Dying to Love Her Page 3

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t want him to know about my health.”

  “So he doesn’t know about your condition?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, sweetie. We’re not going to worry about all this right now. Come sit down and rest for a while. You don’t need this added stress on you, okay?”

  I nodded. She was right.

  “I’ll watch Drew while you sleep.”

  “Okay,” I tell her. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in quite some time, so while my mother may be a pest at times, I certainly appreciate her for being here at this moment.

  * * *

  Mom left for Raleigh in the morning after she covered every inch of Drew’s face with kisses. She made sure to remind me of my Wednesday morning appointment before she took off.

  Mental note to self – never let my mother know when I have an appointment.

  I remember when I told Dr. Wagner I was pregnant. He looked at me like I was already dead as if the situation was hopeless. And it wasn’t a look of worry...it was a look of how could you be so stupid, like I had signed my own death certificate.

  After he got over it, he referred me to the best high-risk obstetrics doctor in Charlotte, who ensured little Drew made it to the world – a healthy five pounds, eight ounces – via cesarean.

  I had to sign a consent form for it, but immediately following Drew’s birth, the doctors gave me a tubal ligation – permanent sterilization for a woman. They said my body couldn’t handle another pregnancy. It barely handled the first one.

  I walk over to Drew’s crib. He’s in dire need of a diaper change, but even though he reeks, he has a big, bright smile on his face. He’s so handsome. So perfect. He wasn’t born with my heart defect. He has a perfect heart and is the happiest little boy I’ve ever seen.

  After getting him changed and smelling powder fresh, I take him to the kitchen and strap him in his high chair, watching him eat dry Cheerios while I make his favorite breakfast – banana cream oatmeal. Then I pour myself a cup of coffee and I hear my cell phone ringing on the living room table.

  I walk over to get it, noticing it’s a familiar number – the number of a man who has called me almost daily for four months straight a couple of years ago – Andre Rockwell. I know I can’t avoid him this time.

  I suck in a breath, pick it up and say, “Hello.”

  “Need your address,” he replies quickly.

  “Who is this?” I ask. I know it’s Andre. I only ask the question because he’s being rude and short with me. I could play that game, too.

  “You know who this is,” he says in a firm tone. “Your address?”

  “No, I don’t know who this is.”

  After a few moments of silence, he says, “It’s the man you lied to and never bothered telling him that you gave birth to his son. That jog any memories?”

  I close my eyes and force an exhale. He’s livid, and I’m speechless.

  “Your address?” he blurts out again.

  I feel obligated to tell him. I have to. After all, Drew is his son. I can’t refute that. And now that he knows Drew exists, I can’t keep him from seeing him. So I rattle off my address and afterwards he hangs up the phone without saying a word to me.

  I set my phone back on the table, close my eyes and force myself not to cry.

  Andre

  . ~ .

  ANDRE’S HEART raced as he pulled up to Ava’s apartment. He was going to meet his son for the first time and was feeling a plethora of emotions. Excitement. Fear. Confusion. Frustration. Anger. He didn’t know how he was going to react once he was able to hold his child and breathe him. Smell him. All he knew was, he had a son – a living, breathing human being he helped to create. A child who clearly had his features. His blood. His legacy.

  A son...

  He wasn’t a nervous man, given the nature of his business. As a matter of fact, he hosted company functions on a regular basis. However, as he ascended two flights of stairs to get to get to Ava’s third floor apartment, he felt sweat forming in his forehead and under his arms. But nothing would stop him from seeing his boy.

  He rang the doorbell and waited. He could feel her presence, so he knew she was home. Ava Flowers. Two years of separation hadn’t forced him to forget her, but as he stood there, waiting for her to answer the door, a wave of anger engulfed him, thinking about the woman whom he once loved. Now he couldn’t stand the sight of her. How dare she keep his son away from him? Even if she didn’t want a relationship with him, keeping his son from him was a slap in the face. And why was it taking so long for her to answer the door?

  Finally, after about two full, very long minutes, he watched her open the door, looking her up and down. She was wearing a burgundy, velour sweat suit and a pair of Hello Kitty socks.

  “Where is he?” Andre asked, brushing pass her. “Where’s my son?”

  “It’s ten o’clock at night. He’s sleeping,” Ava replied, agitated.

  “I don’t care. I want to see him. Where is he sleeping?”

  Ava frowned. “Excuse me...you can’t just barge into my apartment at any hour of the night—”

  “I can do whatever I want as long as my son is here. Now where is he?” Andre roared, storming down the short hallway, opening a bedroom door where there was a full-sized bed with a crib in the corner of the room. He walked by the bed, over to the crib and there he was. His son. His seed.

  A swell of emotions churned inside him as he looked down into the crib at his boy. He felt like he was looking at himself in the mirror, as if he was having a flash back, seeing himself as a child. A toddler. This little boy had his flesh, his blood pumping through his veins. Before yesterday, he had no idea he had a son.

  He stood at the crib a little longer, staring in awe of him. His name was spelled out on the wall in seven-inch high, royal blue, capital letters: A-N-D-R-E-W.

  Andrew, Andre thought. His son’s name was one letter short of his.

  Andrew.

  People usually say women have biological clocks, but as a successful man who ran a multi-million dollar company with no family of his own, Andre dreamed of having sons, daughters even, passing the company down to them and continuing his name. His legacy.

  That’s why he couldn’t understand why he proposed to Michelle. She didn’t want children. But he did, a son especially, and this woman, Ava Flowers, gave birth to his son and didn’t have the decency to tell him.

  Satisfied he was able to see Andrew, Andre stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. He saw Ava sitting on an old couch in the living room, hunched over like she had a stomach ache.

  “When were you going to tell me, Ava?” he asked, his hands in his pockets as he crept closer to her.

  “Don’t talk to me like we just had coffee yesterday, Andre. We haven’t spoken in two years.”

  Something broke inside of him when he heard her say those words. “That’s no fault of mine, now is it?” he asked with fury blazing in his eyes. “When were you going to tell me, Ava!”

  “I wasn’t. There, happy? Is that what you want to hear? I had no intentions on ever telling you about Andrew.”

  Andre narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  He walked closer to her, and while towering over her as she remained sitting on the couch, he said, “You want to get an attitude after you kept my child away from me? Like I did you wrong? That’s what you’re going to do, Ava?”

  Ava buried her face in her palms. Exasperated, she looked up at him. “The past is the past, okay. I can’t change that.”

  Andre felt like a blood vessel would burst in his head. She hit a nerve, and now she would feel his wrath. So instead of trying to work out some custody agreement with her, or trying to figure out the reason she distanced herself from him, he wanted her to experience the pain and loss he was feeling.

  “Tomorrow, I file for full custody,” he said, then walked away fro
m her, heading to the front door of the one-bedroom place.

  “No. You can’t do that,” Ava said, running after him.

  “Watch me.” He snatched the front door open. “He’s my son, too, and I intend on making sure he knows his father.”

  Ava panicked for a moment, then simmered down a little when she realized Andre had no grounds to seek full custody. She was a good mother to Drew. Why would the court system take him away from her? So standing her ground with Andre, she said, “No judge is going to take my baby away from me.”

  “You still don’t get it, do you? He’s not just your son. He’s my boy and you denied me of my parental rights. I think a judge would love to hear my story...all these men out here who couldn’t care less about their kids and I get cheated out of seeing my child grow up.”

  “He’s thirteen months old for goodness sakes! You can still watch him grow up,” Ava said staring up at him. “You’re here...I gave you my address and you can see Drew whenever you want.”

  “And I can also see him when he’s living with me and my soon-to-be wife in my six-bedroom house in Miami. I’m sure the social worker is going to find your current living arrangements inappropriate, the same way I do. My son is cramped in this tiny, one-bedroom apartment with you...his crib is in a corner in your bedroom.”

  Ava crossed her arms. “It works for us. It may not be six bedrooms, but it’s his home.”

  “Tell it to a judge. I’m done talking to you. See you in court.” Andre walked out of the door and slammed it so hard, he could’ve shattered the windows. He was furious and had every right to be. As he jogged down the stairs, he tossed around processes in his head – things he needed to do to pull this off. He wanted his son, and he would get him one way or another.

  Ava

  . ~ .

  I’M A NERVOUS wreck when Andre leaves. My hands are shaking so badly, I can’t hold my cell phone steady enough to find my mother’s number in the contact list. I sit down, try to get myself together by taking a few deep breaths and holding my head between my trembling hands.

  Breathe in...breathe out. In...out...

  I remembered Andre being an easy going guy – a man who echoed sophistication and swagger – not this irascible, raging lunatic that just left my apartment.

  After a few moments, I’m able to dial mom’s number and when she answers, I don’t give her time to say anything before I blurt out, “Mom, you gotta help me.”

  “What’s wrong, Ava? You need a doctor?”

  “No,” I tell her, though I probably could use a doctor right about now. Heart palpitations, sweat, dizziness and chills – I felt like I was coming down with a virus as my teeth chattered. Would Andre really take my baby away from me?

  “Tell me what’s going on, dear.”

  “Andre came here.”

  “Andre?”

  “Drew’s father! He came by a moment ago to see Drew and threatened to file for full custody.” Tears fall from my eyes and I’m whimpering so hard, I’m not sure if my mom made out what I just told her.

  “Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about. Okay? Listen to me, honey. Listen. There is absolutely, positively no way a judge will take Drew away from you. No way. You’re an excellent mother.”

  “But he could argue that I kept Drew away from him, right?”

  “Well—”

  “And he said something about me sharing a bedroom with Drew...that a social worker would have something to say about Drew’s crib being in my room.”

  “Ava—”

  I dabbed my eyes and slid off the couch, sitting on the floor now. “I live in a one-bedroom apartment. Where else am I supposed to put his crib, Ma? In the living room?”

  “Don’t they have two-bedroom apartments at your complex?”

  “So you think he’s right? Is he right? Social Services can take my baby away because his crib is in my bedroom?”

  “I’m not sure, dear. I’m simply asking if you could just rent a two-bedroom and then Andre won’t be able to use that against you.”

  “I can’t afford a two-bedroom right now.”

  “How much more money would you have to pay? Maybe I can pay the difference.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t do me any good anyway.”

  “Well, why not?” she asks, frustrated. “At least Drew will have his own room.”

  “You don’t understand. Andre is a very wealthy man. I’m sure he can buy somebody off to get his way.”

  “Wealthy? I thought you told me he was an accountant.”

  “That’s what he told me when we were on vacation, but I looked him up online. He owns Rockwell Computer Components. I read in the paper that he’s in Charlotte to complete a merger with a company here.”

  “Then I’ll just have to make a little trip back to Charlotte to pay him a visit.”

  “No, Mother. Don’t do that.”

  “I have to. What kind of man would take a baby away from its sick mother? I don’t care how much money he has...not on my watch.”

  “Mom...”

  “And who knows how long you have left with Drew?”

  “Mom...”

  “The nerve of that jerk!”

  “Mom, I told you he doesn’t know I’m sick.”

  “Then tell him. If he has a heart, there’s no way he would take Drew away from you.”

  “I can’t tell him, Mom.” I cry harder, feeling helpless. Lifeless.

  “So you’re just going to let him take my grandbaby?”

  “No, I’m not going to let—”

  “Then tell him, Ava.”

  “I can’t. I just can’t, okay?” I dab my eyes. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

  I return to indulging in self-pity, all-out wailing at the thought of my child being taken away from me. I go to my son’s crib, gently stroke his cheek as he sleeps peacefully. Gosh, I love this little boy, more than I love myself. I don’t know what I would do without him. There’s no way I can let Andre take him away from me. No way.

  Andre

  . ~ .

  “SINCE LUNCH on Monday, you’ve been acting a little suspect, man,” Scott said, his legs crossed, showing off his checker board socks. He was sitting in front of Andre’s desk, in a temporary office space that Benjamin set up for him at Able Gadgets. First thing today, Wednesday morning, they were having a session on the company’s financials, and while they waited for Benjamin to join them, Scott used the time to find out what was going on with his longtime friend and boss.

  “What do you mean I’ve been acting suspect?” Andre asked, shaping his hands into a steeple, resting his chin on the point where his index fingers met.

  “For one, you struggled through the meeting on Monday. I’ve never seen you so unfocused...you were in and out. Then, on top of that, you went M.I.A. last night. You were supposed to meet me at the bar to discuss yesterday’s meeting with the lawyers. I sat down there for thirty minutes waiting for you to show up, then I just went to bed.”

  Andre laid back in his chair and crossed his arms. He’d completely forgotten about the meeting with Scott. Seeing his son was more important.

  “Nothing?” Scott asked, examining him.

  Andre rubbed his hand over his mustache and didn’t say a word.

  “Dang, Dre. I knew this merger was going to be taxing, but I didn’t expect you to have this type of reaction to it.”

  Andre sighed deeply. He’d been through acquisitions, but never a merger, and though it was a formidable task, it paled in comparison to the road he had to face with Ava Flowers.

  Clearing his throat, Andre finally said, “It has nothing to do with the merger, Scott.”

  “Then what’s up, man?”

  Andre rubbed his mustache again.

  “Do you remember my vacation to Nassau?”

  “Of course...I begged you to go.”

  Andre smirked.

  “That’s where you met that chick…the one that never called.”

  Andre gave hi
m a cold stare. “Yeah. That vacation.”

  “Okay.” Scott shrugged. “What about it?”

  “Monday, when we were at lunch, I saw her.”

  Scott’s eyes lit up. “You saw who?”

  “Her. Ava. She was sitting a few tables away from us.”

  “Oh. Ooh! So that’s why you were trippin’. I was wondering what was going on, man.”

  “Well, now you know.”

  “Did you say anything to her, or are you over all of that now? I know you took it pretty hard when she hadn’t tried contacting you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you were angry about it for a while...had people talking. You never really said anything to me about it, but I knew you were upset by the ordeal.”

  Andre stood, brushing off his dark, navy blue seersucker suit. He had a dark pink shirt underneath and a solid dark navy blue tie to match the ensemble. He looked like a million bucks as he walked over near the windows with sadness in his eyes, his hands in his pockets, his back to Scott.

  Scott was right – Andre was angry about it, and this anger still consumed him to this day. When he realized he would never hear from Ava, he remembered working twelve-hour days, flooding his life with his business, trying his hardest to forget about her. But he couldn’t. And even when women were at him, one after another like clockwork, he hadn’t shown any interest.

  Going through the motions, he finally settled for Michelle, because the woman he really wanted didn’t want him. He figured if he proposed to Michelle, he would eventually learn to love her, but that hadn’t happened either. His heart was already taken.

  “So did you say something to her or—”

  “Yeah, I said something to her,” Andre replied. “I asked her when she was going to tell me I had a son.”