his daughter? You don't think he cares about his daughters?! Why, I ought to slap you into the middle of next week. That man works tooth and nail to pay child support for his daughters. He does it willingly. He lives in a dump like this, living on nothing so that he's never late on child support. I wouldn't be surprised if he pays more than what the court ordered him to pay."

I'm sure Melanie was trying to say something. She never lets anyone have the last word, other than herself.

The sound of envelopes slammed on the kitchen table, "Every fucking year, he sends a God damn birthday card and Christmas card. And every fucking time, you return it to sender! He has not seen his daughters in ten years, but is probably more devoted to them now than he ever was when he was their father."

Ok, that hurt. I'm still their father. I had to put up the guitar before Brette started rummaging through the utensil drawer in hopes of finding that shrimp fork. Not that we had one.

"That's enough," I said while exhaling a cleansing breath. I still had that anger inside of me, though. It was enough for Brette to back away.

Still, the look on Melanie's face was like another domino falling. She marveled at the photo album and the photos and paper clippings I had collected. She was befuddled by all the envelopes. Her mouth was agape as she looked at me, and probably truly saw the pain that was hiding underneath all this anger.

"Steve, I didn't know," her voice was timid and soft. Melanie had a problem saying I'm sorry. I don't think I ever heard her say it. No, her apology was in the tone of her voice. The timid, regretful tone she used just then. There was a tear rolling down her cheek.

There was a part of me that wanted to brush that tear away, and to take her back into my arms and console her pain. But that part was easily silenced. Too little, too late.

"So what's wrong with Abby if it's not about the money?"

It took Melanie a moment to look away from the picture album. She was looking at the last picture I had when the four of us were a family. It was one of the few times that I was able to enjoy a vacation. We were at Cummin Falls State Park, near one of the waterfalls. The picture was faded, showing its age.

She kept her voice soft as she explained, "Abby ran away from home about three or four days ago."

"I didn't kidnap her," I fired back. The last thing I needed was to be accused of kidnapping. I was not going back to prison.

Melanie seemed lost with that response. She even looked to Brette for help, but found no emotion from her. Melanie shook her head, "No, no. I... I know that. I didn't say you did."

Brette chimed in with her own response in an accusatory manner, "Did you call the police?"

Melanie's shoulders dropped, sighing with exasperation. I'm not sure what she expected, but this certainly wasn't it. Maybe she was expecting me to be the 'old' Steve.

"Let me explain. When Abby reached her teenage years, she started to rebel. As would be expected with all teenagers, it's only natural. However, things really escalated between her and Doug. 'You're not my real father' was her battle cry. As she got older, the fights got worse. She started saying things like 'I wish my dad had swung harder!' I tried to play the peace keeper, but ..." Her voice faded with sadness. That voice inside my head was cheering excitedly at hearing how 'wonderful' her Utopia had become. Plus, my daughter still acknowledged me as her father and not that asshole.

"Recently, the fights between Doug and Abby got to the point where Doug would say 'As long as you live under my roof, you will abide my rules'. After the most recent blow up, Abby disappeared. Allie said that she thought she would come here, looking for you."

Once again, Brette chimed in from the peanut gallery, "You still didn't answer my question about calling the police. And you couldn't just call your lawyer and have him tell Stony all of this? You had to come all the way down here?"

That girl must be sharing one of my brain cells since I was wondering the same thing. The look on Melanie's face was worth noting since she had never heard me being called Stony.

I held up my hand, and said, "So you believe that Abby is here in Nashville?"

Melanie nodded her head, "She hated living in Skokie. She hated the winters. She hated how cold Lake Michigan was. She wanted to be back in Tennessee." She looked directly at me, "She wanted to be with you." She then looked down at the envelopes, "But the only thing we... I... we only got your child support payment. We never heard anything from you-"

Before she could even complete that thought, I launched into her, "You refused letting me see them while I was in prison. Plus, that damned restraining order didn't help!"

Melanie's bottom lip quivered as she explained, "I didn't want them to see their father like that. I... I didn't want them to see." She added quietly, "The restraining order was Doug's idea. I... I was scared. I've never seen you like that. The girls have never seen you like that."

It was my turn to look away. I wished they hadn't seen what I've done either. As much as the asshole deserved every broken bone, the girls didn't deserve to see it. My thoughts were soon disrupted though as I felt a comforting arm embrace me, attempting to console and alleviate the heart ache. At first, I was going to push Melanie away, thinking it was her. But no, it was Brette.

"Have you tried calling her? What teenaged girl doesn't carry her phone on her?"

I'm not sure if Melanie didn't appreciate the question by Brette, or if she was jealous about the way Brette was holding me. Her response was a little condescending, "Of course, I tried. She's not picking up. I left several messages. What rebellious teenaged daughter answers her mother's phone calls?"

I did not want to be in the blast radius between these two. It's one thing to be on the outside looking in with a box of popcorn. It's another thing to be at ground zero with these temper flare ups. I quickly tried to defuse the situation by putting a plan into action. I told Brette, "Pull up her profile picture on Facebook, and send that to all the guys. Have them on the lookout for her, and to call me immediately if they even think they've seen her."

Brette nodded her head and went into action. You would have thought that she was trying to save her own sister. Before too long, she let out a couple of giggles, and another series of thumb tapping on the touch screen. She looked up from her phone and said, "Bear can't believe that's your daughter. He says that she must take after her..." Brette hesitated for a moment, and then her voice lost some of the mirth it had before, "... mother."

Melanie blushed a little at Brette's comment. Oh, those cheeks. I loved the way she blushes at compliments. She didn't know how to take them. In school, she rarely got them. At least, not ones that centered on her beauty.

I looked to Melanie, "Do you have any idea where she might go first?"

"No, it's been ten years since I have been here, Ste..." She caught herself, and tried to adjust to the 'new' me, "Stony. A lot has changed."

I couldn't help but laugh. That sounded so awkward coming from her lips. Apparently, Brette didn't like the way she said it either. But unlike me, she didn't find it funny. If I didn't know any better, that little spitfire looked possessive, and this 'other woman' was encroaching on her territory.

"You can still call me Steve. You're not a part of my life as Stony."

This time, though, it was Melanie that was hurt. I think I can honestly say that I have no clue when it comes to understanding women. I haven't heard a single word from her in over ten years, and now she's upset that she's not a part of this new life? See? This is why you should never ask if the day could get any worse. Never.

"So where is ..." I still couldn't bring myself to utter his name even in a cordial conversation, so I settled for a pronoun, "... him in all this? Has he been waiting out in the car the entire time with Allie?"

"Smart move," added Brette. I really love how she's half bear, and the other half cat. The Osborne Brothers weren't just whistling Dixie when they described Rocky Top women.

Melanie looked down to her fingers. Again with the fidgeting; although, this time it was with her wedding ring. Yea, the asshole put a decent sized rock on her finger. High maintenance, for sure.

"They refused to come."

"That's probably a good idea. To stay at the hotel or wherever it is you are staying," I said as best as I could to hide any animosity towards the asshole.

"Smart move," repeated Brette.

Melanie looked up with a look of sadness, "To Nashville."

That stoic look consumed me once more. Allie didn't want to come see me. Perhaps it was too much to ask to have both daughters want to see me, want me a part of their life. Before today, I never expected to see either of my daughters ever again. I should celebrate that I have one that wants me back in their life. That is until she gets to know me. I am not the man I was then, and who knows what pedestal Abby has placed me on.

"It is probably for the best," I said with very little emotion. That cold, heartless tone made both of the women here look up in surprise. "Just in case Abby decided to head back home to Chicago," I added.

Brette was simply stunned that I would say such a thing, knowing how I felt about my daughters. Melanie nodded her head in agreement, perhaps trying to find a bright side to her predicament. She said reservedly, "You're probably right."

"Well, you should go get some sleep. You look like you drove all night from Chicago. 41 can be very boring, especially through Indiana and Kentucky. Go back to wherever it is you're staying. Check in with..." I hesitated as I choked out the next few words, "... the family back home. Let them know you're all right."

I think the command in my tone startled Melanie. Again, did her pupils dilate? When we were dating and throughout our marriage, I tried to play as a partner in our relationship. We were both our equals. We were both on the same team. At this point, though? I was on Team Stony, and I had a chance to regain something I had lost. I forcefully guided my ex-wife to the door, exerting my will upon her for probably the first time that we have known one another.

In her timid, regretful sounding tone, she said, "Steve, I wish..."

I held up my hand and shook my head at her. "Do you remember watching Aladdin with the girls? The genie had three stipulations for the street rat. One, Aladdin couldn't wish for more wishes. Two, the genie couldn't make another person fall in love with Aladdin. And three, the genie couldn't bring someone back from the dead." I leveled my gaze upon her, "Steve Brooks is dead. Stop wishing. Now, go get some sleep."

To put a closing note on the conversation, I closed the door. There was a part of me that wanted to bask in the way my ex-wife was feeling. A part of me wanted to look through the peep hole, so I could gauge her reaction. But that was Steve, I'm Stony. Besides, I had another issue that needed to be addressed. She was standing behind me.

"You and I need to have a talk. Starting with my..." I turned away from the door to fully face Brette. However, the first thing that greeted me was my football jersey lying on the floor in front of me. Needless to say, I was a bit stunned by seeing it there and not on Brette; however, my brain kept going with my current train of thought, "... jersey?"

Once I got past the jersey, my eyes traveled the length of her nude body, starting with her cute little toes. I enjoyed marveling at the shape of her calves and how well they blended with the curves of her thighs. The tender inner flesh of her legs brought my vision to her shaven paradise. Already I could feel myself get hard as I continued onward and upward. Her young breasts will full and defied gravity. Her nipples were erect and begging to be suckled. Finally, I reached her face. She was scrutinizing me as much as I was ogling her.

She sauntered with a slight sashay in her hips. Before today, Brette was my surrogate daughter. Before today, that hormone enraged monster that would whisper naughty things in my ear about this young woman was kept in check. Now, he was in full control and Brette saw the evidence. Her hand reached my cock a second or two before her breasts pressed into me. Instinctively, my hands went to grab on to the swells of her ass. They felt so fine. I couldn't help but dig my fingers into her flesh.

"I saw the way she was looking at you. I'm not going to lose you to her. I've been patient. I've watched those floozies come and go. I was more than happy to take out the trash, knowing it would be me that you would come home to; but with her? I fear that she's not some tramp, not some one night stand. I'm staking my claim right now, Stony Brooks. I love you."

With that, she planted a kiss on my lips. The kiss was so passionate and so hungry that it made me worry that she might devour me in the process. Female praying mantises do that to their mates, you know. I have every right to be alarmed. Of course, if I'm going to die, there is no better way to go.

Eventually, I did need to come up for air. Plus, my brain finally caught up to the situation. It's a struggle, but I managed to spit out, "Brette, I'm old enough to be your father. Surely, there are..."

My voice faltered as she managed to slide her hand down my boxers and take hold of my cock. She squeezed tightly knowing that it would cut off circulation to my brain. She lowered herself down to her knees, pushing my boxers down as well. She looked up at me with those beautiful blue eyes as she planted a kiss on the head of my cock. There was no warning as she engulfed my entire shaft. She hollowed out her cheeks and began bobbing her head up and down. If they were comparing score cards, Brette would be one up on my ex-wife. Melanie thought that this was gross. It's not my first blowjob, as many of the drunken bitches from the bars were more than eager to oblige. However, this was the first one that came from someone of whom I had an emotional attachment. And fuck, it felt good.

Obviously, having a gorgeous woman sucking on my cock gave me great pleasure. But there is something more to this. Or at least, with Brette, there was. There's a level of trust involved. After all, I'm literally placing my manhood in an area where she has teeth. One wrong move and I could be a eunuch. It's funny, really. My ex-wife refused to go down on me, and she nearly had me castrated with her actions. Meanwhile, Brette is sucking me like a pro, and for the moment, I trust her more than just about anyone else in the world. She has nothing to fear. There is too much pain for me to go back to Melanie. It's amazing what one has to think about in order to not erupt like Mount Vesuvius.

When she backed away from my cock to get a good breath of air, her hand picked up where her mouth left off and stroked me. She twisted her hand with each stroke, so as to provide a slight different sensation than her mouth. I couldn't take any more. I reached down into her golden hair and pulled upwards to make her stand. She complied, but never let go of my cock. In fact, she lifted one leg up so that she could wrap it around my waist. She started guiding my cock towards her pussy. But I had other plans.

In one fluid motion, I picked her up off the ground. My arms cradled her thighs and my hands had a solid grip on her ass. I spun around and pinned her to the front door of our apartment. The crook of her knees rested upon my arms. And just as explosive as that move, my cock found its way inside of her. She let out a wail as I impaled her. Her fingernails dug into my shoulders as I pounded her against the door. Her sex felt like a velvet glove that only kept getting tighter.

"Oh God, Stony! Yes, fuck me!"

I could already feel her body trembling as sweat formed on my brow. The animal in me had taken over. I wanted to make those cute little toes curl. I slowed my thrusts and altered my stance so that I could grind her swollen clit with the shaft of my cock. Her eyes rolled back into her head with each motion. She gripped me once again, but this time I believe it was because she felt like she was going to fall. She had no reason to worry. She was safely in my arms.

When her body started to spasm, it was all I could do to hang on. She let out a guttural cry nearly the same time that I unloaded all that I had inside of her. I felt like I unleashed a fire hose inside of her. Wild grunts put an exclamation point with every thrust.

Her body became limp, which allowed me to change my hold upon her. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I simply carried her by her ass over to the couch. I gently set her down and moved for the kitchen. A quick turn of the faucet, and I returned with a warm wash rag and placed it upon her pussy. It was a loving gesture that I had learned from my ex-wife. And now, I was sharing it with Brette.

As much as I loved what just happened, I feared that it would make things complicated between me and her. After all, I'm still twenty years older than her. My mindset is not the same as a twenty-something. I have daughters just a few years younger than she is. I kissed her on the forehead and went to the John. I had to piss, and I had to wrap my head around what just happened and where this is going to go, if anywhere.

Between my thoughts being focused on the situation, and my piss filling up the toilet, I must have missed a knock on the front door. When I came out of the bathroom, I heard voices. I decided to drop some eaves.

In an abashed tone, Melanie stammered, "I forgot to give St..." Again, she caught her mistake and corrected herself, "I forgot to give Stony Abby's cell phone number."

Brette sounded rather smug as she replied, "Thanks, hon. I'll make sure he gets this."

"And can you tell him that I'm staying at the Omni?" The insecurities of my ex-wife embellished every syllable. It felt good to hear her voice tremble.

"Thank you, hon," Brette's replied once more in that sickeningly sweet, yet condescending tone. However, the period at the end of her statement was accompanied with the closing of the door.