The yelling quieted, and I knew Drew was trying to get himself under control. I pictured his jaw clenching and flexing as he breathed in fire and attempted to push out ice.
When he finally spoke, his tone was more than angry; it teetered on lethal. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t ship my son off to a babysitter. He was with me or my girlfriend the entire time, and he was well cared for.”
“Girlfriend?” Alexa spat. “You’re bringing my son around your fuck of the month now?”
“Our son.” Drew growled. “And she isn’t a fuck of the month. Unlike you, I’ve never introduced Beck to anyone I was seeing casually. All the times he’s mentioned random men being around, I’ve kept my mouth shut and trusted you were being careful and respectful around him. And I expect the same in return for Emerie.”
“Emerie? The woman I met in the lobby? You’re fucking the hired help?”
“We’re sharing space. She’s a psychologist, not the hired help. And what the fuck would it matter to you if she swept the floor here? At least she has a job. You should try it. It might make you appreciate the thousand-dollar boots you’re wearing right now.”
“I’m raising our son. It’s a full-time job.”
“Funny how he’s our son when I’m footing the bill for that full-time job. But yours when you want to take him on a NASCAR tour of redneck country.”
“I’m taking him,” she snapped
“You’re not taking him.”
“I don’t think it’s something you want to fight about. Beck should get to know his father and spend time with him.”
I braced myself for the roar I knew was coming.
“He is spending time with his father!”
“I meant his biological father.”
“That wasn’t my choice. You made sure of that. God knows I wouldn’t have fucking married you had I known you were a whore carrying another man’s child!”
“Screw you!”
“Get out, Alexa. Just get the fuck out.”
Even though I knew it was coming, I jumped when she whipped open Drew’s office door, and it slammed against the wall. Alexa left a wake of stomps and crashes behind her.
I waited in my office for a few minutes, unsure whether I should give Drew time to cool off or attempt to comfort him. Eventually, when I heard nothing but silence, I decided to check on him.
Drew’s chair was pushed back from his desk, and he sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
He didn’t look up when he answered. His voice was hoarse. “Yeah.”
I took a few hesitant steps into his office. “What can I do?”
Drew shook his head a few times, then looked up. “Can you make me that little boy’s real father?” My heart clenched in my chest when I saw his defeated expression. His eyes were red and filled with unshed tears, and I felt the pain I could see on his face.
I knelt before him. “You are his real father, Drew.”
Even though he was listening to me, I wasn’t getting through. So I decided to share a story I’d never told anyone.
“When I was nineteen, I decided I wanted to know who my birth mother was. I have no idea why; nothing had gone wrong. I was just curious, I think. Anyway, my adoption was open, so the information was there if I wanted it. Not wanting to hurt my parents’ feelings, I decided not to tell them and got the information on my own.”
Drew was paying attention now, so I continued. “One Saturday, I told my parents I was going to a friend’s house and instead drove four hours across the state to the address where my birth mother lived. I sat outside her house and waited until she came out. Then I followed her to where she worked at a diner. After a couple more hours, I got up the nerve to actually go inside. I’d watched through the window, so I knew what section she was serving and requested a table near the window so she would be my waitress.”
Even though Drew was the one hurting, he reached out and squeezed my shoulder for encouragement. “What happened?”
“She came over to take my order, and I bumbled every word that came out of my mouth. But I managed to order toast and tea while I stared at her.” I paused, thinking back to that day. “She had red hair.”