Drew

This can’t be real. This has to be a nightmare. I’ll soon wake up to the sound of two small voices giggling as I pretend to sleep, just as we do every morning. But we already did that today. Then I walked them to school, just like every other weekday, and was about to leave for work when my entire world crumbled beneath me.

My stomach churns, my chest tightens, my lungs constrict, a fear unlike any I’ve faced in my life coursing through me, leaving me anxious, panicked, on edge. I didn’t know what else to do, so I hopped on the vintage Triumph motorcycle my dad left me and took off to see the one person I need, the one person who can hold me together when I’m minutes away from unraveling. I promised to give her space, but I can’t. Not now. Not after opening the envelope the process server handed me less than an hour ago.

“Can I help you?” a short blonde asks as I continue past the reception area of the cramped office building.

When I don’t acknowledge her, she jumps up and chases after me. I’d like to see someone try to stop me today. I’ve never been so filled with rage, so ready to break down and scream.

“Sir, please! You can’t come in here unless you have an appointment!”

I storm down the narrow corridor past rows of cubicles and tiny offices, then round the corner, halting in the doorway of Brooklyn’s office. I could have found my way here blindfolded, her familiar aroma of lavender flowing from the room.

She shoots to her feet when she sees me, blinking repeatedly, her eyes darting from me to the receptionist and back again, confusion wrinkling her brow. “Drew?”

“I’m sorry. I tried to stop him,” the receptionist apologizes. “I can call security.”

“Please...,” I manage to say through the lump in my throat, my anger turning back to despair, to desperation.

Brooklyn’s gaze narrows on me as she surveys my disheveled appearance. My eyes are red and full of worry, distress covering every inch of me. My expression is slack as I plead with her to help. This woman has seen me at my highest of highs and lowest of lows. But I doubt she’s ever seen me so distraught, so out of sorts. She can’t refuse me. It’s not in her nature to turn away someone in need, regardless of how much I’ve hurt her.

When she remains silent, seemingly still uncertain about the reason for my presence, I throw the papers in my hand onto the desk in front of her. “I need you,” I beg, my tone shaky.

She studies me with curiosity, then looks down at the papers, instantly flinging her shocked gaze back to mine once she reads the caption. The same questions I had when I received this earlier are written in the lines of her face. 

Her jaw grows slack as she shakes her head, struggling to say something. I know exactly what she’s going through. I was there an hour ago. Hell, I’m still there.

In an instant, she flips the switch and becomes the social worker I know her to be, spine straight, composing herself. “Natalie...” She returns her attention to the blonde. “There’s no need to call security.” She looks back at me, a peaceful air about her. Right now, I need to feel her soothing presence. It’s the only thing giving me hope. “Drew’s a friend who needs my help.”

“Of course.” With a smile, Natalie starts to close the door when Brooklyn calls out to her once more.

“And please rearrange my schedule for today. I won’t be able to make any of my appointments. Do what you can to reschedule them for later in the week, even if it means after hours.”

Natalie shifts her eyes to me, then back to Brooklyn, curious. “I’ll update your calendar.” She closes the door behind her.

“A complaint for custody?” Brooklyn presses once we’re alone. Her expression is long, a slight tremble in her chin as she swallows hard.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, the ache in my throat becoming more painful. Hearing those words validates it, reminds me I’m not dreaming, that this is my reality. My crazy ex is trying to take my girls from me. And that’s not even the worst of it.

“What am I going to do?” I tug at my hair, pacing, unable to hide my emotions any longer. It’s a miracle I made it all the way here in one piece when everything around me seems to be spinning out of control. How am I going to pick up Alyssa and Charlotte from school today and pretend everything is okay? How am I going to smile, laugh, and play with them without my heart breaking over the idea I might lose them?

“It’ll be okay, Drew.” Brooklyn’s voice is strong, assertive, a complete one-eighty from the sorrow filling me. “We’ll fight this. You took care of those girls after she abandoned all of you. There’s no way you’ll lose custody. If worse comes to worse, you may have to share custody.”

 I fall into a chair, burying my head in my hands. “What about Charlotte?” I slowly lift my glassy eyes to hers, my stare distant and empty, a vice squeezing my heart.

“What about her?” Her tone is cautious, as if she doesn’t want to hear the answer.

With a defeated sigh, I sit forward and shakily point to the second paragraph of the pleading. Brooklyn’s hesitant but eventually lowers herself to her chair, scanning the paper. After a few seconds, she sucks in a quick breath. Her gaze shoots back to me, her chin quivering, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Words seeming to escape her as she processes what she just learned, what I just learned, she silently pleads with me for an explanation. I wish I had one. 

“She claims I’m not the biological father. That Chase...” I trail off. Parker had warned me when we met for drinks on Saturday. I didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to think it could be true. I guess I was wrong.

She covers her mouth with her hand, but it does nothing to hide her sadness, her pain. It matches my own. It’s in this moment I realize I’m not the only one affected by this. We all are. Those girls are as much Brooklyn’s kids as they are my own. She helped raise them — changed diapers, put them to bed, bathed them, sang to them, played with them. This isn’t just my struggle. It’s hers, too.

Brooklyn’s lips form a tight line as she continues flipping through the pleading. Then she stands from her desk, heading toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go.” 

“Go?” I peer at her through forlorn eyes. “Go where?”

“To see a friend of mine. A lawyer. She’ll know what to do, how to fight this.”

Without giving me a minute to protest, she grabs my hand, yanking me from the chair and pulling me down the hallway. I should be thinking only of my daughters, but damn if her skin on mine doesn’t cause a subtle jolt of electricity to course through me. She’s by my side again. Even if the circumstances that brought us together are tearing me apart, I find comfort in the small victories.

When we emerge outside, she spies my motorcycle parked in the lot and scowls. “Didn’t the doctor advise you against riding that thing? It could cause irreversible brain damage if you got in an accident!”

“I needed to see you, and the bike is easier to navigate through traffic.”

“That was stupid, Drew. You’re worried about losing your girls to Carla. What if something happened to you? They’d lose you. We all would.”

“You’ve never liked that bike,” I comment.

She stops walking as we approach her car. “No, I haven’t. I don’t like the idea of you speeding down the highway with little to no protection.”

She unlocks the car and I head around to the passenger side. “Duly noted,” I say before lowering myself into her car. It’s a small sedan, so my long legs and large physique seem to take up the entire compartment.

As she sits behind the wheel, she glances at me, her eyes hard. “If you’d followed doctor’s orders and refrained from riding that deathtrap on two wheels, we could have taken your car and you wouldn’t be squished. So don’t even think about complaining.” Her tone is clipped.

“Okay. Okay. I get it. You don’t like me riding the bike.”

“I can tolerate it when you’re in your neighborhood.” She inserts the key into the ignition and starts the car, carefully navigating through the parking lot and merging onto the street. “You’re a good driver, but I don’t trust any other drivers on the road.” When we come to a stoplight, her eyes briefly lock with mine. “You’re special to me, Drew.” A strange expression washes over her features, almost as if having a realization of sorts. “I can’t lose you.”

I swallow hard, the way she peers at me hitting me deep in my soul. I’m still not sure where we stand, but I don’t care about that right now. I just need to feel something real again, something that grounds me. Brooklyn’s always been my anchor.

Reaching across the console, I squeeze her hand in mine. “You won’t. As long as that’s what you want.”

Her gaze darts to our joined hands and she quickly withdraws, freeing herself from my touch. As the light turns green, she returns her turmoil-filled eyes to the road and grips the wheel with both hands, something she never does.

“I don’t even know what I want anymore.” Her words are soft, contemplative, spoken in a way that makes me think she’s saying them for herself, not me.

I could press her, make a case for why she should choose me. Why she should take a risk. Why she should give me one more chance to prove I’m not the person she assumed I was when I disappeared from her life without saying goodbye. Instead, I remain silent throughout the drive toward the Back Bay in Boston. I’m unsure how she would react to the truth of why I stood her up. Her father’s the only family she has left. I can’t be responsible for destroying that, too.