Page 24 of The Guy in the Alley

“Damn.” I didn’t know what else to say.

He nodded minutely and set his drink on the counter. “After endless screenings and a string of doctors and psychiatrists who came and went, we learned he was autistic, and he, uh…” He made a gesture, as if he couldn’t find the right word. “Lindsey was the one who learned all those terms and shit I never understood, but in short, he has brain damage—he was born with it. At least, everyone agrees that’s the most likely event. It was a difficult birth, and they had to do an emergency C-section because he wasn’t getting oxygen.”

I had not started him off with something easy. Mother of Christ.

I felt stupid for distracting myself with the food, but we had to eat, and honestly, I didn’t know how to act. If I stopped moving around, I’d open my big fucking mouth and say something that made shit awkward. And I wanted to keep him talking.

“He’s happy today,” he said. “As long as we don’t mess with his structure, he’s a very happy young man. He just can’t manage on his own.”

Now I had to ask, because though I remembered the talk about the divorce, how it was several years ago, and then that Lindsey had died… Either way, I had this vision in my head that the kid was young.

“How old is he?”

“Eighteen.”

Shit.

Ben retrieved his wallet and smiled a little to himself. “It probably makes me the shittiest dad on the planet, but a big part of me is relieved his developing slowed down as a young teenager. In my eyes, it’s easier for him to go through life if he gets to keep being carefree and…you know, a kid. I don’t know.” He dug out a tattered photo from one of the pockets. “He never reached that mental age where self-awareness makes you think there’s something wrong. He knows he’s different, and he hates his anxiety, but some of the young people I’ve met over the years—” He shook his head. “Too many teenagers struggle with depression and loneliness because of their disorders and the alienation that often comes with them.”

He showed me the picture, and I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to see, but it wasn’t that. I mean, I could see the kid was older than what he came off as, standing there next to Ben with a big grin, both wearing matching Bulls tees. Alvin was significantly shorter than his old man, though I could clearly see the resemblance. Alvin’s features were just…softer and way, way younger. He wore glasses too.

“That was last year,” Ben said.

I lifted my brows. Okay, damn. I would’ve guessed thirteen or fourteen, maybe.

He pocketed the photo and his wallet again, and I didn’t know how to ask. ’Cause I knew shit like this was always sensitive. Tina and Scottie—one of their daughters had bipolar, and that whole world had its own language. I didn’t wanna offend anyone by putting my foot in my mouth, but in the end, I also wanted to understand.

After putting a lid on the wings and lowering the heat, I straightened and rubbed the back of my neck. “So, I don’t know if I’m using the right terms, but brain damage can stunt growth, or what?”

“It depends on the damage, but yes.” He nodded. “Now, Lindsey was very short, and her DNA is in there too. I don’t know where that ends and the birth defects begin, but it has to do with the regulation of the growth hormone.” He scratched his jaw and looked like he was trying to remember something. “Sometimes, I wish Lindsey were still with us—for other reasons than she was simply a great mother to Alvin. But all these diagnoses… Whoosh.” He made a gesture, how things went in one ear and out the other.

It made me smile.

He didn’t sound like a shitty dad to me. He wanted to protect his son from thinking there was something wrong with the way he was, and I told Ben as much.

He shrugged a little and picked up his pop again. “I do what I can, but the wrong parent got leukemia.”

I winced.

Fuck.

The way he said that—he really meant it.

I swallowed a bout of discomfort that was stuck in my throat, and I stirred the soup.

What a fucking idiot I’d been for even thinking about banging one out with this man. It was laughable. Hookups had to be the last thing on his mind.

“Did I quench your curiosity this time?”

I glanced over at him, finding him smiling faintly.

Funny, I didn’t feel like smiling at all.

“No. I have more questions. Sorry.”

He snorted softly and leaned back against the counter. “Figures.” He watched me put the cheesy bread into the pan with the wings. “Interesting reheating technique.”

“Trust,” I said. I knew what I was doing. I had half a stick of butter in there too. I’d take the bread out when it was soft and warm, and then I’d sear the wings for a minute or so. Perfection every time. “So where’s Alvin now?”

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