Date: Fri, 14 Jul 2023 01:00:00 -0700
From: John Henry <niftyjhenry1988@gmail.com>
Subject: Wish You Were My Dad Chapter 7 (Gay/Adult Youth)

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Chapter 7


Early October came quickly. The air was getting colder and the smell of
autumn leaves and rotting apples permeated the nose. Soon, it was going
to be Halloween, my favorite holiday of the year. Sure, Christmas was
cool, but there was something special about Halloween that Christmas just
can't touch.


I had been walking Tiffany home for about a month without issues. That
was until Cory Walters found out. Cory and I had gone to school together
ever since Mom and I moved into the Section 8 apartments. Cory's parents
were rich, both, I think, were lawyers. He was rich and spoiled. Cory was
that kid, and I was his favorite person to bully.


After picking up Tiffany from Head Start, I heard the tell-tail sound of
Cory's voice. It grated in my ears like nails on a chalkboard, if not
worse.


"Is that your girlfriend?" He yelled.


I couldn't help but look at him. Cory was with his usual gang of preppy
douchebags. Some were jocks while a couple were just fanboys. Cory's
popularity was something most in my class coveted, so any chance to be in
his circle, most would take it. I, however, would never be allowed. My
mom was poor, so I could never afford to be as popular.


"Shut up," I called back. Unlike most kids Cory picked on, I stood up
for myself.


"Come and make me!" Cory chided, knowing I wouldn't.


I kept walking, picking up the pace as much as I could with Tiffany still
next to me. If it hadn't been for her, I might have said more to Cory. I
wasn't a fighter by any means, but I didn't keep quiet when the bullying
started.


As we got closer to the apartments, I felt something hard hit the back of
my head. I felt a little dazed, so I stopped. I touched the back of my
head and it felt wet. How could wet be hard? I asked myself. I looked at
my hand and saw blood. Whatever was thrown at me cut my scalp.


"YOU!" I heard someone shout. My head was still spinning when I saw
Dylan run past me. I was aware that I still had Tiffany's hand but was
that pretty much it. Everything else happened in a blur. What did come in
clear allowed me to piece together that Cory threw a large rock, hitting
me in the back of the head. Dylan, who had gotten off work early, came to
greet Tiffany and I, when he saw what Cory had done. After Dylan shouted,
the boys took off running; however, Cory was no match for Dylan who ran
track in high school and college. I remember being led to Dylan's
apartment. Tiffany was crying, still holding my hand. Dylan was on the
phone.


My memories started to get better at the hospital. My head hurt like
crazy, but the dizziness stopped. I was in a darkened room, but the door
was open, letting in some light. I heard Mom just outside the door.


"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner," she said. I could hear the fear
and panic in her voice.


"It's okay," a calm, female voice replied. "Michael is fine. He has an
abrasion on the back of his head and a concussion. The cut isn't deep
enough to need stitches, and we're just waiting for him to come around,
so we can gauge how bad his concussion is."


"Thank God," Mom said. It sounded like she was crying.


"It's a good thing your husband brought him in when he did."


"Husband?" Mom asked, confused. "I don't have a husband."


"I'm sorry," the woman replied. "The boy's father, Dylan Miller,
brought him in."


"Oh." I couldn't tell if Mom was relieved or pissed. I guess it was
somewhere in between. "I'm glad he did, too."


"Well, I can tell you that, if he hadn't, Michael would be in a much
worse spot."


"Where is...his father?" Mom asked, sounding like she had a few,
possibly not-so-nice, things to say to him.


"I believe he and the little girl went to the cafeteria." The nurse
sounded as if she wasn't going to make the mistake of assuming Tiffany
was Mom's daughter.


My head throbbed and I groaned loudly. A few seconds later both Mom and
the nurse walked in. The nurse ran a few tests in the room and had me
sent to get my head checked. After she left the room, Mom started in on
me.


"Do you remember what happened?" She asked, almost demanded.


"Barely," I replied, telling her everything I could. "Where's Dylan?"


Mom said, "Your 'father' is somewhere around here."


"What?" I asked, hoping my playing dumb would help defuse her
resentment.


"Nothing," she said, "we can talk about it later."


"Talk about what later?" Dylan said, walking into the room. He was
holding two bottles of soda, and handed one to Mom. Tiffany moved to my
side and took my hand. She was too small to get on the bed herself, and I
was in no state to pick her up.


"Why did you tell the nurse that you're Michael's dad?"


Dylan chuckled but stopped quickly, noting that Mom wasn't laughing. "I
wasn't sure if they'd update me if I wasn't family, so I told them I was
Mikey's dad."


"You couldn't have said 'Uncle' or something else?"


"I wasn't thinking," Dylan pleaded. "He was bleeding in my arms and
passed out. I honestly didn't have time to think of a proper backstory.
I'm sorry I upset you, but I was honestly thinking of him."


Mom couldn't deny what Dylan had done. Nobody seemed to understand why
Mom took what Dylan said so personally. As far as I knew, I was the
product of a one night stand, and Mom never even got the guy's name. She
never seemed bothered by this sort of thing before. Mom had a few
boyfriends that wanted me to call them 'Uncle So-and-so' or referred to
themselves as my stepdad, so it seemed almost inappropriate that she'd go
off on Dylan for something that had been harmless before.


She took a deep, settling breath and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to
over react. The day has been stressful and then, all of this."


"Hey, I get it. I'm pretty much a stranger to you. If you told people
you were Tiffany's mother, I think I'd have a problem with it, too."


"Thanks, I think. Did you see who did this to Michael?"


"Not only did I see it, I caught the little bastard and called the cops.
I got a call from them a few minutes ago. They need you to call and press
charges if you want."


"Couldn't you do it? You're his 'dad," after all," Mom asked. It took
a second for Dylan to realize she was joking and gave a small, nervous
chuckle.


Dylan stayed till the nurse got back. I had a Grade 3 concussion, since I
passed out. The CT scan showed no brain damage, but the nurse said that I
needed to be monitored for the first 24 hours. Mom and Dylan asked a ton
of questions. Even though my head was killing me, it was the first time
in my life I had two parents concerned about me, and it was the most
wonderful feeling ever. The nurse said I could go home, but I wasn't
allowed to sleep for several hours and had to be watched like a hawk when
I did.


After the nurse left, Mom asked, "Can you stay here with Michael, while
I call into work?"


"Why are you calling in? I thought your shift ended already."


"Tonight is inventory at the store, and everyone is required to be there
all night. I can't do that while Michael needs to be looked after."


"I can look after him," Dylan said, as if it was the obvious choice.


"Thanks, but it's my job, not yours."


"Says who? After all, I am his father." Dylan seemed to regret those
words the moment he said them, as Mom looked livid. "What I mean is, I
don't have work tomorrow, and I have no life outside of Tiffany. It's
also not like he hasn't stayed the night at my place before, right?
Honestly, it's not a big deal, and it's the least I can do, since you're
letting him watch Tiffany for me."


Mom didn't seem like she could make up her mind, so she asked me, "Are
you okay staying with Dylan tonight?"


"I'm fine with that, Mom," I lied. I wast way more than just fine with
it. "Isn't it Dad's weekend, anyway?" Dylan snorted involuntarily, and
Tiffany laughed because of it. Mom laughed but I could tell she didn't
want to.


"Alright, smart ass," she said, holding my hand, "you can stay with
Dylan." She rounded on Dylan and said in her best mom voice, "If
anything happens, I don't care how small it is, you call me. Got it?!"


"Yes, ma'am," Dylan replied, being very serious.


Mom hung around a little longer to sign my release papers and put Dylan
in the system just in case I had to go back. "What did you say he was to
me?" I asked Mom, with a coy grin.


Mom gave me a slightly bitter look and said, "Your stepfather."


I smiled. Mom thought it was because of the joke, but I was smiling
because I could now call him Dad or Daddy Dylan in front of her without
it accidentally slipping. I've been worried about that ever since I
called him Dad for the first time. I didn't figure she would've
understood, and based on how she initially reacted, I'm glad it's now
obfuscated behind a joke.


"Ready, Mikey?" Dylan asked, steadying the wheelchair.


We talked to Dylan's truck, and he helped me in. Mom insisted on buckling
me in, while he helped Tiffany with her car seat. "If anything
happens," Mom started.


"I'll be fine, Mom. I promise. You don't need to worry."


"I'm your mother. It's my job to be worried." She gave me a hug, kissed
me on the cheek, and waited for us to pull away before heading to her own
car.


The second we were on the road, Dylan took my hand in his. I looked at
him concerned, as it felt like he was shaking; however, he looked fine,
so I dismissed it as the truck vibrating. He got us dinner at Dairy
Queen. I was feeling a little sick to my stomach, so I got a small burger
and a plain, vanilla cone. I ate about half the burger and most of the
ice cream before really feeling sick.


My head was still hurting by the time we got to the apartments. Dylan
told me to stay until he got Tiffany situated in her room; it was almost
her bedtime. He came and got me, unbuckling my seat belt. As I went to
get down, he pulled me to him and picked me up. I instinctively wrapped
my arms around his neck and legs around his waist. I was a small kid for
my age, and he was rather fit. Still, I'm sure it wasn't easy carrying me
up the stairs and into his apartment. He gently put me on the couch and
checked on Tiffany one last time.


"How are you feeling?" He asked, sitting on the coffee table in front
of me.


"Like I got hit in the head by a giant rock."


"That good, huh?" He chuckled. "Seriously, though, how are you
feeling?"


"Aside from the splitting headache and nausea, I'm extremely happy."


"You're happy?"


"Extremely," I said with a dopey smile.


"How so?"


I explained to him what Mom had put in my medical records and how I could
now call him "Dad" without fear of her judgments. "I've always wanted a
dad, and now, I have one. And he's the best dad a boy could ever wish
for."


Dylan smiled and his eyes got a little misty. "I'm happy I get to be
your dad. I couldn't have asked for a better son." He leaned in and
kissed my forehead. "We need to get you cleaned up. Your clothes are
covered in blood, and it doesn't seem like they did a good job of getting
it off your back at the hospital."


"Are you gonna give me a bath?" I asked. I meant it as a joke, but I
think it came off wrong.


"A sponge bath," Dad clarified, not sounding amused. "You're in no
state for a proper one tonight."


"Okay," I said. I felt defeated, as if I had said something bad.


I took off my clothes, including my underwear, since my blood ran all the
way down my back. Dylan brought in the same gym shorts I wore the last
time I stayed over. He did all the work and got all the blood off of me.
He even got in my ass crack. I thought about another joke but let it go.
I didn't want to upset him any further. One I put on the shorts, I went
to the living room and sat on the couch, while he cleaned the bathroom.


"What are you doing out here?" He asked.


"Going to bed."


"Right, so why are you out here?" I looked confused. "You're not
sleeping alone, especially with your concussion. Your mother would never
forgive me if anything happened. Besides, I want another excuse to hold
my son tonight. I was scared I'd lose him after finally getting him."


It was then I realized that Dylan's hand was actually shaking. He stood
next to me, tears falling down his cheeks. I stood, a little too quickly,
and fell into him. He caught and held me close. I reached around and held
him tight. "I love you, Dad."


"I love you, too, son. I don't know what I would've done if something
more serious would've happened. You mean so much to me already, I can't
imagine my life without you in it."


"Me too, Dad."


Dylan took us to the bedroom. We knew I'd have to stay awake for a few
more hours, so he put on some movies on the TV in his room. I laid in his
arms the entire time, never wanting to leave them.


***Coming Soon, Chapter 8***