Page 112 of Adrift

I peel my eyes open at the sound of squeaky baby babbling. Arman’s warm smile greets me along with the sunshine on my bed–mine and Darian’s bed. “Mas!”

I sit up after adjusting my tank top underneath the bed sheet. “Hey, sweet boy! What are you doing here? Where’s your daddy?”

I pull him into my lap, showering him with kisses when I smell the unmistakable aroma of syrup and eggs.

Darian comes into the room moments later, holding a tray but it’s not the breakfast he’s carrying that makes my mouth water. He’s wearing low-slung pajama pants without a shirt. His biceps flex as he moves closer and when he bends over me to place the tray over my lap, my eyes lock onto his absurdly muscular abdomen.

I lick my lips as my gaze trails up his body, caressing the soft hair on his chest, moving up to his shoulders, and past the smooth skin around his thick neck. I want to latch my lips on the side of his neck like a sucker fish or a vampire and mark him as mine. He’s so unearthly beautiful, he makes me feel like a savage.

His knowing smile finds me when I finally make my way to it. “Happy birthday.”

Darian leans over to kiss my lips, and I pull him in to make it deeper. Our eyes lock when I pull back from him but we continue to breathe each other in. I’ve spent every night in his bed–save for the weekend I left to get my stuff from my parents’ home in the East Bay–but every morning feels like a wrapped gift I yearn to wake up to. Like Christmas morning . . . or in this case, my birthday.

He’s been sleeping a lot better as well–definitely an improvement from the constant nightmares that used to keep him awake–ever since he started therapy. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I’m hopeful that with time, he’s going to be able to manage his PTSD even better.

His smiles, his smoldering eyes, his whispers along my heated skin–they’re the gifts I cherish, the secrets I’ll never part with because they’re mine and mine alone. Everyday I learn something new about this man, and every day I fall deeper, climb higher.

I look down at the tray over my lap, noticing two plates–one for me and a smaller one for Arman–with waffles, eggs, bacon, and fruit. Along with my favorite cup of coffee that Darian has perfected, there’s also a small vase with what’s now my favorite flower–a burgundy lily. “Thank you.”

Five minutes later, we’re sitting side-by-side, with Arman in the middle, splitting our attention between our respective breakfasts and the movie Darian put on the TV, Mary Poppins.

I can’t think of a better way to spend my birthday.

We’re half-way into the movie when Darian’s phone pings with a message. His frown follows subsequently.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, mid-chew, watching his jaw tighten.

He worries his bottom lip.

“Dar, tell me,” I repeat, my concern climbing.

“The test results.”

I swallow down the last bite of my waffle. “Oh.”

After deliberating with his nerves for another few days, Darian went to take the paternity test last week. He hasn’t mentioned much about it since then, but I know he’s distressed about it. I have absolutely no doubt that even if Arman is not his, Darian will remain the same loving father to him no matter what, but for the sake of his already battered heart, I pray that the results are in Darian’s favor.

We discussed the news of Sonia’s betrayal with mine and Darian’s parents a couple of weeks ago. Both our moms were in tears–my mother even apologized to Darian on behalf of Sonia, looking ashamed–but it was the less than surprised look on Karine’s face that caught my attention. She never said as much–I’m sure out of respect for me–but I felt that her shock was subdued.

We received a written statement from Ryan last week saying he wanted nothing to do with Arman, whether he was his biological father or not. And whatever magic his ex wife Emily did, Ryan never ended up pressing charges on Darian, either.

After all the damage he’s caused, it was the smallest kindness he could have shown us.

“What does it say?” My pulse pounds inside my veins.

Darian grips his phone tighter. “I haven’t opened the link in the email. I . . . I can’t.”

I scoot Arman up on the bed and move in next to Darian, our shoulders touching. Placing a hand on his thigh, I look at his profile. “Do you want me to open it?”

He gives me a slight nod and even though there’s a musical score playing on the TV, I can hear Darian’s heart pounding in the air between us.

I pull his phone from his grasp before putting it on the bed and straddling his lap. I cradle his jaw in my hands, bringing his eyes to mine. “I’m right here, right by your side.” I look over at the little boy near us, completely engrossed in the movie and chewing his fingers. “Your son,” I emphasize it again, “your son is right here by your side. Nothing changes, sweetheart. Nothing.”

Darian takes a shaky breath, swaying his head up and down. “Nothing changes.”

I lay a kiss on his lips and he tightens his grip around my hips. “You ready?”

Another nod.

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