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Oh god. This is why I never brought my boyfriend here. He probably hasn’t been in a place like this ever in his life, and shame makes me hang my head.
“So this is it,” Bruce says flatly as he looks around. “This is where you live.”
It isn’t a question, and I squeak out a “yes” in reply. Bruce’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t say anything. “I’m on the fifth floor,” I say to fill the silence, and then turn to ascend the narrow staircase which is as rickety as all hell. Bruce follows closely behind, almost like he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight, and by the time we reach the fifth floor landing, I’m slightly out of breath. Usually I’m fine, but it must be the pregnancy hormones making me weak. Putting that out of my mind, I shuffle down to the end of the hall to the shoddy metal door of my apartment.
This is it, I think. There’s no going back now. Unlocking the door, my stomach clenches as I step into my apartment, bracing for the worst.
But it’s not that bad. Colette’s light snoring greets us from behind my closed bedroom door, which doesn’t surprise me. Babysitting for someone who’s on vacation is a round-the-clock job, and my friend deserves to sleep. I square my shoulders and press a finger to my lips in a universal “shhh” signal to Bruce. After all, I only have a one-bedroom, so Riley’s crib is in the living room.
Quietly, I pad to the crib pushed up against the wall, and peer inside. My heart melts immediately because my son is what I live for. He’s adorable, with his black hair and flushed cheeks. He too is sleeping soundly, his little hands balled up in tiny fists, looking like a cherub.
I turn to Bruce, and jump a bit when I realize the big man’s standing right behind my shoulder. Then, I beckon with one hand. “This is Riley,” I tell him in a hushed voice. “Your son.”
He looks utterly astonished. The handsome man stares into Riley’s crib completely silent, and it’s only now that I’m reminded at just how alike they look. Riley has the same jet-black hair, and the same thick, dark eyelashes resting in half-moons on his chubby cheeks. But it’s more than that. It’s the baby’s determined look, even as he sleeps. It’s how they carry themselves, always ready to take life by the horns.
I suppose Bruce could still ask for a paternity test, but looking at the two of them, I don’t see how there could possibly be any doubt that Riley is his son, and judging by the look on Bruce’s face, he’s thinking the same.
“Bruce, are you okay?” I ask softly. “I know this is a surprise.”
The man is pale, and for a brief moment, it looks like he’s going to faint. But then something changes. For the first time since our ill-fated trip to Iceland, I can see his expression softening, his scowl vanishing and his mouth relaxing as he looks down at his child for the first time. My heart skips a beat, and I let myself hope just a little that things might be okay.
“Can I hold him?” my boyfriend growls, never taking his eyes off the sleeping infant. I nod, and gently reach inside for Riley before placing the baby in his arms. Bruce cradles the bundle to his chest, looking with wonder into Riley’s peaceful face, and to my surprise, there are tears in his eyes.
“Say hi to your son,” I murmur in a soft tone.
Bruce’s voice is gravelly when he answers. “Yes. This is my child.” When he finally looks up at me, those blue eyes are so intense that a gasp escapes my lips. “You’re moving in with me,” he states, making it clear that this is not a request. “You and Riley. I’m going to find us a new place in the city, somewhere with a great view that’s near a good school, and you two are coming to live with me.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “What?” I finally stammer. “But I thought we were done. I thought you were breaking up with me. I can cancel the City Girls contract,” I offer, uncertain. “They can give you a refund, if you want? But you don’t have to take care of my son because I know this has been a shock –“
He cuts me off. “This is my son,” he growls, that blue gaze flaring. “And you are my woman, and you both belong to me. I want us to be together.”
I gape at him, unsure how to process his words.
“You mean, as co-parents?” I ask quickly. “Of course, yes. Sure. I can show you the ropes, and I’m sure we can figure out some kind of schedule that works for both of us.”
