“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.”
Drew stroked my cheek.
“Anyway, while she was taking an order at the table next to me, my phone rang, and I saw it was my mother. I let it go to voicemail because I thought maybe she’d found out what I was doing somehow and was angry. But when I listened to her message, she’d just wanted to check in on me and see if everything was alright. She said I’d seemed a little down the day before. Needless to say, I felt guilty as hell. When the waitress—my birth mother—came to deliver my toast a few minutes later, I was crying. She looked right at me and never even asked if I was okay. Couldn’t wait to dump the toast on the table and disappear.”
I sighed. “I took one more look at the woman who had given birth to me and realized my mother was the woman who’d left me the voicemail. I was biologically connected to that waitress, and she didn’t feel anything different for me than a complete stranger. Because that’s what I was…a complete stranger. I threw a twenty on the table and never looked back.”
I caught Drew’s eyes. “Being a parent is a choice, not a right. I really didn’t understand why my parents celebrated Gotcha Day until then. You’re Beck’s dad, no different than Martin Rose is mine. Anyone can become a father, but it takes a real dad to love and raise a child as his own.”
“Come here.” Drew lifted me from the floor onto his lap. He pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. His previously angry and sad eyes had warmed. “Where’d you come from?”
“I broke in and showed you my ass, remember?”
He laughed, and I felt a little of the tension dissipate when he wrapped me in his arms and kissed the top of my head. “Thank you. I needed that.”
I was thrilled to have soothed him. Because Drew had been with Beck all week, this was actually the first afternoon we’d had alone in as long.
“I don’t have an appointment for another two hours, if there’s anything else you need.”
Drew was standing with me cradled in his arms practically before I finished the sentence. I yelped at the sudden motion. Expecting him to have me spread-eagled right there on his desk, I was surprised when he began marching toward the office door.
“No desk sex?” I asked.
“The desk is for fucking. I want to make love to you.”
Drew
I could get used to this.