Page 42 of Brendan (The Doherty Mafia)
But there was no way I could tell him he was a father.
Brendan thrusted his cock into me again, spreading my legs apart and sinking himself into me inch by inch.
Even though I was wet for him, craving for that moment of sweet release he would bring me to, I couldn’t stop being sad about how beautiful it would be if we could always be together like this.
Twenty-Two
Brendan
I couldn’t sleep well that night, waking up often, turning and stirring. I kept recalling the day Tristian got kidnapped, the twenty-four hours we had spent in complete panic until we were able to bring him back home. I felt sick to my stomach the whole time. Unprepared to lose my brother and my mother in the same year.
When I woke up the next morning, it was still fairly dark outside. Rosalie was asleep beside me, and I touched her face lightly.
She had tried very hard the previous night to convince me it wasn’t my fault. Just like Tristian tried over the years.
But the only way I would feel any better was by going out and checking the streets and neighborhood myself. Making sure that Rosalie and Davey weren’t being watched and stalked by the bastard still.
I got dressed and left the apartment. I planned on surveying the neighborhood and then coming back. I wanted to be there when Davey woke up. I wanted to have breakfast with them.
But before I left the apartment, I stopped by Davey’s room. I just wanted to check on him and make sure he was sleeping fine.
A dim morning light filtered through the curtains of his room. He was sleeping peacefully in bed, surrounded by all his favorite toys that I’d tucked into bed with him the previous night. It was still a strange concept to me—that I had somehow managed to make him feel safe. That he was happy to see me. I didn’t feel like I deserved it.
I couldn’t tear myself away from him. I found myself frozen to the spot, watching him as he slept. There was something about him that looked familiar. At first I thought I was just imagining things, and then I couldn’t rid myself of the idea that I knew this kid.
Not just that I’d met him a few days ago and had developed a fondness for him. This wasn’t even about Rosalie. She wasn’t on my mind in those moments while my brain buzzed.
How did I know this kid? What was so familiar about him?
He had light brown hair and pink cheeks that were covered in a light dusting of freckles. His eyes were closed while he slept, but now when I thought about it—it seemed like I knew those eyes well. They were green and intense. Just like the Doherty’s.
Most of us in the family had the same green eyes. Most of us had freckles when we were kids, but they disappeared slowly as we grew up.
And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I now knew exactly who Davey looked like while he slept.
He looked like me.
I had to sit down when the realization hit me.
I grabbed the chair that was close to the bed and sat down with a thump.
Davey stirred in his sleep and that made me want to leave. Now that I knew the truth, I didn’t want him waking up and finding me there. I didn’t know what I would say to him. How I would react.
It had to be true.
Davey was my son.
Rosalie hadn’t been very clear on exactly how old Davey was. She said he was three and we met at the party four years ago. The math added up.
And she had to have known it was me. That I was the father.
That was why she kept running away, kept pushing me when we met again. She didn’t want me getting close to her son. Our son. She didn’t want me finding out. And why?
Had she already decided I was an unsuitable father?
She knew I couldn’t be one. I couldn’t be a good one.
In the past four years since she found out she was going to give birth to my child—she hadn’t once made an attempt to find me. She had planned on keeping my identity a secret from Davey his whole life. My whole life.
I jumped off the chair with rage.
I was going to storm back into Rosalie’s bedroom and shake her awake. I’d confront her with the truth, force her to tell me exactly why she kept this a secret all these years.
My hands were clenched in fists. I was breathing hard. I could feel the frustration rising up my neck. I stared at Davey still sleeping peacefully in his bed, and all of a sudden, all that anger seemed to fade away.
What would I achieve by confronting Rosalie now?
