Page 14 of Never Too Late

And in his arms, he had a little girl who had the same hair as him. Only hers came to the middle of her back.

I stood up, not knowing what to do or what was going on. I wasn’t ready for another shouting episode from him.

I already decided I was going to leave; I just couldn’t leave these people so abruptly. Especially now, when the flu came.

“This is Zara, she’s six, has a fever, cough, and she’s been throwing up Friday night. Her dad said he tried to get the fever to break and did give Zara fluids, but with no luck. Everything she put in her mouth came right back up. It stopped now, but her stomach gets upset whenever she drinks or tries to eat,” Christine whispered, handing me the file.

Zara?

Her dad?

Oh, God. Dylan had a daughter.

The realization that he had a daughter sucker punched me and took my breath away. I had to grab the desk in front of me just to stay on my feet.

I never considered that he had a family. The thought never even crossed my mind.

And even seeing just the back of her head as she snuggled into her dad, I knew she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

How could she not be?

She was his.

“Thank you,” I murmured, not looking away as Dylan sat in the chair in front of my desk and hoisted Zara in his arms.

The moment Christine closed the door behind her, he hissed at me, “Don’t think I changed my mind. I still want you to leave.”

I didn’t say anything, just glanced at Zara’s back quickly.

I didn’t know how their dynamic worked, but I didn’t think he would be openly mean to anyone in front of his daughter.

“She’s asleep,” he muttered, answering my unspoken question.

“You can put her on the bed,” I whispered, indicating the examination table that was by the wall to my right.

Something washed over his face when I did.

Something that was so beautiful and so familiar it was like a balm to my battered heart. And I wanted to have more time to look at it and maybe get it to start closing the wound, but he hid it before I got the chance.

I could see his shoulders got tense for some reason, but he kept looking at me, not saying anything. I indicated to the bed again with my head and opened Zara’s file so that I wouldn’t witness that angry look when it came back.

“Christine said she’s had a fever and was throwing up since Friday night,” I said quietly, not wanting to wake up the little girl.

When there was no answer, I looked up to see Dylan standing near the table, holding Zara’s hand. He was looking at me with that familiar look again, but his posture was tense. It seemed like every muscle in his body was ready to pounce or probably scoop up his daughter and run away from here.

From me.

“Yeah,” he muttered after a few seconds, looking down at her, the look on his face still there but now even more pronounced. And I remembered.

He would look at me like that whenever I said something funny, or did something silly, or after he would kiss me.

But my favorite time was after we were done making love. That was when that look came out full force and my soul would bathe in it, sagging in content.

It was a look of wonder mixed with endless gentleness.

Like he couldn’t quite believe I was real.

And everything that was happening was true.