TWENTY-EIGHT
My brain is a jumbled mess.
After years of anger for being just left behind by the girl I was willing to give my all to, I come to learn—by Johanna’s invitation—that she has a kid.
A kid. A six-year-old boy who called her “Mummy” and stayed glued to her as if he was a part of her. A toddler who could very well be my son, too—that did me in, pushing me over the edge.
In seconds, the temperature rose, and I swear everything blended into shades of red. The moment realisation was slowly settling that the betrayal I had left had gone far beyond what I could have ever imagined. With a frantic heart pumping the boiling blood away, I was one second away from blowing up like a ticking time bomb. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for Jake and that other guy getting me out of there, I have no idea how nasty things would have gotten.
After a lot of convincing from him, I agreed to be here today. Expecting—hoping—she’d finally tell me the whole story. Only to be hit with a bucket of fucking frozen water, freezing me to the bone.
Because you’re not his father.
What the actual fuck?
“What do you even mean I am not the father? November minus nine months places the conception between February and March.” I growl. “We were already sexually active by then. Remember?”
It’s impossible to mask my angry tone.
After spending the whole fucking night thinking about this—about Dylan—by sunrise, there was this little part of me tingling. Excitement was growing with the prospects of understanding the whole scenery and getting confirmation. Of being a father.
The term itself still feels weird, even after repeating it a few dozen times this morning in front of the mirror—but fuck if I don’t like it. Since last night, I had strong suspicions he is mine, and that explains exactly why he struck me the first I saw him in the hospital and that time in the supermarket with Jake. It wasn’t because I thought Jake had a kid, it was because, without knowing, it felt like looking into a mirror. Looking at my own son—my body knew before my brain did.
My certainties only got stronger this morning when I saw him this morning. A mini-Liam, for sure. From the physical similarities—the skin tone and eyes—to his attitude earlier this morning, sticking the tongue out at me.
How can she claim the boy isn’t mine?
He has to be. Similarities to the side, I was never a guy to care about intuition, but this time around? There is a nagging feeling coming from within, the deepest parts of my soul telling me—yelling—that Dylan is in fact mine.
There can’t be any other possibilities in this universe. Right?
Willow purses her lips into a thin line, avoiding my eyes. This is one of her automatic actions when she feels shame. It always has been. The knowledge is enough to wake up a nagging feeling inside of me. Why would she be feeling shame? For me not to be the father. Did she cheat?
“Did you cheat on me?”
“I remember that we always used condoms,” she trails off, avoiding the answer.
It works because immediately, I remember one event. We did always use condoms, but I remember well those times it broke.
“Except for those two times that it broke. Remember?”
“Yes,” she sighs. “But we always were careful. Even with the condom, you always pulled out.”
“You’re fucking with me,” I spit the words out. “Even with pulling out, Willow, we had sex for god knows how long in those goddamn broken condoms. We–” I pause as her words keep repeating in my brain. Because you’re not his father. He’s not mine. “You cheated, didn’t you?” Hastily, I grab her arm, pulling her closer to me so she can look me in the eyes when she answers. “Is that why you left? To run away with him?” The blood in my veins boils, travelling throughout my body like lightning.
I can feel it reddening my face and neck as they warm. When her eyes raise to my forehead and widen, I am sure it is because of that vein that always pops out when I get mad.
I am so fucking livid.
All of this time, I thought she had gone through something traumatic. The way she responded to sudden and unexpected movements or touches told me so. I never in a million years would have thought she could—
Fucking hell, we were crazy about each other! We–
“L-Liam…” she pleas. She’s shaky and frail, a stark difference from the confident voice that was speaking to me in the beginning. She’s afraid.
Letting go of her, I stand and pace around, fighting the urge to ask if I hurt her. I need to distance myself from her. All the while, I keep opening and clenching my fists repeatedly in an attempt to control myself, I ask, “Just fucking tell me!”
The words are harsher than I intended, and it’s only when a sob breaks free from her mouth that I understand the consequences of my lack of control. She tries to speak but chokes on a sob, and instead, stands up and races out of the living room.
Shit.
“Willow?” I call, going after her. “I’m sorry, I–” I pause when I walk past a door and hear her crying.
All the angry thoughts and feelings vanish from my body, being replaced with guilt. “I didn’t mean to–” Fuck. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll keep myself in check.”
She doesn’t answer, still crying on the inside. I wait for a bit, hopefully giving her time to calm down before knocking again.
“Can you let me in?”
She’s no longer sobbing but still doesn’t answer. Here I thought that this time around we wouldn’t leave space for loose ends. When the silence stretches for too long, hope that we’ll finish this conversation leaves right through the front door.
“I’ll leave then,” I inform her.
“Wait,” she calls, rooting me in place. “It’s easier without you looking at me. Just listen to it all.” She seems to take a breath. “That night we were supposed to hang out because your parents were away, you weren’t there.”
What?
“What do you mean? I went to the grocery stores, but you never showed up. You—”
“I showed up.” Her voice rises to a high-pitched tone. “You weren’t there!” she yells. “I called you, but it was going straight to voicemail and—”
“No one was home,” I whisper, trying to make sense of her words. “It was already late. Did you go back home by yourself?”
A moment goes by before she answers in a soft cry, “Yes.”
It feels like a punch to the chest. No. It feels like being run over by a truck several times.
Whenever I thought my world couldn’t be turned upside down again, I’m proved wrong. In the end, we’re nothing. Just a silly and insignificant puppet in the hands of this cruel universe.
Still, hearing these words hurt, tearing through me. Because never—ever—not even for a moment, did I consider she might have not have been safe.
Which is ridiculous, right? My parents have money, and that area of town is wealthy, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t sickos lurking around in the darkness. No, please.
“You were…attacked?” I can’t even say the word.
She doesn’t answer, and it makes it obvious because no answer is an answer.
Urgency takes over as my protective side kicks in. I’m late, too late. But my brain is screaming at me to get inside that fucking bathroom and just hold her. Hold her close and take all the pain away. “Fuck, Lo. Let me in.” But I can’t. Can I?
“No.”
“Please, let me in,” I beg.
For a few moments, the silence stretches, but then I hear the door unlocking, revealing what I now know to be the bathroom. She’s sitting on the toilet lid with a piece of toilet paper scrunched up in her hand. Her body and head are slightly shaking from her cries.
Crouching down in front of her, I look up, trying to gauge her face. Her otherwise porcelain-toned skin is reddened, as are her eyes. Her pink lips are swollen as is her nose—probably from blowing it on the toilet paper. Her cheeks are also shiny from all the tears streaming down. Even with the ugly crying, she looks perfect.
My eyes burn, too, as tears threaten to break free. But I can’t cry; this isn’t about me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard to tell me. I didn’t know and I—” Hell, I am a moron. “I was hurting, too. But fuck, this is nothing compared to the pain of what you—” I pause when she just cries harder.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers between sobs.
“Don’t you dare apologise! Fuck, baby.” I wrap my arms around her waist, placing my chin on her knees and looking up at her. “It’s my fucking fault, Willow. I should have been there! If I had been—”
“Stop,” she cuts me off. “It’s not your fault; you didn’t do it.” A brief pause to blow her nose. “There’s no point in trying to think of what could have been done differently. There’s no changing it now.”
“But it is,” I insist. “If I had been there, you wouldn’t have gone back home alone and wouldn’t have been attacked.”
Her eyes flicker to mine for a second before they glance away, again with the embarrassment and the shame, only now, I know the reason. It breaks my heart because she has no reason to be ashamed.
“Tell me what happened.” I need to know. “Because I wasn’t there, you went back home and—”
“I don’t want to talk about that.” She shakes her head. “Please don’t make me remember it again.” Her pleading undoes my resolve.
Of course, she doesn’t want to remember a traumatic experience.
Man, I am so stupid.
All of this time, I blamed her for my pain. For ignoring me right when my brother got worse with the drugs, leaving me to deal with the aftermath of his disappearance. I blamed her for abandoning me at a time when I needed her. And all the while she was hurting, too, sheneeded me, too.
I failed her.
And here I was, being a pretentious asshole and accusing her of taking my son—
“So does that mean that Dylan is—”
“That’s what I always thought…” she trails off.
Well, not necessarily.
“There is still a possibility that Dylan is mine. Remember the broken condom?” I ask, scratching the back of my neck in embarrassment.
“The possibility of that having happened is like one percent, Liam.”
“It’s still a possibility,” I insist.
“Okay. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”
“We’re not. He has my eyes and looks a lot like me.” One of her eyes twitches, but I ignore it, the enthusiasm taking over me. “And I feel it in my bones. He is mine. I want to meet him, Lo.”
“I—no. Liam, we need to think things through. Dylan’s not a toy; he has feelings, and he wants to meet his dad. If you’re not—”
“I don’t care.” I shut her down.
I want this.
“At this point, and knowing what I know…even if I end up not being his biological father, I want to be his father figure for all it’s worth.”
“I didn’t put the responsibility on your shoulders back then and I sure as hell will not be doing it now. Liam, raising a kid is no joke. This is not like playing dolls. It’s a commitment for life, and you’re still single in your twenties—or you have a girlfriend, and I won’t intrude or ruin your—”
“Just shut up, Willow,” I snap, annoyed.
I get her. I do.
She’s probably afraid that if he ends up not being mine, I’ll want out, but…if that happens, would I love him less? Would I want a way out?The answer is no.
Because even if he isn’t mine, he is hers. And that would be enough for me to love him.
“I won’t change my mind. I want this.”
“I–can you let me think about it first?”
“Yeah, sure,” I answer. “I–” I stop myself, not knowing where to go from here.
All this time I’ve held onto the anger that everything was her fault, but it wasn’t. Sure, she could have told me, and I would have been by her side every step of the way, but I understand where she was coming from.
“You need to go. Jake will be back with Dylan any minute now,” she informs me, looking at her phone to check the time. “I need time to explain to him what happened yesterday and who you are.” Her typical dark brown eyes are closer to a shiny golden shadow now from her crying.
I missed her eyes. I missed her so much.
Knowing all of this is heartbreaking and it makes me insanely mad. If there is someone who never deserved this kind of pain, it’s Willow.
“Yeah, sure,” I agree. “Just text or call me so we can talk it out and plan how we’ll do it. That is if you want this…” With a last nod, I stand up after swiping one last stray tear that was on her cheek.
I help her up, too, before we slowly walk to the front door, side by side. There, she opens it so we can step outside.
Unlike the past few days, today is cloudy with a crisp gush of air flowing around. It’s not enough to make me cold, but I notice how Willow hugs herself. We stand there for a bit, facing each other in silence.
It’s weird to be here, looking at her with so much respect and worry when just half an hour ago, I’d easily have said I hated her.
“I truly am sorry.” She finally speaks. “For the pain I caused you. It’s no excuse, but I was lost. Ι felt abandoned and didn’t know which was the right choice. In the end, I thought: what is best for my kid? And the only thing that I kept replaying in my mind was how I didn’t want him to know he was the result of rape.” Her eyes drop down, just like before.
We’ve been tiptoeing around this word, but now, she finally said it. It’s real. Willow—my Willow—was raped by some miserable motherfucker.
It pains me, and impulsive Liam takes over, hugging her immediately. Knowing that she went through all of this, alone, and that I failed to protect her creates a whole different breed of anger inside of me. It feels like it’s my fault that she was attacked.
This time though, she hugs me back right away, easing a little of that weight off my chest. I give her a peck on the top of her head before burying my head in her hair.
“Don’t apologise,” I mutter. “I understand now.”
My nostrils finally get their fill with her scent. Last night, it wasn’t enough, after so many years apart. Wildflowers. Who would have said they smell so good?
It feels like home.
“I was so unfair,” I admit. “The pain and the grudge were consuming me. Things were hard at home back then, too. You leaving felt like the last nail in the coffin. The ultimate betrayal. But fuck, if I had been there that night, I—” I take a deep breath. “It wouldn’t have happened.”
“There’s no point in crying over spilt milk. All of those what ifs mean nothing because we can’t change them. We can only work to make better decisions from now on.”
I squeeze her closer to me. She’s right. We can only make the best out of the present and work towards a good future. With her back in my arms, it finally feels like a possibility again.
“Look at you all grown up.” I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
“Right, Dr Davis. You’re one to talk.”
The stark contrast between her sweet voice and the sarcastic comment force a smile out of me. It’s the oddest combination, but I love it.
“Well, not yet,” I admit. “There’s five more months of internship before my admission exam. After that, I’ll have to choose a speciality and study for a couple more years.”
“You have always been an overachiever.” She beams a proud smile. “I have no doubt you’ll ace all of that and rule that hospital in no time.”
Leaning back a little, to take a better look at her face, I raise an eyebrow. “You know there’s no such thing as ‘ruling a hospital’, right?”
The corners of her mouth curl up in a shy smile as her left shoulder shrugs. “Not yet.”
A deep rumble forms in my chest. Willow has always been shy and quiet with everyone else but with me; I always get her funny and snarky side. The fact she could unabashedly be herself with me only made me fall for her harder, back then.
It’s good to know she hasn’t lost that side of her, not completely, at least. Because just like that, it feels like we’ve just travelled back in time. Like nothing changed and we’re the same sixteen-year-old teenagers trying to figure out the balance between dating and being friends. As if there hasn’t even been time apart between us up to now.
When our laughter finally quiets down and our eyes meet again, tension rises. A completely different one. That invisible force is back, like a magnet that brings us back together again and again.
It’s weird how sometimes it feels like the Moirai keep entwining the threads of our lives, bringing us back together—even when we try to keep our distance. As if to teach us a lesson, to let us know that no matter how much we want to do something, they are stronger than us. They know better, and they will decide what we need instead.
And if by chance they do fucking exist, they know better because this is exactly what I needed to heal, to move on. I just didn’t know it.
“Okie dokie,” Willow speaks, cutting off my thoughts.
The combination of her weird choice of words and the awkward look on her face makes me raise a brow again, finding the moment amusing. She rolls her eyes and says, “It’s mum vocabulary.”
“Alright, alright,” I pretend to agree. She always found the weirdest words.
It hasn’t changed.
“You probably have stuff to do,” she offers. “I won’t keep you here any more than needed.”
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’ll head off.”
Turning around, expecting to see the empty driveway, I’m faced with three walking bodies. The shortest in the middle—Dylan—stops for a second, sizing us up, and then starts to run towards us. It’s only when he stops in front of us that I understand the expression on his face is twisted into a frown. He’s angry.
Sure, the plan wasn’t to see him like this, again. I meant it when I said I’d let her talk to him first, but then again, what we want is not what we get.
“Hey, buddy,” I greet him, trying to make the best out of the situation. “I’m Liam.”
“I know who you are,” he snaps back. “You’re the bad man who made my mummy cry.”
Jake and his grandmother’s light chatter dies down at the kid’s loud words, and my mouth gapes open. That’s pretty to the point for a six-year-old. Looking to my side, I watch as Willow’s face is mirroring my own. Shock.
“Dylan,” she hisses. “That’s no way to talk to adults. Apologise.”
“No,” he answers right away, not even an ounce of remorse in his voice.
Then he stomps up the steps, placing himself between his mother and me, forcing us further apart.
“I—” Whatever words were going to leave my mouth die in my throat as he pulls his mother inside the house with him. Everyone is speechless, watching the determination in this kid’s eyes as he directs his rage at me.
Talk about being protective.
“Get away from my house,” he snarls, shutting the door in my face.