Page 21 of Reclaiming Venom

As Ridley bustled about, the smell of sizzling bacon filled the air. I couldn’t help but stare at her, looking over the changes from the woman in my memory just now to the one before me. Her blonde hair wasn’t quite as long. Laugh lines framed her eyes and mouth. But she was still as beautiful as ever.

“You’re staring, tough guy,” she teased, refilling my coffee cup. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Just… trying to piece it all together,” I admitted gruffly.

She softened as she sat across from me, cradling her own mug between her hands. “You know, most men would kill for the chance to fall in love with their wife all over again.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I opened my mouth, closed it again, then tried once more. “Ridley, I…”

She reached across the table, covering my larger hand with hers. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ve got time.”

My gaze locked onto hers.

“That day… When I saw you again. It was like… like seeing color for the first time after a lifetime of black and white.” I cleared my throat. “I don’t remember everything that happened, but I did see a piece of it.”

“Venom,” she whispered, emotions thickening her voice.

“Even if it’s not all there yet, I do know one thing. You scared the shit out of me. I wanted you so damn bad and knew I shouldn’t touch you. Even now, I feel the same.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek, yet her smile remained radiant. “We’ll get there again. One memory at a time.”

The shrill ring of the phone shattered the moment. Ridley reluctantly pulled her hand away, rising to answer it. I watched her, my mind still reeling from the intensity of our conversation.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, her voice softening with a mother’s warmth. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. Maybe in a few days…”

My heart quickened. Was she talking to one of our kids? Maybe our son? A surge of desperate curiosity flooded through me, quickly followed by a wave of shame for not remembering him.

“Hold on,” she told who I thought might be Dawson, her gaze flicking to me.

“Tell him to come,” I said. Maybe if I saw my son in person, it would help me get more memories back. “I want to see him.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. It confirmed that I’d been right. It seemed she was talking to our son. “Change of plans, Dawson. Your dad wants to see you. Come on over.”

The next thirty minutes crawled by like molasses. I ran a hand through my hair, my mind racing with questions. What would Dawson be like? Would there be any spark of recognition?

The rumble of a motorcycle engine cut through my thoughts. My head snapped up, and my body tensed instinctively. I moved to the window and peered out as a sleek bike pulled into the driveway.

The rider dismounted with fluid grace, removing his helmet to reveal a young man. One I recognized from the pictures in the house. My son. As he approached the house, my breath caught in my throat. The set of his jaw, the way he carried himself -- it was like looking in a mirror, but one that reflected a younger, less weathered version of myself.

Dawson stepped inside, his blue eyes -- Ridley’s eyes -- scanning the room before landing on me. For a moment, neither of us spoke; the air thickened with unspoken emotions.

I stroked my beard unconsciously as I fixed my gaze on Dawson’s smooth, clean-shaven face. The contrast struck me. We were alike and yet so different.

“Hey, Dad,” Dawson said softly, a tentative smile dancing at the corners of his mouth.

The word “Dad” hit me like a physical blow, stirring something deep within me. I struggled to find my voice.

“Dawson,” I finally managed, tasting the name on my tongue -- both foreign and achingly familiar. “It’s… good to see you, son.”

Dawson’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a flicker of relief washing over his features. “It’s good to see you too, Dad. I, uh… I noticed you looking at my face.” He ran a hand over his smooth jaw, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I’m a firefighter. Can’t have a beard in that line of work.”

I nodded, remembering Ridley had mentioned it before. A swell of pride caught me off guard, surprising me with its intensity. I motioned toward the living room, my movements stiff with an unfamiliar awkwardness. “Let’s sit down.”

We settled into the worn leather couch, the material creaking softly beneath us. My fingers drummed against my thigh, searching for words.

“Your mother mentioned…” I began, my voice gruff. I cleared my throat, trying again. “Ridley said you’re married. Have a daughter.”

Dawson’s face lit up, his entire demeanor shifting like the sun breaking through clouds. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his eyes sparkled with unmistakable joy. “Yeah, I do. Nora’s my wife. She’s… she’s everything, Dad. And Taylor, our little girl…” He paused, a soft chuckle escaping him. “She’s a firecracker. Mom’s influence, I think.”

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