Page 32 of Brendan (The Doherty Mafia)
Davey hadn’t been curious about his father. Thankfully, he hadn’t asked me too many questions or forced me to lie to him.
But from the way Davey had warmed to Brendan now—who was a stranger to him—it was pretty clear that my son wanted a male presence in his life. He needed it.
It was the only thing I couldn’t give him, no matter how much I tried or how much I wanted to. Maybe I was the one who disappointed my son.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I carried the plate of pancakes to the table. They’d arranged all the toppings and set the table with plates and cutlery.
Davey was in the middle of showing Brendan how he’d learned to do cartwheels. They looked like they were having fun together. From where I stood, it even seemed like Brendan enjoyed himself. It didn’t appear forced.
But I knew it was temporary, just an illusion. I would forever cherish this memory of seeing them together, but that was all it was meant to be—a memory.
Brendan was only doing this to prove something. That he had been right when he demanded that I introduce him to my family. He just wanted to prove me wrong.
And maybe he had proven me wrong. Maybe Davey was more emotionally stable than I gave him credit for, but I didn’t want to push the envelope on that.
We sat at the table together and ate our pancakes, talking and laughing and acting like a normal family. But the only person who wasn’t acting, was Davey, and that broke my heart.
“Can Brendan walk with us to school?” Davey begged after we were done with breakfast.
I was about to tell him it wasn’t going to happen, but Brendan jumped in before I even had the chance.
“Sure, buddy, let’s go,” he said chirpily.
This was a new side to Brendan. He wasn’t being a mysterious and dangerously sexy stranger this morning. Somehow, Davey had managed to tap into a thoughtful and cheerful side to him.
I couldn’t ruin the plan now when the two of them were already out the door. I grabbed my things, caught myself looking like a complete mess in the mirror, and then we left.
Davey walked between us for most of the way. At one point he even grabbed Brendan’s finger instead of holding my hand. I saw that and it made my stomach lurch. I didn’t know how to handle it—this feeling of keeping a guilty secret from my son.
Wouldn’t Davey have loved to find out that through some miraculous coincidence—this man he was having so much fun with was his father? Davey would be thrilled. And I wanted to make my son happy above everything else.
But I was afraid at the same time.
Brendan Doherty was not a father. He had never considered himself to be. And the truth was, I didn’t want him in my life.
Four years ago, when I was nothing better than a naive nerd, I thought I had fallen in love with a handsome mysterious stranger. But I was foolish. I hadn’t really lived my life. That wasn’t love. It was lust.
And what I felt now when I looked at Brendan was…lust too, right?
I wanted him, but only in my bed.
Not in my life.
My thoughts swayed. I couldn’t make sense of anything. I just wished I hadn’t invited Brendan back to my apartment the previous night. Then none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have ended up putting Davey at the center of everything.
We walked up to the kindergarten and Davey didn’t want to go in. He was having so much fun with Brendan.
I gave my son a hug and kissed his forehead.
“I’ll see you later, honey. You have fun today, okay?” I said.
Davey smiled at me but then he looked longingly at his new friend.
“Will you be there after school?” he asked shyly.
My heart stopped. I felt panicked, like I was going to burst out crying. I knew it had been a mistake. It was all my fault.
Brendan ruffled Davey’s hair.
“We’ll see each other soon, buddy,” he replied.
Just as I expected—he wasn’t going to commit to anything.
Eighteen
Brendan
I wasn’t expecting to have as much fun as I did with that kid.
I hadn’t spent this much time around a child in…ever. I didn’t know what to expect. I definitely didn’t expect Davey to be as funny and fun as he turned out to be.
“How old is he?” I asked Rosalie. We stood at the gates of the kindergarten, watching him go in with his friends.
“He’s just three,” she replied, staring at her son like she was lost in thought.
I knew I needed to apologize.
Maybe I shouldn’t have walked out of her bedroom like that. I put her on the spot. But I didn’t like being told what to do.
“I’m sorry for not following your lead earlier,” I said. It wasn’t easy for me to apologize and she probably knew that.
