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(A day later— New York)
I’d never, even in my wildest dreams, thought it would be so fascinating to watch the soft rise and fall of a child’s chest while he slept.
But here I was, with two hands in the pocket of my sweatpants, leaning in the doorframe as I watched him sleep with a peace I was denied at his age. My heart thrummed. I could hardly believe the boy was mine.My flesh and blood.I had spent all day pacing in the office, trying to understand the foreign feeling. Trying to understand that I was now a father.
A father.
I was robbed of the opportunity to experience fatherhood for the first few years of his life, but I knew how great of a responsibility it was. Silver moonlight flooded his small bed from the window and traced the tiny curves of his soft features.
I took a step forward. He stirred and I crouched, lifting the blanket to his chin. A sudden surge overwhelmed me; to protect him, keep him safe, away from anything that posed a threat.
The feeling was new…pure. And I welcomed it. I welcomed the satisfying rush of knowing I was a father to this beautiful boy.
He stirred again, ruffling the covers, and this time his eyes popped open. His green eyes met mine and…I smiled.
“Hey, champ.”
He yawned and grinned, baring his small teeth. “Hello.” He sat up in the bed and I shifted closer to the edge. I leaned forward, combing my fingers to relax his messy hair, and smoothened the creases on his small pajamas with a neon blueI'm Cuteprinted on the front.
Things had happened in such a rush, back in Denver, I didn't catch his full name. “Hey, champ… um, tell me, what's your real name?”
He crossed his legs and played with his toes. His tongue clicked and he smacked his lips before saying, “Alex-Xander. But Mommy calls meXander.I like it. I like Xander, and I love mommy.”
I knew he did. I'd seen it in the way he wiped the tears off her eyes and cleaned her cheeks. At that moment, watching them made my insides twist until I couldn't breathe. I felt denied, locked out, ignored.
“Mm.” I tapped my chin with a finger and lifted my shoulder. “Can I call you Alex?”
He shrugged and pouted. “It depends.”
Smart.
Curious, I propped my elbows and put my chin in my hands. “On what?”
He leaned back on his hands and bent his head to the side, wiggling his toes. “It depends on who you are. If you were my sister, then probably I'll let you call me Alex.”
I quirked a brow. “But you don't have a sister.”Notyet anyway.
He shook his head. “I know.”
The boy impressed me. He was smart for his age and already the heart of a man—looking after his mother. I shifted my weight and allowed my hands to drop. I mimicked his sitting position.
“What if…” we locked gazes. Green melting into green. “What if I am your father? Then, would you let me call you Alex?”
He hesitated. And a yawn broke through his small mouth. His eyelids dropped and he stretched his legs on the mattress. “That is a tricky question.”
I narrowed my eyes; my interest was piqued. “How so?”
His toes stopped wiggling and he closed his eyes, now mumbling, “My mommy told me that my daddy won't be around for a very long time. She didn’t tell me where he is, but …”
My ears twitched.
“…she told me that Daddy is a strong and brave man. That he is a giant and would slay dragons to protect me. But he is not around so…”
She'd told him a few things about me, and they were nice. I was not expecting that.
“And if I'm your father?”
His eyes opened and he jolted from the bed, crawling to my thighs. His eyes were big, expectant. And I felt wanted. “Are you, my father?”
