Relief flashes through Beth’s features. I’m no fucking idiot. I watch her mother go from a woman who more than likely has been by her child’s side for the past year to a woman whose entire demeanor fills with relief and gratitude.
“Diesel is sleeping.” Her voice trails off quietly.
I clear my throat. The way her mom is looking at me, I feel as if she needs to hear from me that everything is and will be all right. I’m not abandoning my child. No damn way.
“I’m not going anywhere, Beth. I give you my word. This may not have completely sunk in yet, and I have no clue what the hell I’m doing, but I promise you I’m not leaving your daughter or our son.”
“Thank you, Aidan.” Her voice is trembling with either thankfulness, or the woman just lost all of her pent-up worry she more than likely has been carrying around for a long time. I suppose all of it.
I watch tentatively as Deidre gives me a keen smile, tosses her wallet on the couch, then takes hold of my hand, pulling me behind her down the hall.
Standing outside of the room I slept in when I stayed here has me feeling emotions I cannot begin to explain, knowing my boy is sleeping right behind this door.
I look down at Deidre, who has excitement seeping out of her, while me, I’m a damn mess.
And then I hear him. The sweet sound of a tiny, little voice making noises. My hand instantly grabs the handle of the door, pushing it open.
“Aidan,” I hear Deidre say my name. I keep moving like a madman. I need to see him. To know he’s real. This boy of mine.
And fuck me. When I approach the side of his bed, his head turns my way. Big, blue eyes stare at me. I’m unable to move.
There are no words to describe this incomprehensible feeling. This little man and I stare at each other. Me with great intensity, him, well hell, I have no clue what’s running through his little brain right now.
“Shit, he’s…” Deidre comes up beside me. “Perfect,” she whispers. In that moment, he takes his eyes off of mine and swings them to his mom. I cannot wait for the day when he recognizes the sound of my voice like he does hers.
“Hi, buddy.” Reaching in, she picks him up with ease. His chubby hands go right to her hair. I stand here having trouble fucking breathing in the fact that this little guy is my creation.
He was unquestionably not planned, but my god, hearing Deidre’s next words nearly bring me to my damn knees again. I’m a father.
“Look, Diesel. I want you to meet your daddy.” She turns him around so he’s facing me. If I open the floodgates and let my tears go, that would be twice in one damn day I’ve lost it. Only these are tears of joy. Right now, I’m holding them back. Son of a bitch. This little boy is a miracle. How you can immediately fall in love with someone you don’t even know, want to do everything to protect them, to show them you will live up to the word dad, pop, or whatever name he decides to call me, is beyond me, but Christ, I’m here. I will always be here for this kid.
“I’m going to go home,” Beth speaks from the doorway. Her eyes are full of tears, but unlike me, she lets them flow freely down her face, exposing her happiness for her daughter when her lips angle upward into a smile.
“Thank you, mom,” Deidre says without turning away from me. Her own eyes are wet. Hell man, this joyous emotional shit is all new to me.
I go back to looking at my boy. He’s looking at me again. It’s like a bond has already been formed between the two of us, and I haven’t even touched him yet.
“Go sit over there, Aidan. For god’s sake, you look scared to death.” Deidre tips her head toward a rocking chair in the corner. This is when I gather my first glimpse of my boy’s room. Fucking hell, this woman has some badass taste. I’ve never given a thought to decorating a room before, let alone a kid’s. My apartment is plain. Black, white, and gray are the only colors throughout the entire space I live in. Now, the divine colors in this room seep into my skin, making me feel colorful, not bleak and dreary. Fucking hell, this is real.
“Damn.” I let out a puff of breath and take in my surroundings. The walls are painted orange and black with a strip of chrome down the middle. A few Harley Davison photos are hung on one wall, and in big black letters above his kickass black-framed crib with Harley sheets and a blanket is his name. I suck in a breath. Close my eyes and move to the rocking chair, my long legs stretching out before me when I sit.
“Here.” Leaning forward, she places him in my clumsy arms, adjusting my hands to hold him how I’m supposed to, I guess. Fuck if I know.
“He won’t hurt you, Aidan. Loosen up. I’m going to just,” she points her finger behind her, “let you have some time with him, then I’ll come back and change him.” Then she leaves me with no choice and all kinds of shit running through my head, like what if I drop him or what the hell do I even say to a three month old?