Fierce AF: A BWWM Romance

Chapter 1

Ben

When my alarm goes off at six a.m., I feel like there are ten things I’m behind on already. “Don’t tell yourself that being asleep is some kind of excuse, Ben,” I say in the mirror.

Phrases like that are a sure sign I’m spending way too much time with the guys from the military. I’d like to see them try to get more done before 0900 than most people do in a day, especially when they’re a single dad with a six-year-old to get out the door.

There are fourteen unread texts on my phone, and it’s 6:04 a.m. It’s going to be one of those days, I think to myself. Every day is one of those days, though.

I lay out everything I can for Kinley so that all she has to do is put on her clothes, eat breakfast, and get out the door. But I need to put on my own oxygen mask before that. Coffee first.

“Time to wake up, sweetheart,” I say to Kinley, stroking her shiny brown hair as she holds her stuffed unicorn.

“Is it morning again?” she says sleepily. “It was just nighttime a minute ago.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I say with a laugh, then pull open the curtains.

“Owie. Too bright!”

“I’ll tell the sun to stop rising so fast, okay? But only if you stop growing so fast. Anyway, once you get dressed, your cereal is downstairs.”

As I go off to get myself ready, my phone dings again. Mom’s texting.

Hey honey, still need me to get Kinley from school today? the message reads.

I can’t for the life of me remember why she’s picking her up in the first place. So I’m not honestly sure if I need my mom’s help or not. I look over at Kinley, now eating breakfast, as if somehow that will jog my memory, but all it does is make me see that she needs her hair brushed.

There are far worse things about being a widower than having to do your little girl’s hair, but it’s one of the more awkward parts. Especially with a wife like Sarah, who knew how to do every type of French braid and chignon imaginable, from Heidi braids to Bjork buns. When Kinley was three, she dressed up as a ladybug, and Sarah did her hair in little bug braids. Sarah went as a butterfly, and I went as an entomologist.

Ponytails and braids almost convinced me to take my mother up on the offer to come live with us after Sarah’s accident. I said no, though. I have perfect aim at the shooting range, so how hard could a paddle brush be? Apparently, bullets hurt less than the teeth of a comb.

Fortunately, Kinley’s been working on being able to do it herself, so I think we’ll survive for now.

“Don’t forget to brush your hair, sweetie.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she says, putting a spoon of cereal into her mouth.

“But after you’re done eating. No sticky cereal hair again!”

I text my mom back. Still on for tonight, thank you, yes. Love you! K’s excited to see you!

I’ll figure out why I asked her to pick her up once I’m in the office. The reason doesn’t matter as long as the childcare’s there, right? I’d give anything to still have Sarah here, and not because of the help with raising Kinley, although that would be unimaginably helpful. No, it’s because I wish I had her, and I wish Kinley had her mom.

I look over at the kitchen table and remember the times Sarah would surprise us with elaborate breakfasts, just because. I hope Kinley always remembers little things like that.

“You loved your mom’s pancakes, Kinley. Do you remember? She’d make them in heart shapes.”

“Yeah. With strawberries. Mmm. They were so good.”

“She tried to teach me to make them…”

“And you said you forgot the baking powder!”

“And it still wasn’t terrible. That’s how good her pancakes were.”

“Yeah. And she would ‘poof’ you with flour,” she says with a laugh.

I’m grateful that Kinley seems to be doing pretty well with it, all things considered.

“Oh, geez, it’s 7:15! Time to get on the road.”

We run for the car, making sure before I lock the door to get the backpack, lunch bag, water bottle, tablets, laptops, phones, wallets, keys, art projects, permission slips, and everything else we both need for the rest of time. Or until the end of the day.

We pull up in front of the red brick elementary school. It’s an oasis of calm – not just for her, but for me. I know that when she’s there, she’s happy, and I don’t have to worry about messing it all up.

“And don’t forget, Mom is picking you up from school.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Oh, God. Sorry. My mom. Grandma.”

“Oh, yay! Good! I can’t wait to tell her all about the painting project I’m doing.”

It always amazes me how resilient she is.

“Have a great day, my love!” I tell her.

“You, too, Daddy!”

Now the real headache begins. I get a head start on meetings in the car. I know I shouldn’t, especially with what happened to Sarah, but I stick to small back roads and don’t go over 25 miles per hour. I pay the price of guilt, too. Always guilt.

First call is Malcolm Schultz, Chief Operating Officer of my company, Black Hawk Technologies.

“Hey, Malcolm. It’s Ben. What’s going on?”

“Defense is still having the issue with the WepTek software, and it’s happening at a few different installations.”

“What are the effects on the imaging?”

“Well, the upshot is our smart-targeting isn’t so smart, and not so targeted. But it’s too granular for the phone.”

“Okay, I’ll be in the office in ten minutes. See you there?”

“I’m not CEO, so I’ll be there at 8:45. Just to make you look good.”

“What a guy. See you soon."

I walk in, and the pace only speeds up. I’m in meetings all day, mostly about the tech malfunction, but with other meetings large and small that come with the territory of Chief Executive Officer.

I keep checking my phone compulsively, feeling like I’m forgetting something. It’s mostly messages about the tech issues. I assume the extra uproar at work is why Mom’s picking up Kinley, but I don’t have time to make certain.

I have long one-on-ones with department heads and a kickoff meeting with a Defense Intelligence Agency team about their objectives regarding a piece of software they’re commissioning from us.

Then, the rest of the day is all about the issue with our blockbuster software, WepTek, designed for highly specific geo-targeting. My main objective is to figure out whether fixing this problem is something I’ll have to travel to do, an outcome I’d really like to avoid.

“Here’s the bottom line,” I ask. “Can it be fixed through patching?”

“I see some passport stamps in your future. You like traveling?” the project lead says.

“Not this kind of travel. It can’t be done remotely?”

“I mean, here’s the thing,” Malcolm chimes in with the big picture. “It probably can’t, but let’s say it can. If it’s not absolutely perfect – and when is it ever? – our clients won’t have in-person follow-up, no training, no debugging with real-life Q&A. They don’t have your handsome face to look at. And most importantly, they have no indication that we give a shit.”

“Well, let’s keep working on this so it doesn’t come to that. Okay?”

I check my phone again, still thinking I’m forgetting something. Did Kinley need to go to the doctor or something? I know her stomach was bothering her.

Just when I’ve convinced myself I’m not forgetting anything and get my head back into work, my phone rings. It’s not in my contacts, but the numbers look familiar. I answer, just in case.

“Um. Hi, Mr. Elshner. I’m glad you answered…”

“Ben Elshner speaking.”

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with me…”

I really hope this isn’t a telemarketer.

“Who is this again?”

“Oh! It’s Ms. Anderson. Kinley’s first-grade teacher.”

“Ms. Anderson! I feel like a celebrity’s calling me! You’re the most popular person in our house. Kinley adores you.”

“The feeling’s mutual. She’s a special kid.”

Suddenly, a feeling of panic washes over me. Why’s she calling?

“Is everything okay? Nothing’s wrong, right? Did I forget to pick her up?” The words are already out of my mouth before my brain processes the fact that my mother was picking her up today, for reasons I never did manage to recall.

“Oh, no, no. In fact, I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight, I hope? I know you’re so busy, a single dad with a huge company, so I wanted to remind…”

“Yes, parent-teacher conferences, right.” It impresses even me how easily it falls off my tongue, like I didn’t completely forget this until exactly one minute ago. “I’ll see you there. Of course. And, just so I have it right, what time is our appointment for exactly, again?”

Looks like I’m leaving early today. Time to haul ass over to the school.