Page 67 of The Backdraft
“It leaves you calling the chief and telling him you’re taking the position.”
“And us?” he asked, a hesitant quality to his tone.
I ignored his question for the moment, and posed one of my own. “Why do you want to be with me?”
Confusion creased his brow when he pulled back to look at me. “I told you. I can’t get you—”
“No.” I shook my head. “I get that. Trust me, I get that. I guess what I’m asking is . . .” Taking a deep breath through my nose, I powered on. “Is the baby the only reason you want to be with me? Because you can want to be in your child’s life without caring for me too—I won’t hold that against you. The last thing I want is for you to convince yourself that you have feelings for me simply because I’m the mom, or—”
“Stop.” The command was sharp, but not harsh. I stopped talking. “I don’t do anything because Ihaveto, and I certainly wouldn’t date someone out of some sense of obligation alone. I want to be with you because ofyou.”
“So, if the baby wasn’t yours, you’d be fine with that?” I questioned.
Gently, he tipped my chin up, and peered down at me. “I’m choosing you, why wouldn’t I choose the baby as well?”
The tears I’d successfully fought into submission earlier returned, and there was no stopping them this time. I nodded, sniffling and wiping furiously at my eyes. If I never have to be this overly emotional again it would be too soon.
“You’re mine. The baby is ours, whether she’s mine, the other guy’s, or some god’s I don’t believe in. I’m choosing you and the nostalgic rap music you play far too loud, the heartfelt movies that are—” At my glare he thought twice of his next words. “Super amazing, and the absurd amount of recycling that comes from ice cream cartons alone. You spent the last fifteen minutes convincing me to give us a chance, how is it that I’m now having to convince you?”
I laughed. “You’ve got trauma, and I’m apparently more insecure than I realized.”
“So,” Archer started again, smiling. “Where does that leave us?”
“I think we’re going to try this for real, at least if that’s what you want too. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore than you do, but we can figure it out together,” I offered, trying to keep my smile from slipping into “stupid grin” territory.
“It’s what I want,” he answered, his arms snaking around my waist and dragging me closer to him. “And I’d say we make a solid pair,” he responded, dropping a kiss to the tip of my nose.
It wasn’t until a while later, when Archer had fallen asleep on the couch during a movie he’d picked, that reality sunk in. The man quietly snoring next to me wasn’t just the father of my baby, he was my boyfriend. For real this time.
I texted the group.
Me:We’re doing it for real now.
Their responses were immediate.
Lins:AHHHH!! YAY! I’m so happy for you, Darse!
Shayna:Girl…it’s been real the whole time. Y’all are just king and queen of denial.
Archer shifted and I peeked over at him. He was slumped to the side using the armrest of the couch as a pillow, his arms folded over his chest, which was rising and falling with each breath he took.
Maybe we were the king and queen of denial, but I didn’t see anything wrong with that. Denial was the body’s way of protecting itself until it was ready to handle the truth. Archer and I hadn’t been ready for our truth yet, but we were now.
My eyes grew heavy watching him sleep, the superhero movie he put on having lost me and my interest within the first ten minutes. I let myself lean down against him, promising to only rest my eyes until the credits rolled, but I was sound asleep within minutes.
TWENTY EIGHT
ARCHER
“Let’s pick up there next time because I want to dive into that more. Sound good?” Doctor Stevens asked, setting his notebook and pen aside. With the amount he wrote, he could probably throw the pen away. There was no way it had any ink left.
“Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you.” I rose from the chair I’d spent the last hour in, which was surprisingly comfy considering it didn’t seem like it would be, and shook his hand.
“Great, then I’ll see you next week.”
I closed the door to his office, checked out with reception, and made my way to the elevators. Pressing the button for the ground floor, I watched the doors slide closed, then exhaled a large breath.
Therapy was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I knew we’d have to talk about my past, but what I hadn’t expected wasthe deep dive Dr. Stevens took right from the start. Our first session was supposedly an intake, and what I thought was going to be simply getting acquainted with one another turned into a vast, yet brief, overview of my entire life. Nothing I said seemed to faze him in the slightest either—at least not yet. But I’d expected him to at least raise an eyebrow. The lack of pity in his eyes was refreshing and greatly appreciated. I’d also expected him to do a lot more talking, but the reality was that I carried most of the conversation, and that in and of itself felt strange.
