sorry fam i guess it's been a min since i updated. i just don't rlly have a lot of motivation for writing when i feel like nobody's reading? idk. i want to keep writing this story but i don't know if anyone is actually like...liking it. so let me know if u are i guess lol!
xxx
September 19th, 1969 kicked off in no auspicious manner for Steve Randle.
The 21-year-old awoke to the daunting sound of his alarm ringing sharply in his ear, the screech of the clock loud enough to break the sound barrier. That was his first clue something was off— the alarm.
For the last two and a half years he awoke precisely at 5 am each morning. The small rounded clock just out of reach on his bedside table was just there as a fail-safe in case he somehow got too boozed up the night prior and fell into a drunken stupor. It didn't matter how much he drank, however, he couldn't break the routine his body had fallen into of waking up exactly at 5 am each morning. The muscle memory of basic training and his deployment to Con Thien had conditioned him to do exactly that.
The ringing pervaded his senses, aggravating the dull thudding behind his sinuses and threatening to tear his eardrums apart. He could argue that the sound of his cheap alarm clock was worse than or equal to the ringing that stung his ears the first time he had heard a grenade explode just 15 meters away. He forced his eyelids open, stealing a half-lidded glimpse at the demanding face of the clock on his nightstand. It took a few seconds to register, but when it did, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
8:03 am. Shit.
He threw himself out of bed with all the grace of a three-legged bull, nearly busting his nose as he stumbled from his uncomfortable mattress to the rough floor below. His bedsheet twisted around his waist and legs and he hurriedly kicked it off as he blindly ambled his way into the closet-sized bathroom a few feet away from his bed. His morning routine was simple— boiled down to a precise science following his three-year stint in the marines. He finished brushing his teeth and making himself semi-presentable quickly and efficiently, but he knew that no matter what excuse he conjured up, Greg was sure to ream into him for at least forty minutes upon his arrival to work.
The job was steady and good work for Steve considering all he had was the equivalent of a high school diploma and his previous experience souping up old junkers at the DX before he enlisted. The 50 to 60 hour work weeks were nothing to scoff at, but the constant grinding of machinery, flow of customers, and serenity of being underneath the body of a car distracted him from the thoughts inside his head. Most days, he returned to his lonely, one-bedroom apartment too exhausted to comprehend anything, and immediately fell asleep until he awoke the next morning. It wasn't ideal, but the routine tired him out to the point where the night terrors were kept at bay and he no longer bolted upright in bed at 2 am, screaming bloody murder for somebody that wasn't there. Somebody he couldn't save.
He arrived at the garage on Missouri Ave at approximately 8:46 am, much to the chagrin of Greg. However, he made sure to maneuver his way as far as possible from the back office as he clocked in for the day and shrugged on the short sleeve navy button-down that made up his uniform.
The rest of the day passed by in a haze of clogged radiator hoses, brake inspections, and repairing alignments. Greg came through the garage at around noon to inform him that his pay would be docked by a dollar fifty that week for his tardiness. Steve earned a laugh from the two other mechanics in the garage when he flipped the bird at their uptight manager as soon as the man turned his back. However, the glory was short-lived because not ten minutes later, Greg was back at his workstation with instructions that he would be covering the front desk from 4 to 5 pm that afternoon when Dominic took his lunch break.
All in all, it wasn't shaping up to be an award-winning day when Steve schlepped his way up to the desk located in the dismal-looking lobby of McLean's Auto Service and Repair that afternoon. The heat of the late Oklahoma afternoon was sealed inside of the compact building and none of the portable fans kept around the lobby or garage were doing him any good. His forehead was streaked with sweat and oil from his blackened fingertips and the heavy dark waves of his hair only exacerbated the issue. He noted with a humorless scoff that at least his hair wasn't still loaded up with enough grease to clog an artery, but the unstyled mop of messy waves that fell over his forehead wasn't exactly an improvement either.
He had abandoned his post at the desk for a mere two and a half minutes to go rummage through the back office in search of another fan when he heard the familiar ringing of the little bell that sat above the doorframe and alerted the employees whenever a customer entered. However, the bell was about as useless as an umbrella in a hurricane because, within a few seconds, there was a frenzied shout echoing throughout the storefront.
"Hello? Hello?!" The voice called, unmistakably female. Her panicked yelling startled Steve and he whipped his head up from underneath Greg's vacant desk to discern the source of the racket. Unfortunately, he didn't account for the fact that there was still very much a desk above him and he felt the pain blossom throughout his entire body as he knocked the back of his skull on the edge of the metal desk. Fucking aces. That was just what he needed.
"Anybody back there? Damn it! Hello? C'mon! I ain't got all day!" The girl yelled. Steve genuinely couldn't remember anybody sounding that panicked and demanding since the Tet Offensive. With a grimace screwed onto his face and his right hand pressed tightly to the back of his head, he threw open the back office door and stomped his into the lobby where the sound of the stupid 'ring for service' bell on the desk was being incessantly slammed down upon.
"Alright, alright! Cool your jets, lady. Whaddya want?" He grumbled, knowing that if Greg were there to witness this conversation that he would be canned in an instant. Or at least sent home without pay for the evening. He made quick work of locking the back office once more before turning around to face the new customer and his service desk, and that was when he saw her for the first time.
She was easily the most stunning girl he had ever laid eyes on. It was as if Lorna Hopper, Ursula Andress, and Donna Michelle had all been rolled into one drop-dead, knockout, insanely gorgeous woman. Even with her expression one of utmost agitation, he could tell that she had a beautiful face. Her jaw was strong with high cheekbones and a rounded chin. Her eyes were a mesmerizing hazel color with what looked like flecks of brown scattered throughout her irises. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, but the strawberry blonde locks were as fiery as her apparent temper. She wore a cheerleader's outfit that seemed to fit her in all the right places with the title of "Tulsa" proudly emblazoned across the front in white lettering to contrast the navy blue material of her top and skirt. She was enraged, furious, impatient, and glaring him down with the most entrancing hazel stare he had ever locked eyes with. He nearly felt his knees buckle beneath him. His stomach was doing somersaults at 90mph and he seriously wondered if he was about to lose his lunch in front of the gorgeous girl. This had to be some kind of a dream.
Then, she opened her mouth.
"My car!" She cried furiously, gesturing violating to what Steve recognized instantly as the '68 Fleetwood with a cherry red body. It was a real tuff car and he felt his chest flare with jealousy at the sight. "All this white smoke came out the front when I was driving and it just stopped clear in the middle of the road! Someone helped me tow it here but I got a game to be at in half an hour," The girl explained, as evidenced by the cheerleader uniform she donned. "Do you know if you can fix it?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest with an impatient huff. It took all of his strength not to laugh her straight out of the shop right then and there. It was always the prettiest ones that had to be the bitchiest, wasn't it?
"In half an hour?" He repeated, the sheer ignorance of her request sinking in. "Glory, what do I look like to you? The Flash?" He scoffed, almost amused by her enraged expression. "It's probably a blown head gasket so it could take a couple days. You might wanna reconsider how you're getting to your little game." He advised her coolly, keeping his response as detached as possible. Her expression faltered at his answer and he hid his smirk as best he could as he sauntered back over behind the front desk, rummaging around for the forms the girl would have to fill out.
"A couple days?" She parroted incredulously and Steve felt a surge of irritation under his skin.
"That's what I said, ain't it?" He almost snapped. It wasn't as if he wanted to upset her, but he couldn't handle the entitled bitchy act that afternoon. Not after that hellish day he had just endured. Especially not from some spoiled little Cadillac driver.
"Isn't there anything I could do to convince you to...speed up the process a little?" She ventured, her tone rapidly shifting with her request. He glanced up with the most unamused expression humanly possible to catch the sight of her sliding a twenty from her little pocketbook onto the dusty counter between them. Steve nearly burst out laughing as she raised a perfectly groomed strawberry blonde eyebrow in his direction, somehow completely serious but looking absolutely ridiculous at the same time.
"Oh, well when you put it like that," he sighed, reaching across the counter and taking the twenty over to his side. "Hold on, I've gotta make a call," he interrupted, nodding towards the landline they kept right behind the desk. He took a few steps over to the telephone, picking up the receiver and placing it to his ear without dialing. "Hey, Jesus? That you? Yeah, I've got a cheerleader here with a warped cylinder head and a fresh twenty. Think you could come on down off that cross and help me out with this? Thanks, buddy, I owe you one." He snorted, hanging up the telephone with a slam of finality as soon as he completed his faux phone call. It wasn't his best bit, but it was worth it to see the way the girl's face go as red as a tomato. She stomped closer to the desk, snatching her twenty back immediately. Steve almost rolled his eyes as she stuffed the bill back into her pocketbook. Sure, it wasn't his best performance, but he figured he at least deserved some kind of a tip for his efforts.
"You got some real nerve treating me like that! I'm a paying customer!" She exclaimed fiercely. Steve scoffed, pulling out the intake forms for service and shoving them across the counter towards her.
"You're a nuisance," he corrected, crossing his arms over his chest. "You can use the phone to call someone to come get you, but that Cadillac's not going nowhere for the next couple days." He informed her. The only silver lining out of this whole miserable day was that he would get the chance to work on a genuine Fleetwood for a few days, even if it did happen to belong to the most entitled girl in Oklahoma.
She sulked off to the telephone across the room near the few metal chairs that made up the McLean's Auto lobby. He heard her dial a few different numbers for the first few minutes and then solemnly hang up the phone without saying a word. He almost began to feel a hint of remorse for her. That was until she finally reached one of the various numbers she was attempting to contact and he heard her speak again. That was just his luck— the most beautiful, effervescent woman he had ever laid eyes on walked into the shop that afternoon, and she just had to be the most annoying, entitled brat on the face of the planet. Go figure.
He zoned out for a minute, writing down a few notes for the other mechanics and Greg about the Fleetwood, so he didn't pay much attention to her conversation. However, he was torn from his Cadillac-induced trance when he heard the volume of her voice pick up once more and he dragged his eyes away from whatever mess he was scrawling on a pad of lined paper.
"Yeah? Well, I hope you eat shit out of your round-off back handspring tonight, Barb!" The girl cried, slamming the receiver of the phone against the switchhook. Steve wiped a hand across his mouth slyly, attempting in vain to hide the cheeky smirk that had made its way onto his face. She may have been annoying, but she sure was entertaining.
"What's the matter? Can't bribe any of your girlfriends to come get you?" He scoffed, receiving one of her patented death glares again for what felt like the thirtieth time in ten minutes. He didn't intend to come off as mockingly as he did, but he definitely couldn't help himself, even if he was just teasing.
"All my friends are already at the stupid game and none of them give a hang about me getting there on time," she huffed belligerently, narrowing her eyes at the telephone mounted to the wall as if the girl on the other line could still hear her. "I know that bitch Barbara just wants to see me kicked off the team so she can take my spot. Well, she can take it and then see how she likes leading practices for four hours every night with a bunch of dim-witted, bleach-blonde skanks!" The girl ranted, eventually building up enough anger that she exploded in a shout at the end of her vent. Steve couldn't help but react to her unexpected outburst and he didn't even attempt to smother his laughter. She whirled around to face him, hazel eyes seething with fury.
"What now? You think I'm going nuts over absolutely nothing?" She demanded petulantly and Steve merely chuckled, pushing an oil-streaked hand through his messy waves.
"No, I know you're going nuts over absolutely nothing, but it's kinda cute," he admitted honestly, shaking his head at her outlandish...well, everything. To her credit, she was truly unlike any girl he had ever met. "How long till your game starts?" He ventured, letting the words tumble from his mouth without thought.
"14 minutes." She revealed, still clearly not as amused by her unfortunate luck as he was.
"I'll get you there in 12." He shrugged, fishing the keys to his Pontiac from his back pocket. The girl's gaze snapped up from its downcast position, stormy hazel eyes meeting his dark brown stare with a renewed intensity.
"Really? You'd do that?" She questioned warily, furrowing her brow as he stepped out from behind the desk.
"Long as you don't mind breaking a couple of traffic laws." He called over his shoulder as he pushed open the front doors of McLean's Auto Shop, stepping out into the blistering afternoon and letting the hostile rays of sun wash over his skin. Jesus, he really was doing this, wasn't he?
All Steve Randle knew as he clambered into the driver's seat of his souped-up Pontiac with the All-American University of Tulsa cheerleader in the passenger side was that he had to be the nuttiest guy on the face of the planet that afternoon. He preferred to call it being chivalrous to a customer in need; his rapidly beating heart and sweaty palms preferred to call it something else.
He did his best to ignore his heart as he raced down Jefferson St. at 80 mph.
They chatted briefly throughout the car ride and Steve found it rather surprising how easy conversation came with her when she wasn't screaming her head off at him. She revealed that her name was Alice Spencer, she was a sophomore at the University, and she had moved to Oklahoma from Texas. When he pressed her as to why she wanted to leave Texas for somewhere as dismal and depressing as Tulsa, she merely laughed, the sound hanging in the later summer air like a ringing bell.
"Life's more interesting when you leave your little box and try to find out what's beyond what you've always known." She supplied simply, her right arm hanging over the edge of his window. He'd usually holler at anyone who smudged the glass of his prized car, but he didn't find it necessary in her case. He figured maybe, just once, he would let it slide for Alice Spencer.
After a partially illegal race to the University stadium and a shoddy parking job near the front gates, he had gotten Alice there with two minutes to spare. He figured the enigmatic girl would just grant him a frenzied goodbye and maybe even have the courtesy to thank him for abandoning his shift to drive her across town, so he was genuinely surprised when she turned to face him with an intriguing look.
"Why don't you come with me?" She suggested, brushing a lock of strawberry blonde hair from her face. His eyes scanned her countenance briefly, hoping that she didn't see through the disinterested exterior he was hiding behind and sense the thudding of his heart from inside his chest. "I'll find you a seat near the front, right on the 50-yard line," Alice smirked, her soft lips quirking upwards in a way that could have sent Steve on a wild goose chase across the globe just to chase the feeling of seeing it again for the first time.
If he didn't pull his eyes away from her right then and there he swore he could have gotten lost in them forever.
"No thanks, sweetheart," he scoffed, attempting in vain to maintain his aloof pretense. "Gotta get back and football isn't really my poison." He explained cheekily. He could care less about privileged college kids pounding each other into the pitch, but he would have powered through it to see her out on the field. Especially seeing her in that uniform...
"I bet cheerleading is though," she teased with a gentle smile and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything else and possibly severing the electric connection between them. "See you around, Steve Randle." She all but whispered and he felt chills run down his spine as soon as he registered his name on her lips.
He all but fainted when he realized that she was leaning over and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. However, that was about all he was able to process before he was launched into a silent, dumbstruck stupor. Steve Randle was no stranger to the complex world of women— hell, he had his first kiss when he was just eight years old on the playground— but he fiercely doubted there had been any girl in the entire world who had the same effect that Alice Spencer had on him on that sweltering, September afternoon outside the football stadium at the University of Tulsa.
And before he could blink, she was closing the passenger side door. Before he could call her back and pull her close, she was flouncing away and giving him a short wave as she hurried towards the front entrance in that little navy blue cheerleading skirt. Before he could run after her, she was disappearing around a corner.
"Yeah, I'll see ya." He whispered to nobody but himself as he slumped into the upholstery of his seat. He faintly rubbed the spot on his cheek where she had planted her goodbye kiss as he attempted to process the gravity of what events had just occurred. His head was still spinning with the rapid turnaround of how aggravating he found her inside the shop to how enamored he was in the parking lot. He wasn't entirely sure he would ever understand the way he felt about her after that first encounter, but he knew just one thing for absolute certain:
There was no way he could live his life after that day without Alice Spencer in it.
xxx
The night air was crisp with the early bite of an autumn chill. Pale white stars dotted the late-night canvas and a sliver of a crescent moon hung above them all. Steve leaned up against the wall of the balcony, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he examined the peaceful night sky.
The temporary respite had only been achieved following a miserable evening immediately upon returning to the hotel. The drive back from the Curtis residence was spent in tense silence, only broken up by Daniel's brief sarcastic comment about how well everything had gone. After navigating his way back to the hotel, he had sent Daniel to take James back up to the hotel room. He could sense the tension in the air as Chance slid into the passenger seat next to him following the departure of his two brothers and Steve's stomach had twisted painfully. He hated lecturing his boys, but when one of them did something thoughtless a conversation about their behavior was inevitable. Luckily, Chance just sat still and took Steve's lecture as the man went in on him for his careless behavior at the Curtis house. That didn't mean it made watching Chance's shameful reaction any easier.
Afterward, he had ushered his middle son back up to the hotel where his brothers were already waiting, camped out on the couch in front of the TV. Steve instructed the three boys to stay put with a strict glare before leaving the hotel once more to track down a pizza place for their dinner. In all the chaos of spending the afternoon at the Curtis house, he wasn't sure food had been anybody's top priority and the boys still needed to eat. Although he had endured a stressful day of driving and unfortunate memories, Steve didn't feel even the slightest bit hungry. He figured that had more to do with the way his stomach clenched uncomfortably every single time he stepped outside though.
The sun had sunk completely below the horizon by the time he returned to find James half-passed out on the couch with his head in Daniel's lap and Chance already knocked out in the second bedroom. He set the large pizza down on the coffee table directly in front of the couch as he gently shook James awake. He had gone into the bedroom in a futile attempt to wake Chance for dinner, but the boy had shrugged him away before sinking back beneath the covers of the bed he was supposed to be sharing with James. Knowing that Chance would probably be willing to seek out food on his own later, Steve returned to the living room and pretended to focus on the Astros game with his other two sons.
That had been the rest of his night. Following an uneventful dinner, Steve had made sure James got into bed as Daniel helped him clean up the coffee table and shut down the TV. The older boy mumbled something about brushing his teeth and crashing for the night so Steve had retired into his bedroom. He waited until he heard the click of the door shut from the boys' bedroom just a few feet away from his own before grabbing his pack and stepping out onto the balcony that connected to the central room. He made sure to shut the sliding glass door carefully so as not to rouse any of the boys.
He glared out over the dismal-looking city from the balcony view, the cool night atmosphere mingling with the scent of cigarettes and car exhaust. This view had never been one of comfort for Steve Randle, and the image of the rooftops and familiar streets of Tulsa sent his head reeling as he considered just how foreign everything had become over the last 16 years. He took another drawn-out drag from his cigarette and was just about to ash it when he heard the sound of the screen glass door being pulled open, shattering the exhausted reverie he had sunken into on the balcony. He glanced over his shoulder and was greeted with the image of Chance stepping out onto the balcony. The boy's mop of dark brown hair was tousled from sleeping on one side for too long and his hands were shoved into his jean pockets as he regarded Steve with a curt nod.
"Hey." Chance greeted calmly, his voice hoarse from prolonged lack of speech. Steve ashed the cigarette in his right hand against the brim of the balcony wall, re-focusing his gaze back over the city skyline.
"Hey yourself." He responded succinctly. A beat of silence passed. Chance shuffled slightly and Steve could sense the boy's trepidation from across the balcony. Chance rarely struggled with blurting out whatever was on his chest, but Steve could tell the kid was battling himself internally as he lingered just mere feet away. Still, he remained stoic until his middle son piped up once more.
"Dad?"
"Yep?"
One last drag from the cigarette. He ground out the butt on the balcony wall before flicking it to the ground. It disappeared against the night sky within seconds, tumbling through the darkness to its inevitable concrete fate.
"I'm uh, I-I'm sorry about earlier today." Chance managed to stammer out, apprehension evident in his voice. Steve shifted uncomfortably, turning over his lighter a few times in his hand. Without turning around to face the kid he continued to speak.
"We already talked about it, we're square, now get back inside before you freeze your ass off out here." He instructed curtly, knowing that Chance wouldn't listen anyway. It wasn't like when he was four or five and Steve could rely on the fact that his son would carry out whatever orders he gave without defiance.
He heard Chance take a step forward and Steve held in a sigh. The kid worried way too much about aspects of life he had no business worrying about. Thirteen was too young to have that level of anxiety.
"It was stupid, alright? I won't screw up like that again, I promise," Chance promised desperately, anguish present in his voice. "I'm sorry for pulling you away from your friends and messing up your reunion and stuff. I just— I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, okay?" The boy explained, apologizing for what felt like the thirtieth time in one night. Apologizing for nothing. Apologizing for the inner turmoil he was facing, he had no control.
Steve exhaled deeply. It wasn't cold enough outside to see his breath against the night sky, but he could visualize the exhausted sigh all the same.
"Don't be sorry, wasn't much of a reunion to begin with," Steve scoffed, running a hand through his hair and pushing the short strands back from his forehead. He finally turned around to face his middle son, hating the way the kid's face was riddled with shame. He placed his hands on either side of Chance's shoulders, grabbing the boy's attention and locking eyes with him. "You didn't screw anything up, alright kid?" Steve admonished, his tone firm and leaving no room for argument. "I just flipped out on you because you scared the crap outta me. I know I let you go off on your own back home, but that's different," He elaborated, emphasizing his words as Chance's hazel eyes searched his in a rare moment of vulnerability for the both of them. "How'd you think you'd feel if you were supposed to be watching your brother and he disappears out of nowhere, no explanation or nothing?" Steve questioned, arching an eyebrow inquisitively. Chance nodded but quirked a small smirk as soon as Steve reached the end of his response.
"That's the best you could come up with?" Chance scoffed sarcastically, referring to Steve's example of accidentally losing James. His eyes flickered with a mischievous glint. The hazel irises mirrored Alice's almost identically. Sometimes, although he would never admit it, it was difficult to look at his kids and not see the traces of their mother. It was especially difficult with Chance, who shared the majority of Alice's features.
"Yeah, my bad, you'd probably make it a national holiday," Steve quipped, cracking a subtle smile to assure his middle son that he was merely poking fun. "Look, it's fine, so just try and get some sleep and stop worrying," he concluded with finality, dropping his hands from his son's shoulders. However, he knew that his instructions to 'stop worrying' were easier said than done. All Chance did those days was worry, and Steve was unsure of how to alleviate the thirteen-year-old's growing stress. He sighed, pulling his son into a one-armed hug and ruffling his hair affectionately. "Goodnight, kid. Love you." He murmured. Chance leaned into the hug and Steve absentmindedly wondered when the kid had gotten tall enough so that the top of his head almost didn't fit under Steve's chin. Almost.
"Night Dad. Love you too." He responded, breaking the embrace after a few seconds. Thirteen-year-olds were not too keen on prolonged displays of emotion from their parents— Steve was well aware of that fact. But, as Chance made his way back inside and Steve was left to his own devices on the lonely balcony, he couldn't brush away the aching in his chest. Moments like those were hard to come by, especially following Alice's abrupt departure from their lives. Steve missed the days when they would rent a tape from the video store and all three boys would curl up on the couch next to him and Alice. He missed when Daniel was young enough to follow him around the house for hours on end, or when Chance would grasp his hand as tightly as possible whenever they crossed a street. He missed watching Alice sing James to sleep when the kid was just a few months old and wouldn't quiet down unless one of his parents stayed with him until he passed out.
He missed her, but he missed the moments in between more.
A siren echoed throughout the streets below. A streetlamp flickered out just a block away. A breeze ran through his hair, reminding him of just how alive he was in a city where he felt so dead. Reluctantly, Steve made his way back inside, closing the door on Tulsa and the memories that chose to haunt him.
xxx
"Can we see a movie later?"
"Huh?" Steve questioned, only somewhat delirious as the sound of his youngest son's voice pulled him from his exhausted trance.
They ended up going for breakfast at the dingy Mystic diner just a few blocks away from the hotel. Steve was sure the 24-hour joint had donned a different name back in the day, but he couldn't remember it even if he had a gun to his head. But whether that was because of the repressed memories or the lack of caffeine in his system, he wasn't sure.
"There's a movie theater right over there," James clarified, pointing out the front window of the diner and across the street. "We could see Transformers again!" The eight-year-old proposed with elation and Daniel audibly groaned at his brother's suggestion.
"Nobody's gonna watch that stupid movie with you, twerp." Daniel snapped, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as his right elbow leaned upon the lop-sided table.
"Chance liked it!" James protested loudly and Steve grimaced. He wasn't hungover but he sure as hell felt as if he were considering the blossoming headache he had. He needed to get some coffee. ASAP.
"I was pretending so you'd shut up about it." Chance retorted, exasperation evident in his tone. Steve could sense James about to whine and he quickly commandeered the conversation, not eager to experience a fight between the three boys at 9 am.
"Hey, watch it," he warned his two older sons firmly. "None of you are gonna be seeing sunlight for the next four days if you don't can it and get along," Steve commanded, refocusing his fleeting attention back down to the plastic-covered menu on the table in front of him.
Daniel shifted in the booth next to him, sighing as he pushed a hand through his light hair. "We could see Texas Chainsaw Massacre." He proposed simply.
"Yeah, we should." Chance agreed almost immediately.
"No, Dad!" James disagreed with a too-familiar whine and Steve grimaced as the sound only worsened his headache. "They just wanna leave me out again!" His youngest protested. Unable to take the inevitable outburst from any of them, Steve slid out from his seat at the booth and clambered to his feet, feeling the soreness in his joints and lower back as he stood too fast.
"Jesus Christ, I'm goin' outside," he muttered, grabbing his discarded sunglasses from the table and double-checking that his pack of Marlboro's was still in the chest pocket of his short-sleeve button-down. "I don't wanna see or hear from any of you for the next eight minutes unless—"
"One of us is dying or being arrested," all three boys concluded the warning in monotone unison. It was the same mantra they had been using all their lives, and while it was mostly for comedic effect, it still held mostly true when Steve was in one of his moods.
"Exactly." He confirmed, moving to leave.
"Enjoy emphysema," Chance teased with a smirk. Steve returned the sarcastic smile as he reached over and flicked Chance on the back of his head before continuing his trek to the front doors of the diner. "Ow!" Chance called after him accusingly, but he was out the doors before his son could get in another snarky comment.
The late morning sun beamed down accusingly as Steve stepped outside, his back facing the diner as he pulled out his pack and fished a lighter from his pocket. His eyes couldn't help but dart over to the movie theatre across the street that James had referenced. The Circle had always been somewhat of a shithole, but it was a good place as any to find chicks on a Saturday night. He did his best to exhale the nostalgia invading his body with the smoke from his cigarette as the memories of double dates with his friends came rushing back.
He could almost perfectly envision the Stingray Corvette he had salvaged from the junkyard with Sodapop the summer before his senior year. He could see himself pulling up to the drive-in with Evie in the passenger seat and Soda and his girl in the back. He could hear the chattering of other teenagers, socs and greasers alike, bumming around before the movie started. He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck, a lingering reminder of where a girl would place her hand before pulling him in close, their faces illuminated by the glow of the projector screen.
Back when he was really young, somewhere around James' age, Steve had begged his father to take him to the movies one weekend. He remembered pleading with the man almost nightly until his Dad finally caved in and agreed to bring him to the drive-in. Unfortunately, Steve ended up cleaning up after the man that Friday night instead of seeing a movie, as his father had decided to drink himself into a stupor for the third night that week. Even at his age, it was routine for Steve to see his father like that— especially following an argument with his mother. The bitterness of that memory lingered longer than Steve would have liked it to. That was the last time he could remember asking his father to do anything with him.
Steve shook his head, dropped his cigarette, and ground the butt beneath his foot against the concrete sidewalk. He made a point to ignore the pang of longing in his chest as he sauntered back inside the diner. Nostalgia got you nowhere in life, Steve knew this well by now.
He rejoined his sons at the table, noticing that the waitress had already been by in his brief absence and that everyone already had a drink on the table. He flung an appreciative look towards Daniel when he noticed the coffee already poured for him at his seat. He heaved a sigh, leaning forward as he poured one of the little packs of creamer into his mug.
"Alright, what do you guys wanna do today?" He questioned, waiting for the onslaught of conflicting answers from all three boys.
He figured that even with all the stress and mistakes, his life was far preferable to being alone. He wouldn't make the same choices that his father had; that was a promise he had made to himself long ago, and one that he would never break.
xxx
"Chance! Danny! Look at this guy! Look!"
James raced excitedly towards one of the large tanks surrounding them in the aquarium and Steve smiled softly at the sight of all three of his boys actually getting along for once.
They had settled on a trip to the Tulsa aquarium (a place that Steve didn't even know existed until that morning) after a lengthy discussion about how they would spend their day. After disregarding Daniel's proposal of a shooting range, ignoring Chance's comments about possibly going to visit Steve's old hangout spots, and blocking out James's repeated request to see Transformers again, Steve was finally able to coerce all three of them into agreeing on the aquarium. While Chance and Daniel had ardently protested the idea at first, it was evident that even the two older boys were enjoying themselves.
"Hey, he looks like you when you ate peanut butter that one time." He heard Daniel scoff as he gestured towards what looked like an expanded blowfish inside the large tank. Steve tried his best to hide his smirk as Chance scowled at his older brother's comment.
"You mean when you told me that a Reese's peanut butter cup didn't have peanuts in it?" Chance retorted, but his tone was light and humorous, assuring Steve that there wouldn't be any fights he would have to break up that afternoon.
"Your fault for believing me, airhead." Daniel laughed, even earning a small smirk from Chance.
James, who had been bouncing off the walls of the aquarium eagerly all day, raced up to Steve as he continued making his way down the dimly lit hallway. The low lighting in the expansive rooms and the cool blue tint provided by the massive fish tanks provided Steve with a genuine sense of serenity. That coupled with the fact that he wasn't stepping in between rowdy fights or breaking up screaming matches between his sons were all factors of a relatively great day.
James rushed up to Steve's side. He automatically held out his hand for his youngest son to take hold of, James doing so in an instant. Steve could remember the loud protests from Chance and Daniel whenever he would try to hold their hands in public after they turned 6 or 7, so he took some nostalgic comfort in the fact that his youngest was still open to the idea for the time being.
"You having fun?" Steve asked as he gently squeezed James's hand with his own, already knowing the answer. The kid had been throwing himself at every tank in their vicinity since they had entered the aquarium, it was rather obvious that he was enjoying himself.
"Yeah. Do you think they have sharks here?" James responded distractedly, his wide brown eyes still frantically darting across the fish tanks.
"Probably, we can check 'em out." Steve offered, chuckling slightly as he witnessed Chance attempting to imitate the face of one of the fish behind the glass for his older brother.
"We should stay in Tulsa," James proposed with the casual ease only a child could conjure open. "The aquarium here is better than the one back home." He reasoned and Steve stifled a laugh at the proposition. At least the kid's priorities are straight he mused to himself sarcastically.
"I think I'd rather jump into the shark tank, kid," Steve quipped, running his free hand through the dark strands of his hair falling over his forehead. "You can stay in Tulsa, how's that sound? We'll give you to the aquarium for free." He joked lightheartedly, nudging James slightly.
"Awesome!" The youngest boy cried with genuine excitement. Steve laughed to himself as the kid broke his grasp from Steve's hand and rushed off again to follow his brothers, nearly tripping over one of his untied shoelaces in the process.
It was a strange, yet welcome, feeling for Steve, who hadn't felt truly relaxed like this since before Alice had left. But watching his boys all actually getting along and enjoying a pleasant afternoon (in what had to be one of the most unpleasant cities in the country) was a sight he rarely got to see anymore.
Even Tulsa, for all its detriments, had its bright spots sometimes.
xxx