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We’re over. Fine.
Eventually, I’ll accept that and move on. But not before he acknowledges his son and gives me an explanation as to why he doesn’t want him.
Not all babies are conceived out of love. That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve just as much love as one that was planned.
So why doesn’t Drago want him? That question makes my blood boil.
I wrap my fingers around the knob and twist. I luck out, finding the door unlocked, so I push it open, entering through the mudroom. The kitchen is just past the utility room and that’s where I place Gabriel down on the dark, hardwood flooring next to the stools.
When I exit the open kitchen, I see Drago slumped back onto the couch with a glass in his hand.
“Are you kidding me?” The words fall from my lips.
He’s drinking?
He’s seriously drinking right now? I can’t believe this, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Give up your son—let’s celebrate. Why the fuck not!
“Why are you here?” His voice is laced with surprise as his wide eyes take me in.
“You’re getting drunk. That’s just perfect. Way to end the day on a high note.”
“I’m not drunk. I wish I were drunk. Drunk would be better than the state I’m in.”
He looks like hell. As I step closer, I drink in his appearance. His hair is standing up on top and disheveled like he’s been yanking on it out of frustration. Maybe giving up his son wasn’t a walk in the park for him like I thought. Still...
“You killed Diaz, I didn’t say shit. I let it go because he deserved that bullet in his head. You don’t want to be with me, okay fine, I’ll even deal with that. But giving up your son. No, Drago, I won’t let that go. I won’t deal with that.” I throw my hands into the air. “I saw you today. It killed you to say those words to the judge. So why? Why did you do it?” I implore him to give me an answer—any answer.
“Because I had to,” he bites out.
He blows out a breath. Sitting up, he places his glass of whiskey on the coffee table in front of him, shoving it away.
I expect him to say something more, to explain, but he doesn’t. He just sits there with his elbows on his knees, staring off into space.
I came here for answers, and answers I intend to get.
My eyes cut down, looking at the mess strewn out everywhere. Manila folders are open with papers spilling out; some almost falling off the coffee table.
Before I start to question the mess lying in front of Drago, Gabe makes a sound from where I left him on the floor in the kitchen.
“He’s here?” Drago jumps to his feet. He doesn’t wait for a response.
I turn, watching him walk over to where the baby is strapped in his carrier.
“Well, I didn’t exactly have anyone to leave him with, you know. My friends and family aren’t thrilled with me right now.”
I can’t ask Connie. Even though she’s tried to be supportive in theory, she doesn’t like that I took on the responsibility of another person when he isn’t mine. She doesn’t get it.
Alana and Jackson don’t get it. My father will never understand, even if he’s the reason I was able to get temporary custody of Gabriel today. As much as he dislikes the idea, he’s been the most supportive person about this. No way in hell I would have asked him, though.
Gabriel and I may not share DNA like he and Drago, but I do love him, fiercely, like he’s my son.
Why doesn’t D feel the same way?
I don’t get it. I need him to make me understand.
Looking back down, I see something that I hadn’t noticed before. A chain, half-hidden under papers. I reach for it, picking it up, and when I open my hand, I find myself staring at a neck-chain badge holder with an unmistakable gold piece that reads: Department of Justice on the top and Drug Enforcement Administration US Special Agent.
Why would Drago have someone’s DEA badge in his possession?
