4. Four

Four

Anna

My hand raises, and I ring the doorbell, hearing the sound of chimes faintly through the thick door. Taking a deep breath, I try to control the frantic beating of my heart. I try to uncoil the knot of dread that settled in my stomach ever since I got Carson's phone call.

I wipe my damp palms down my jeans and try to keep them from shaking. Oh, God. What possessed Connor to come here? Alone? I know he's been yearning for a male presence in his life, but he's only ten. Anything could have happened to him on that bus ride.

And let's face it, the dull ache in my chest is from a blend of hurt and anger. My son kept this visit a secret and came to see his father, a complete stranger, by himself.

The door suddenly swings open. Nothing could have lessened the impact of seeing Carson again. The air catches in my throat, and my heart continues to pound loudly in my chest. I feel like I'm about to faint as my head swims and my eyes rise to meet his.

They are the same piercing blue and hold no warmth or hint of softened emotions after all these years. In fact, they seem colder, harder, like chips of ice as they rake over me.

He steps back, gesturing for me to enter the apartment.

My gaze darts to Connor, his small frame standing hesitantly beside his father. Relief washes over me as I rush toward him.

I wrap my arms around him and give him a hard hug. As I hold him close, I steal a glance at the man beside him. The years have added lines around his eyes, his dark hair is the same but in a different style. If anything, he's broader now, his form sculpted with hard muscles that weren't there before.

I turn as I step back, my hands still on Connor's shoulders, and take a good look at my son. I have to ensure that he's okay. I guess I take too long because he gives one of his signature shrugs, trying to dislodge my grasp.

I let my hands fall to my sides while a sense of dread, heavy and cold, settles in my stomach. Then, with reluctance and a deep breath, I turn slowly toward his father.

Carson's face looks carved from granite as he states quietly, "Let's all have a seat." I follow him into a contemporary living room decorated in warm, neutral tones of beige and brown.

I tentatively sit down on a buttery, soft brown leather sectional. Connor lowers his lanky frame beside me. Carson sits across from us in a matching armchair.

My mouth feels painfully dry as I try to gather my thoughts. The words I prepared on my way here have disappeared scattered, and my mind is a blank slate.

Carson leans forward, picks up a piece of paper from the coffee table in front of us, and hands it to me. I take it, my vision blurring as the words swim on the page. It's the DNA report. When I glance up again, I notice two pairs of eyes focused intently on my face. Both Connor and Carson stand. Waiting.

I lick my lips and state in a voice that barely wavers, "Connor is our son. You're his father."

I watch as Carson closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, they're filled with a whirlwind of emotion. He turns to Connor, who approaches him cautiously. They both stop just a foot or two away from each other. Their gazes study each other with a solemn intensity.

As Carson pulls our son into an embrace, I hear Connor mutter, "Don't mess up my hair this time." I see Carson's lips twitch as he holds back a smile. Their emotional reunion clearly happened before I arrived. I swallow the bitter disappointment that knowledge gives me. Until now, it's just been me and my son, weathering the highs and lows together.

My breath catches in my throat as I realize our entire lives are about to change.

I've lived with my fear, wondering what would happen if Carson ever found out about Connor. Surely, he wouldn't keep my son from me. I feel the fear raise its ugly head again as I witness the bond forming so easily between them. I swallow it down. I can't deny them this closeness.

A boy needs his father. I frown at the unease of keeping them apart, but it's not like Carson was open to communicating with me. I push the wave of guilt to the back of my mind and paste a smile on my face. I blink to keep the wetness on my lashes from falling. I draw in another shaky breath.

Once Carson loosens his hold, he keeps his arm around Connor's shoulders as they turn toward me.

"Can we eat now?" Connor asks with a hopeful glance at me and his father, "Aren't you guys hungry?"

I see the smile spread across Carson's face before he openly chuckles, "You're a growing boy. I was always hungry at your age, too."

They both turn and give me identical looks of raised eyebrows. "I could eat. Did you have something here for me to fix, or are we going out?" I ask.

"Out," Carson answers with a grin, "Then, after dinner, we can run by a store and pick up some groceries for breakfast." He turns toward Connor, "What do you like in the mornings?"

Connor shrugs and answers honestly, "Anything. I love pancakes and bacon. I can eat cereal, too, if that's all you have. But I don't like oatmeal."

Carson nods, "Sorry, no cereal here, but you'll have to tell me what you like, and we'll get a box."

As we exit the apartment, Connor is listing his favorite cereals out loud. "Cap'n Crunch is good, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. But no shredded wheat, not even the frosted kind…"

I grab my purse and follow them out to the elevator. Once we reach the parking garage, Connor piles into Carson's sleek black SUV, and he automatically gets in the back seat. Leaving the front passenger seat for me. Carson holds the door, but we avoid looking at each other as I murmur a quick thank you.

"Does anybody have a preference?" Carson asks as he pulls out into the Jacksonville traffic.

I shake my head, but Connor is more vocal. "How about barbecue? I can put away some ribs."

Carson smiles and turns the car, "I know just the place. He drives us to a restaurant called Mojo Bar-B-Que. We slide into a wooden booth. I sit beside Connor, and Carson slides in opposite us.

We all order ribs, and when our meals arrive, Connor actually stops his eager chatter as he's too busy eating. I look over at my son fondly as the boy devours his ribs as if he hasn't eaten in days, the sauce clinging to his cheeks, and he offers a sticky smile. I watch him lick his fingers with gusto.

I glance up to find Carson's eyes on me, "Do you like the ribs?"

"Yes, almost as much as Connor does," I say with a small smile. We both look over at Connor, who is finishing his ribs, while Carson and I have barely put a dent in our dinners.

After we leave the restaurant, we make a quick detour to a nearby grocery store. Later, we exit with a few bags of groceries and load them into the SUV. They are mostly breakfast foods, but I also grabbed some healthy snacks and a not-so-healthy bag of chips for Connor.

At Carson's questioning look, I explained with a slight smile, "Connor can eat you out of house and home."

Carson lets out a silent chuckle, a glint of amusement shimmering in his eyes as they track Connor. Our son, with youthful energy, volunteered to return the shopping cart. He can turn anything into an adventure, as he shoves it with all his might towards the corral. Then he jumps onto the back. The cart lurches forward, carrying him on a short, happy ride before it comes to rest with a soft bump.

Back in the apartment, I help Carson put away the food. Both of us are silent as we listen to Connor in the next room. Carson gave him carte blanche to pick out some music. My son has some very eclectic tastes. While he likes the typical Hip Hop, he also likes Rock and even older Rock artists and songs. We hear him softly debating over Pink Floyd or Imagine Dragons. We both smile as we hear the beginning cords of a song from Pink Floyd's The Wall.

I sit off to the side while Carson and Connor eagerly debate the merits of the different bands. I'm content to listen to their animated discussions.

As eight o'clock approaches, Connor is already yawning, so Carson shows him to one of the spare bedrooms.

Carson instructs Connor in a low and soothing voice, "You can sleep in here. Your mother will be right next door." He gives a soft smile as he points with his thumb, "I'll be down the hall if you need anything."

Connor, his eyes heavy with sleep, manages a mumbled "Okay" before he gives in to a full yawn.

Carson turns to me, his gaze unreadable. "You can sleep in here, Anna."

I give a forced smile, "Thank you," my voice betraying my nerves, "I'll just get my stuff." I turn and wheel in my suitcase that my son brought up for me earlier.

A few minutes later, Connor emerges wearing a mismatched combination of shorts and the well-worn T-shirt he favors for sleeping. We follow him into the spare bedroom, the space suddenly charged with a strange tension.

I lean down and press a soft kiss on Connor's forehead. Then I turn to leave but find myself stopping to look back while I stand in the doorway. Unable to tear my eyes from the scene unfolding between my son and his father. This is the first time Carson will tuck Connor in. It's a simple act, but it feels monumental and charged with emotion.

Carson leans down and gives him a light kiss on the cheek. He reaches out to ruffle Connor's hair, a small gesture that speaks volumes. A lump forms in my throat, and my eyes burn with unshed tears as Carson murmurs, "Goodnight, Son."

I quickly turn and walk back into the living room. I stand there gulping in the air with my hand over my heart. I try to shake off the heavy emotions as I don't want to appear weak when Carson and I talk. And we will talk. I guess I should feel thankful that Carson was willing to wait for Connor to be in bed before we have this difficult conversation.

I slip off my shoes and pull my legs up beside me on the sofa. I wonder what's taking Carson so long. Wearily, I rest my head on the arm of the sofa as I wait for Carson.