Page 35 of Fractured Destiny

My chest heaves once. “Then why?”

“There are many reasons.” She looks down at the folder. “You deserve to hear all of them. Not all today. I’ll have to decide how to tell you. I know none of this changes what you lost.”

The answer frustrates me because it doesn’t give me anywhere to put my hands. “More fucking riddles. What the hell do you mean?”

“Lake, I’m not going to turn your first hour as Levi’s father into a trial about me.” She squeezes her eyes shut.

“Except, this is about you,” I seethe.

Noa shakes her head. “No. Right now, it’s about him. Let me start with Levi.”

I hate how steady she sounds and despise my lack of control over this situation. It’s infuriating.

Noa opens the folder and pulls out another photograph. She places it on the table between us tentatively. Like she’s putting food near a wild animal and hoping it won’t bite her fingers.

It’s Levi, asleep in a car seat, cheeks flushed, mouth open, one fist wrapped around a little blue truck.

“He always sleeps with things in his hand.” She taps the picture. “Rocks. Toys. His blanket. I think it soothes him.”

I don’t move.

She lays down another picture. Levi in a highchair, face smeared with goo.

“He loves strawberries and blackberries. Hates blueberries unless they’re frozen. If you give him apples, he looks at you like you’ve betrayed the republic.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Linus’s mouth twitch.

I turn to glare at him. It disappears.

Another photograph. Levi standing in cowboy boots, coat pockets bulging.

“He’s obsessed with collecting rocks. Cute little pebbles. Sharp jagged gravel. Doesn’t matter. My mother found one in the dryer last week and thought the machine was exploding.” She suppresses a smile, but fails.

I study the image. Sure enough, his little pockets are stretched wide, rounded with whatever treasure he’s stuffed inside.

Something shifts under my ribs. Not enough to soften the rage. Enough to let the deep sorrow in.

Tears pour down my face. Noa sees but doesn’t try to comfort me.

Good. If she tried, I’d lose my fucking mind.

“Does he talk?” The question scrapes out.

“Yes.” She nods. “Mama. Nana. Rock. Dog. Boat. He’s learning more every day.”

I stare at the picture. “Does he say Dad?”

“Not yet.”

Her answer is like a stab in my gut, which is insane because of course he doesn’t.

I press my thumb against the edge of the photograph.

Noa’s voice softens. “He knows he has a father. But he’s a little young to understand everything.”

“I was going to tell you after he was born,” she continues slowly. “I had some personal issues, though, in addition to learning how to be a mom. Then your career exploded. You were overseas, on tour, awards, interviews, everything. The next thing I knew, he was two and you were hard to get to.”

“What personal issues?” I meet her gaze.