Claiming Serenity(86)

“Evan. They named her Evan Nicole. Yes, son, I do. Every damn day.”

Donovan hadn’t expected that. His father was never distant, not once he sobered up, but any attempts the old man had made to make up for his stupidity, Donovan had always brushed aside as guilt and shame. He felt like a selfish prick and now, with the knowledge that his first child, quite possibly his only child, would never know anything about him, would never be in his life, softened Donovan’s anger; the brimming fury he’d always felt when he was around his father.

“I’m sorry. I should have thought more about…”

His father stopped him, waved his hand to dismiss Donovan’s sympathy. “I did it to myself. It made all this mess, but she’s doing well. She’s perfect and beautiful and her parents love her immensely.”

“You’ve seen her?”

“Only once, about three years back. The adoption was closed, but Maryville isn’t far from here and your mother, well, she likes to keep tabs on me as you know. I found a bill for a private investigator. Then I drove up there.” He shook his head, closing his eyes tight as he released a deep breath. “She was playing in the park with her mother and the moment I saw her, saw how similar to you she was, I knew she was mine.”

There was so much agony on his father’s face and Donovan realized, as the old man weaved his fingers together, looking out again toward the town lights, that it must have been impossibly hard to see his child, to want to hold her, even speak to her, yet know that wasn’t ever going to happen.

“It… it will never go away, will it, Pop?”

Donovan thought for a moment that his father would lie to him, try to dull the pain he knew his son would soon feel with small untruths meant to soothe. But that forced smile, the barely there lift of his mouth disappeared and Donovan saw that agony, all the disappointment his father had served himself reflected in the defeated frown that deepened the wrinkles on his face. “It doesn’t. I wish I could tell you it did, but Donovan once they’re gone, once they’re given to some other father, a different mother, then that’s it. You become the sperm donor. They are the parents. You become a name never written on a birth certificate and you will spend the rest of your life knowing that some asshole you’ve never met gets credit for that perfect baby. He gets the firsts. He gets it all and you’re left wondering where she is, who she’ll be and how you could have fucked up so badly.”

Donovan squeezed his eyes tight thinking about Layla, alone, away from her family, friends, in a dark, lonely apartment in New York. He thought about himself in New Zealand, spending his free time with Declan and Autumn, seeing them build a life together, knowing that he could have had that too.

“It’s different for you, Donovan. I… I’m afraid it will be worse.”

“Why?”

“Because, son,” there was a break in his father’s voice, some withheld emotion that he swallowed away and gripped Donovan’s shoulder. “I have you, your brothers, your mother. I never loved Jolie. Hell, I barely remember…” Donovan tensed, not liking hearing how something so meaningless could have fractured their relationship and his father must have seen something in his expression, something that had him forgetting his admission. “But you son, you’ve loved Layla a long damn time.”

“I was always cruel to her. Up until eight months ago, we hated each other.”

“No, son.” That grip on his shoulder tightened and Donovan closed his eyes, blinked them back open when his father pulled his hand away. “You didn’t. Neither of you and if you don’t go to her, tell her how you really feel, tell her what you really want, then you’ll be spending your life wondering about a child you made and never knew. You’ll spend it with that pain and the unbearable ache of knowing that Layla is out in the world, in love with someone else. Likely giving some other guy the life that was meant for you.” He could hear the low wheeze in his father’s throat, as though what he’d say next was important, was something Donovan needed to really understand. “I may have been a horrible father. I may have hurt you more than anyone else in the world, but I couldn’t bear seeing you like that. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

He could only stare at his father, wishing, praying he’d see something in the dulled whites of his eyes that confirmed the truth, that made his words some epic truism that Donovan needed to heed. But there was too much doubt ripping apart any hoping, any anticipation he’d have at a life with Layla, with their daughter. “It’s too late, Pop. She doesn’t want me. She doesn’t want the baby.”