23. Darby
Darby
The hospital waiting room is too bright. The overhead lights feel like they’re trying to burn into my skull.
Or it has nothing to do with the light but more to do with the million thoughts that are running through my head at the same time. The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee is also not what is making my stomach turn.
My leg won’t stop shaking. As quickly as I can blame the hospital for my present state, I won’t. I know why I’m like this, and I won’t improve until I get my answers. But maybe those answers will make things worse.
I grip the armrest of the chair, trying to steady myself. It doesn’t work.
A nurse walks past, giving me a sympathetic smile. She probably thinks I’m waiting for good news about a loved one. She has no idea. A couple sits across from me, speaking in hushed voices. The sound barely registers.
All I can think about is the result that will decide everything.
I inhale deeply, but no matter how many deep breaths I take, my chest remains tight. The seconds feel like hours, and the pressure builds to the point that it’s almost unbearable. My head feels like it’s buzzing—no, spinning. I shouldn’t be here. Why am I waiting for a test at all?
Do I really want to know?
A door opens down the hall, the sound registering as I look up. Elliot steps into the hall, holding a file in his hands.
I did business with Elliot a few years ago, helping him advertise and promote his medical devices. We’ve been good friends since then. That’s why I could trust him with a favor like this. He meets my gaze and walks over. My stomach twists into more knots.
He stops in front of me and holds out the file. I stare at his face for any hint of what may be inside, but I get nothing. I stare at the paper, but my hands refuse to move.
“Here,” Elliot says when I don’t collect it. “I did this as fast as I could.”
I finally reach for it. My fingers are shaking. I curl them into a fist and force them to steady. “Than…thanks, man,” I say.
Elliot nods. He doesn’t press, doesn’t ask questions. But he watches me closely. “You okay?”
God. I’m far from okay. I haven’t been OK since I first saw Selene at that beach. No. I haven’t been OK since I saw Selene. Period.
I breathe through my nose, but I can’t even muster a convincing smile. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t have to. “If you need anything—”
“I’m fine.” The words come out like I snapped at him. I feel badly about it, but my mind can’t even form a decent apology. He studies me for another second. Then nods.
“All right.”
“Thank you again, Elliot. And please-”
“Keep it a secret,” he completes and smiles. “Doctor-patient confidentiality is a real thing, you know?”
All I can do is acknowledge his joke with a nod and walk towards the exit. The file in my hand feels like I’m holding a heavy stone. I slide into the driver’s seat, gripping the file. My knuckles are white, and my jaw is clenched so tight it hurts.
I swallow hard and open the envelope. The paper inside is crisp and cold. It even smells like antiseptic. I read the words once. My brain refuses to process them.
I read them again.
My vision blurs.
99.99% probability of paternity.
The paper shakes in my hands, and I close my eyes. I take a deep breath and exhale through my mouth, and then I look at the paper and read the result again. This time, I read the words aloud to hear it.
99.99% probability of paternity.
I realize that no matter how many times I read it, it won’t change. He’s mine.
Leo is mine.
The truth, even though I already suspected it, is a heavier blow than I could have ever imagined. It’s like the heavy wave I saw coming, has crashed over me. Even if I saw it coming, it doesn’t reduce the impact.
I’m breathing so hard that it’s painful. I press a hand against my chest to lessen the pain, but it doesn’t help.
Leo is my son.
For almost eight years, I wandered the surface of this earth, climbed the corporate ladder, contracted business deals, and fucked a lot of women without knowing I had a son.
I missed his birth, his first year; all eight fucking years of his life.
A sharp, painful heat builds behind my ribs, and tears sting my eyes. The last time I cried was…was when she left me.
My fingers dig into the paper. Anger claws at my chest, fighting against the ache already there.
I should have known the moment I saw him. The way he smiles. The way he speaks. The damn green eyes are the same shade as mine.
I think back to the play and the strange feeling in my chest when he looked up at me. I remember the look in Selene’s eyes that day and realized that she wasn’t just scared because her son choked.
She was scared of this. Of me finding out that he isn’t just her son. He’s mine. Ours. I can’t help the tears that slip down the side of my eyes, but I wipe at them quickly. I need to focus on one emotion.
I can’t just sit here, frozen and crying like a weak, pathetic man.
I scan through all the emotions in my head and find anger. I focus on that as I start the car.
The drive is a blur. I don’t remember the roads, the turns, or the traffic lights. My hands stay locked around the steering wheel, my grip so tight it hurts. The thoughts don’t stop. They keep circling. Keep stabbing.
She lied.
Back then and now. I don’t know if I’m more furious with her or at myself. I pull up to her building and turn off the engine. My jaws are clenched.
The paper is still in my hands. I stare at it for a long moment. My mind is still screaming, and my heart is a mess.
I open the car door and step out. It feels like an eternity to walk to the and knock. No answer.
I sit on her front porch, elbows on my knees, staring at nothing. The sun is low. The air is cool. I barely feel it. The paper dangles between my fingers. I rub my thumb over the edge, over the name printed on the top.
Leonard Harper.
Leonard Stone.
A sound escapes my throat—half a laugh. Half something else. I lose track of how long I’ve been here, but the sound of footsteps makes me look up.
“What…what are you doing here?” Selene’s voice.
I don’t answer. I can’t bring myself to look at her, let alone talk to her. I stand up and hold out the paper. She hesitates, and I can see how fast her heart beats through the nape of her neck. At first, I think she won’t even take the paper, but slowly, she reaches out and takes it from my hand.
I watch her read it. Her eyes scan the words. Then she gasps and drops her bag.
Her face turns as white as snow as she blinks over and over again. She blinks so much that it’s almost as if she’s expecting the words on the page to go away. I know the feeling too well.
She crumples the already crumpled paper. Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no sound comes out. Her eyes dart between the test results and me.
She knows there’s nothing left to hide.
I wait. Giving her a chance to explain herself. A chance to tell me why. But she doesn’t. She just stands there, frozen like a cat got her tongue.
My head spins when I see her eyes tearing up, but I tell myself I must focus. Focus on my anger. Nothing else should matter right now except the anger. That’s the only way I know to deal with my emotions.
The silence becomes unbearable. My pulse pounds in my ears, my chest tight with the weight of everything crashing down on me at once. I clench my jaw. My voice is low when I speak, but I know she hears me loud and clear.
“Explain this.”
Selene flinches like I struck her. Her mouth opens, but all that comes out is a shaky breath.
I step closer. “Fucking say something?”
Her eyes fill with more tears as she looks at the paper one more time. She swallows hard, and when she finally speaks, her voice is low, too. But it doesn’t matter how low she speaks. All that matters to me is what she says.
“This is the reason I left,” she says. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, but the tears keep coming.
I try not to focus on them but on her voice.
“I found out right after you passed your third-year exams. Right when everything in your life was coming together.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know what to do.”
I grip the back of my neck, trying to control my emotions. “How about fucking tell me? How about that?”
She lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Could I?” She looks up at me, eyes filled with pain. “Do you remember what you used to say? About kids? About how they ruined things? About how you never wanted to be tied down?” Her voice cracks. “I was terrified, Darby.”
I do remember. I remember saying stupid, thoughtless things. But I was young and na?ve. We both were.
“So, instead of giving me the benefit of the doubt, you decided to keep my son from me?”
She shakes her head. “I did what I thought was best.”
“Best for whom?” I take a step closer. “For Leo? For me? Or just for you?”
She winces, the words cutting deep. I don’t care, or at least I tell myself I don’t.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to hold on to my last shred of control. “You had eight years to tell me, Selene. Eight years.” I take a sharp breath.
“I…”
“And what happened to now? When I met him again? Saved his life. What happened when I bared my fucking heart out to you on the jet. Do you…do you even know what you took from me?”
“I know,” she whispers.
“No, you don’t,” I snap. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be standing here crying like you’re the fucking victim when you’re not. You’re just a heartless woman who cares about no one but herself.”
She sniffs and wipes her eyes. I’m not satisfied. I need to hurt her some more.
“So what? You probably squatted with your struggling brother. You struggled to make ends meet and provide my son with the basic fucking things he needed to live a decent life? You made him suffer, all because you were too selfish to tell me the truth? You were a bad mother to our son. My son, just because you were scared?”
Her face crumples and I know that I’ve really hurt her. But it does nothing to quell the anger that seems to be burning straight from my soul. She steps forward, her hand reaching for me. “Darby—”
I jerk away from her. Too hard.
Her balance shifts, and she stumbles backward. She catches herself against the doorframe, her breath coming fast, eyes wide with shock.
I feel the sting of my actions immediately, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. There are too many emotions between us, and it’s hard to focus on my anger. But I don’t know what to do.
I can’t stand her anymore. I can’t even look at her.
Without another word, I turn and walk away. I get in my car, slam the door shut, and start driving. My chest heaves as I try to breathe through the anger clawing at me.
Leo should have known me. I should have been there when he took his first steps, said his first word, scraped his knee, and needed someone to tell him it was okay.
I missed everything.
Because she was afraid.
I press harder on the gas. The streetlights blur past me, my vision tunneling. My jaw clenches so tight it aches.
She was scared.
I scoff, gripping the wheel tighter. She should’ve trusted me.
Should’ve given me a damn choice. But I think back to the past. To the person I was back then.
To the reckless, careless man who only cared about living in the moment.
The man who ran from anything that even hinted at responsibility.
It took me almost a year to accept that we were in a relationship.
Would I have stayed?
Would I have been man enough to be a father back then?
The thought makes my stomach twist.
Selene had been alone. She had nothing. And I—I had everything. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t ask. I left her to her thoughts without even realizing she needed me. A lump forms in my throat again, and I swallow hard.
I release the pressure on the gas. I’m making another mistake, aren’t I?
Leo is my son.
And I am his father.
Before I know it, I’m making a U-turn and driving back to Selene’s house. I run onto her porch and knock. The door opens, and Selene stands there, her face still wet with tears.
She looks up at me, startled. “Darby—”
I don’t let her finish.
I pull her into my arms, holding her tight.