“Dad,” Dustin said with some sadness, “you aren’t that naïve, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You and mom aren’t back together,” Dustin explained. “You’re only living here.”
“But that won’t be for long,” Sam told him. “Really, is it ever?”
“This time, it might be. No…” Dustin hesitated, “I know it is.”
Christian whined. “Aw. Now why’d you tell him? You shouldn’t tell him.”
Dustin snapped a disgusted look at his brother. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
“Oh.” Christian returned to the television.
Slowly Sam moved to the couch. “Now you did.” He swallowed. “What? If it’s about your mom being involved with Tracy, I know…”
“Tracy?” Dustin asked. “It’s not some girl. Geez, Dad. Mom’s not a lesbian.”
Christian looked embarrassed. “Can we not discuss lesbians?”
“Dustin,” Sam crouched down to the couch, “your mom may have been confused while I was gone. Got emotionally tied up with some woman, deepened the friendship more…”
“Ugh!” Dustin shrieked. “Stop that. My mother’s not a lesbian. I would know.”
“Please,” Christian begged, trying to block them out.
Sam ignored Christian. “No, Dustin I do know. Where do you think she is now?’
“Not with some woman named Tracy. She’s with who she’s always with. Mick.”
Sam stood to his feet. “Mick?” After a brief hesitation, Sam chuckled. “Mick’s not a concern. She uses him.”
“She loves him.” Dustin stood as well. “And… and…” Trying to sound grown up and calm, Dustin finished, “And she’s happy, Dad. Really happy.”
“Is that where’s she been? Really? With Mick this whole time?”
Dustin nodded, and before he could look up his father had flown from the living room and into the kitchen. He heard the cellar door bang open. “What’s he doing?”
“See, now.” Christian stood up. “You opened your mouth.”
“You started it.”
“No, you did,” Christian argued.
“Oh, yeah? Who’s the one…” Dustin looked up at the sound of his father’s angry steps and he panicked. “Dad!” He charged toward his father, who raged to the door holding a shotgun. “Dad! No! I was kidding.” Dustin gave a quick snicker. “Wasn’t I, Chris?”
Christian hesitated and he tried to fake a laugh as well. “Yeah. Bad joke.”
Sam looked at both of his boys. “Thanks. But I think I needed that blast of reality. And now, I need to do this.” He pulled away from Dustin and flung open the door.
“No!” Dustin screamed. “Don’t go after Mom. Don’t!”
“I’m not doing anything to your mom,” Sam spoke calm. “I’m only killing Chief Owens.” With these final words, before Dustin could stop him again, Sam was gone.
“Shit!” Dustin shrieked. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“Oh my God,” Christian panicked. “He’s gonna kill Mick.” He calmed down then looked at his brother. “Can he kill Mick?”
“I don’t know. We have to let him know though.” Hurrying, Dustin moved to the phone and picked it up. “I’ll call.” He frantically dialed. “Shit.” he hung up.
“What?” Christian asked.
“It’s busy.”
“Keep dialing.”
Dustin returned with resolve to the task.
With the modern country music playing, Mick finished pulling his hair into a neater ponytail. He glanced at his watch and turned around with a smile. “We have ten minutes, we can make it, Dylan, before Sweet Treats closes.”
Slipping on her shoes, fully dressed, Dylan stood up. “Why do you want to run down there?”
“You know it’s an idiosyncrasy of mine. I like ice cream after we make love.”
“Then you should have bought some.” She turned to the bed.
“Right.” Mick laughed. “That means I was assuming you’d sleep with me. I never make that assumption with you.”
Dylan gasped. “You are so rude.”
“I’m honest. Now hurry.”
“Why can’t you smoke afterwards like normal people?”
Mick shut off the stereo and walked to the bed. He grabbed her hand from the covers. “Don’t worry about making this. Let’s go.”
“Fine.” Dylan stopped. Stepping to leave, she backtracked. “Oh! The phone.” Reaching to the night stand she replaced the receiver. The second she did, it rang.
Mick moaned.
“Hush.” Dylan lifted it. “Hello.”
Fervently, quickly, Dustin spoke into the phone, “Mom. Oh my God, Mom, tell Mick, Dad’s coming over there to shoot him.”
“Your father’s on his way to do what?”
BOOM. The bedroom door crashed open. Sam racked a round into the chamber, lifted the shotgun, and aimed it at Mick.
“Dustin, I’ll call you back.” Blindly, Dylan hung up the phone.
Two inches was all that separated the barrel of the shotgun and Mick’s face. Mick kept his eyes steady on Sam who glared back at him. The gun didn’t waver, and that concerned Mick.
“Sam,” Mick said calmly. “What are you doing?”
“Yeah, Sam,” Dylan snapped. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Dylan,” Mick gave a calm warning.
Sam exhaled harshly. “I can’t believe you did this to me.”
“Who?” Dylan asked with edge. “Me or Mick.”
“You,” Sam told her.
“Well, then if I did this to you why the fuck are you holding the gun on Mick?”
“Dylan.” Mick grumbled her name.
“Put the goddamn gun down, Sam, you asshole!” Dylan yelled.
“No.” Sam shook his head. “I have to kill him. He took you from me.”
“Oh, he did not.”
“Did you sleep together?” Sam asked emotional. “Did you!” He looked at Mick. “Did you sleep with my wife?!”
Gun pointed at him too close for comfort, Mick answered, “No.”
Dylan edged closer. “And really that’s none of your business, now is it. Put the gun down, Sam.”
Mick inwardly cringed. “Dylan, please. The man has a shotgun pointed at my face.”
“Yes, Mick, I see that,” Dylan said. “I’m trying to help.”
“By pissing him off?”
“I am not pissing him off!” Dylan yelled. “He’s pissing me off. Sam! Put it down!”
“Dylan!” Mick snapped.
“No!” Sam shouted. “I’m shooting him.”
“No, you aren’t,” Dylan argued.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Mick watched Sam’s trigger finger. ‘She’s taunting him? Right now? She’s taunting him?’
“Sam.” Dylan breathed out his name with calmness, “you don’t have it in you.”
“Geez, Dylan,” Mick spoke through his clenched jaws. “Please don’t try to help.”
Dylan ignored Mick. “Sam, come on. This isn’t gonna prove anything. What? You shoot Mick. Not only will I hate you for it, you’ll be in jail. What’s that gonna solve or prove? Put down the gun, I’ll walk outside with you, and we’ll talk.”
Mick felt the anger rise in his chest. “Like hell you will, Dylan. The man has a gun. No.”
“She’s my wife!” Outraged, Sam edged the shotgun closer.
“I know she’s your wife!”
Watching both men heatedly stare at each other, Dylan saw her opportunity and gently placed her hand on the shotgun and lowered it. She stepped to Sam whispering, “Let’s go outside. Come on.”
Mick, though he didn’t show it, was losing it inside, yelling, screaming, ready to kill Dylan. ‘He has a gun to my face and she touches it? Oh, she’s gonna hear about this. She will definitely hear about this.’