I hope he really hears my words and realizes that as a parent all you want is your child to be whole, healthy, and happy, and that was exactly what Andy wanted for him today. I thought I understood that concept. Now I have Ace—albeit for a brief five days of motherhood—I know I’d move heaven and earth for him to have those same exact things.
He walks toward me without saying anything and sits back down in front of me. He reaches out and tickles the inside of Ace’s palm so he closes his hand around Colton’s pinky. There is something about the sight—huge hand, tiny fingers holding tight—that hits me hard and reinforces the notion that Ace depends on us for absolutely every single thing. That we are his lifeline in a sense. I wonder if a baby senses when one half of that connection is absent.
“I look at Ace,” he says, his voice calmer, more even, “and I feel this instant connection. I figured it was because I have blood ties to someone for the first time in my life. That it was an automatic thing you feel when you’re related to someone. I can’t tell you how many times over the years I’ve felt like a fucking outsider, cheated out of having this feeling.” He pauses for a moment, runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat, the grate in his voice the only sign of the emotion wreaking havoc inside him. “But today I was standing there looking at this bitter man with eyes just like mine, who couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about me, and I felt absolutely nothing. No click. No connection. No anything. And his blood runs through me.” His voice breaks some, but his confession causes every part of me to bristle with guilt for my feelings moments ago. The ironic parallel of how I desperately needed the connection with Ace when he latched on to nurse to make me feel whole and centered again.
“It freaked me the fuck out, Ry,” he confesses, pulling me from my thoughts. “That connection I thought I was missing for most of my life, I’ve had all along with my dad. Andy. Today, I realized that blood ties mean shit if you don’t put in the time to make them worth it. So yeah, I’m connected by blood to Ace . . . but in a sense, I’ve been no better than that sperm donor was to me.”
I start to argue with him, my back up instantly, but he just shakes his head for me to stop. When he lifts his gaze from Ace to meet mine, there are so many emotions swimming in them, but it’s the regret in them I take notice of.
“Look, I know I haven’t been very hands-on with Ace. I’m still petrified of hurting him or doing the wrong thing because I’m absolutely fucking clueless. But standing in that driveway, looking at that piece of shit, I realized Ace doesn’t care if I’m perfect . . . all he cares is that I’m there with him every step of the way. Just like Andy has been for me. Shit, Ry, I’ve been so busy trying to figure out what kind of dad he needs me to be that I’m not really being one at all.”
My tears are instant as I look at the little boy become entirely eclipsed by the grown man I’ve loved all along.
“You’re going to be an excellent father, Colton.”
We both lean forward at the same time, our lips meeting in a tender kiss packed with a subtle punch of every emotion we share between us: acceptance, appreciation, love, and pride.
“You are nothing like him. We’ve known that all along. Now you finally know it, too. I’m so proud of you, Colton Donavan,” I murmur against his lips. He brushes one more kiss to my mouth before pressing his signature one to the tip of my nose.
We sit there for some time in silence. The three of us. My new little family.
I fight fiercely against that undertow of discord that seems like a constant so I can revel in this moment. Memorize the feel of it and the sense of completeness I have with them by my side.
And all I keep thinking is that the storm has finally passed.
I just hope there are no new clouds on the horizon.
I STARE AT THE OPEN email from CJ on the screen. At the five magazines listed down the page with ridiculous dollar figures next to them. Their offers for the first photos of the new Donavan family. The tamed ex-bad boy racing superstar, his sex-crazed wife, and their little piece of perfect between them.
My muscles tense. My eyes blur. My mouth goes dry at the thought of anyone getting his or her sights on Ace. The mere thought of taking him out of the house causes me to break out in a panic attack. Thankfully Colton was able to get the pediatrician to make a house call for his first check up or else I’m not sure what I would have done.
I close the email. No way. No how. Publicity pictures are not even an option.
Any pictures for that matter.
Because even though the public got Eddie’s picture of Ace—scrunched-up red face, mouth open, hands blurred in movement—to obsess over, it wasn’t enough. Not even close. It almost gave the reverse effect. They are now hungry for more. Staking out the house, trying to bribe Grace to sneak a picture while she’s cleaning the house. You name it, nothing’s off limits.
And I refuse to give it to them. They’ve taken enough from me, so I refuse to give them any more.
My phone vibrates again from where it sits on the desk beside me. I glance at the screen. This time a text from Haddie instead of the five I’ve received from my mom today, telling me that pretty soon she’s not going to take no for an answer. That she’s going to come over without asking so she can see her grandson and help me in any way possible.
I clear the text from the screen and send it to the vortex of the bazillion other texts from family and close friends asking when they can come over, if they can bring us dinner, or if I need them to stop at the store for diapers.
Take the offer, Rylee.
The last time someone came over—the boys—I had a breakdown. And I’ve had plenty more on my own in the silence of this house; the last thing I need is to show everyone else how unstable I am.
Just tell her to come.
No, because then she’ll know how much I’m struggling. I can’t let everyone know the lie I’m living. That the woman they all said would be such a natural mother can’t even look at her son some moments without wanting to run and hide in the back of the closet. How more and more I cringe when he cries, have to force myself to go get him when I’d rather just lie in bed with my hands over my ears and tears running down my cheeks.
Type the words, Ry. Ask her to get here.
I have the baby blues. That’s all this is. A goddamn roller coaster of emotion, extreme joy interlaced with moments of soul-bottoming lows, all controlled by the flick of the hormonal switch.
She wouldn’t understand. These feelings are normal. Every new mother goes through it, but no one else understands it unless they’re in the midst of it.
I can get through this on my own. It’s just my need to control everything that makes it feel like it’s uncontrollable: the outside world, my emotions, our everything. I can prove I can handle this, that I’m good at this. It’s only been seven days. I can handle this on my own.
Take the break she’ll give you. It’s exactly what you need.
How can I let someone else watch Ace, when I’m having a hard enough time allowing Colton? I know I’m the only one who can nurse him, but there are still diapers and burping and rocking left for others to help with. And it’s not because I don’t think Colton can handle it, but if I get there first, prove to myself I’ve got a handle on this, then maybe it will help me feel less haywire.
Get a few minutes to yourself. Let her come over. Take a shower without rushing. Brush your teeth without staring to see if his chest is moving. Eat some food without a baby attached to you.