Worship Him

13. Adam

13

ADAM

I stand outside Destiny's apartment, my anger a barely controlled beast inside me. I take a deep breath. The last thing I want is to meet my child when I’m charged up and ready for a fight.

I exhale and knock.

The door opens, and there she is, looking more fragile than I’ve ever seen her. She steps aside, not meeting my eyes, and I walk in without a word.

Her unique smell hangs in the air, swirling with the scent of baby powder. My nostrils react immediately, sending a jolt of unfamiliar ease through my body.

She leads me down a hallway decorated with framed sketches of clothing designs, their vibrant colors clashing with the tension hanging between us.

We stop at a door painted in soft pastels.

Inside, Avery’s room is a haven of innocence—plush toys, a mobile hanging above the crib, and the faint scent of baby lotion.

Destiny moves to the crib and picks up our daughter. She hesitates for a moment before handing her to me.

Avery's eyes, big, brown, and curious, lock onto me. My heart thuds hard against my chest as I reach out, cradling her tiny form in my arms.

Her warmth seeps into me, melting away layers of anger like mist in the blazing sun.

She’s soft, delicate, and the most precious thing in the world. "Hey there," I murmur, marveling at her small fingers curling around mine.

Avery's gaze shifts between me and Destiny, as if she’s trying to piece together this new presence in her life.

For a moment, it looks like she’s going to cry and my stomach drops. Then she looks at me again, her face calm.

I release the breath I was holding and smile at Avery, my finger caressing her little face.

Her innocence is staggering, an anchor pulling me into this unexpected reality. I swallow hard, a knot around my throat that makes it difficult to breathe.

Is this what it feels like to be a father?

Destiny stands to the side, watching us with an unreadable expression. Her silence speaks volumes. It’s clear she’s unsure how this will go down.

But right now, I don’t care about that. It's just Avery and me.

I rock her gently, feeling an immediate connection that transcends words. She yawns, her tiny mouth opening wide before she nestles closer to my chest. My breath catches; the simplicity of her trust hits me like a freight train.

I sit down in the rocking chair, holding her soft body close to me. Nothing else exists—no betrayal, no anger—just this little girl who has unknowingly changed everything.

The little sounds coming out of her are foreign but soothes my heart. I’ve never heard anything like it, but it immediately brings a smile to my face.

Feeling her gaze on me, I glance up at Destiny briefly, our eyes meeting for the first time since I arrived. She looks relieved but also tense, like she's bracing for impact.

Without speaking, I look back at my child. I realize that there are no words needed right now; Avery’s soft breathing fills the room with a peace I hadn’t expected to find here.

When she shifts in my arms, I look back at her, and time seems irrelevant as I hold her and experience what it’s like to be a father. The room fades away until it's just us.

My daughter and me.

I absorb every detail of her tiny face, the way her eyes flutter as she starts to drift off. Time stretches out in the soft silence of the room.

Destiny moves around quietly, gathering a bottle from a nearby shelf. She glances at me, then at Avery.

“It’s time for her bottle,” she says softly.

I nod, still focused on Avery’s small fingers wrapped around mine. Destiny hands me the bottle, and I carefully shift Avery into a more comfortable position.

“Hold her head up a bit more,” Destiny instructs.

I adjust my hold, feeling Avery's warm weight rest once more against my chest. She latches onto the bottle with a small, hungry noise that makes my heart twist in ways I didn't expect.

“She’s got quite an appetite,” I comment, unable to keep quiet while I’m so in awe of the tiny human in my arms.

Destiny gives a small smile. “Yeah, she does. She's a very healthy baby.”

I smirk slightly but keep my eyes on Avery. Her tiny hands pat at the bottle, her eyes closing as she drinks contentedly. The simplicity of the moment tugs at something deep inside me—a connection that feels both new and familiar.

“How often does she eat?” I ask, wanting to know everything.

“Every three to four hours,” Destiny replies. “Sometimes more if she’s feeling particularly sassy.”

I absorb this information like it’s a crucial business detail. I don’t want to miss anything about her now that I’m here.

“What about sleep?” I continue.

“She’s still figuring that out,” Destiny says with a soft laugh. “But usually, she sleeps for two to three hours at a stretch.”

Avery finishes her bottle, and I hand it back to Destiny. She takes it and places it on a nearby table before stepping back slightly, watching us with an unreadable expression.

“Do you want to burp her?” she asks after a moment.

“Sure,” I say, though I have no idea what I'm doing. But if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s learning fast.

Destiny shows me how to hold Avery against my shoulder and gently pat her back. The rhythm feels almost natural after a few moments.

When Avery lets out a tiny burp, it feels like a victory.

“She’s amazing,” I whisper, mostly to myself.

Destiny nods, tears welling up in her eyes but not spilling over. “She really is.”

I pretend not to notice, focused on my child.

The room fills with the soft sounds of Avery settling back into my arms. The silence between Destiny and me isn’t uncomfortable—it’s filled with unspoken words and emotions too complex to unpack right now.

But I ignore those feelings. This isn’t the time. All I want right now is to get to know my child, bond with her like I couldn’t for the past three months.

I can’t keep my eyes off Avery, absorbing every detail of her existence. Every minute makes the reality of fatherhood sink in deeper.

I love it, more than I ever imagined I could.

Eventually, we move from Avery’s room to the living room. I adore how her tiny fingers wrap around mine as we play on the floor, surrounded by soft toys and colorful blocks.

Once again I’m amazed at how easily every negative emotion I felt before knocking on Destiny’s door this morning just fades into the background, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dedication to this little person I've just met.

I stare at Avery when she suddenly turns red and a look of deep concentration settles on her little face.

For a moment, I’m frozen, unsure what’s happening. Before I can ask Destiny if something’s wrong, the smell hits me.

I bite back a chuckle, feeling relief wash over me. She continues to focus on the task at hand and I watch her expression with a bit of wariness.

A few moments later, she’s relaxed, clearly done with her business, grabbing my fingers with all her might.

"Time for a diaper change," Destiny announces, moving to pick up Avery.

"I'll do it," I say, scooping Avery up before Destiny can reach her.

Destiny raises an eyebrow but doesn't argue. She leads me to the changing table, hovering nearby as I lay Avery down.

I stare at the array of supplies, momentarily overwhelmed. "Alright, how hard can this be?"

Destiny starts to reach for the wipes, but I wave her off. "I've got this."

Cleaning a baby who just pooped is tougher than expected. The smell is overwhelming but I push through and clean her thoroughly. I apply the cream and powder as instructed by Destiny.

It takes me three attempts to get the diaper on correctly, and by the end, there's powder everywhere. But Avery's clean and dry, gurgling happily as I lift her back into my arms.

"Not bad for a first try," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

The hours slip by, filled with bottles and playful interactions—peekaboo, making funny faces.

Avery’s laugh fills the room as I lift her high in the air at one point. Her joy is infectious, and for the upteenth time, I forget everything but this pure, unfiltered happiness.

When the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the nursery, I know it's time to leave. I place a sleeping Avery in her crib, my hand lingering on her back for a moment.

Destiny walks me to the door. We stand there, the air thick with tension and things left unsaid. Her eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I see a flash of the woman I fell in love with.

I clear my throat. "I want to see her again. Soon."

Destiny nods. "Of course. How about next week?"

"I'll text you about the time and date," I reply, my voice gruff.

Another moment passes, charged with potential. But I turn and walk away, the door closing firmly behind me.

I drive home, my grip on the steering wheel tight. The memory of Avery’s tiny fingers clutching mine lingers, a stark contrast to the anger still simmering just beneath the surface.

It’s a whirlwind of emotions—happiness from spending time with my daughter, frustration over being kept in the dark.

As I pull into my driveway, the weight of what Destiny did hits me again. I missed so many moments—Avery's first smile, her first laugh. Moments I can never get back.

I step out of the car and slam the door harder than necessary. The sound echoes in the quiet evening air.

I punch in the code for my front door and step inside, dropping my keys on the table by the entrance.

Pouring myself a whiskey, I take a long sip, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. Whiskey typically helps me think more clearly, but it’s not very useful tonight.

I lean against the counter, staring at nothing in particular. Shaking my head, I decide to take a cold shower and go to bed early.

The house is too quiet as I head upstairs, hating that I don't know what lies ahead for me, my daughter, or Destiny.