🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.45.

I waited, unsure of what to say and scared that I would somehow make him feel worse.

"My girlfriend and I were young and stupid," Gray's soft tone was truly penitent. "We were seventeen and our families pressured us to give the baby up, to pretend like it never happened."

I'm not sure what I'd been expecting or why his story felt like physical blows to my own gut. All I knew was the loss of Gray's son had torn him apart. Even now, years later, he was barely able to speak above a tortured whisper.

He backed up against his plush leather couch and plopped down with me still nestled in his lap. 

Gray's large hand left my butt to cover his face, pushing the skin around his eyes as if he needed to loosen it.

"My son has an excellent family and home life," he said stoically like he was reading the words from an official transcript. "But everything else fell apart when we gave him up. I tried to act like things were fine, that I didn't care that our son wasn't allowed to know us, or that my ex-girlfriend hated me for going along with our parents. She killed herself after I left for college."

A gulp got caught in my throat as I tried to find some way to react.

The story was more than tragic. His son's mother took her own life after their baby was essentially taken away from them. 

Even worse, it still hurt him. It would always be his burden to carry. The weight of that sadness was so overwhelming, I could feel it in my soul.

I cupped his cheek, hoping that the contact would bring him out of the awful memories. When his eyes found mine, they were black as storm clouds, brooding and thundersome.

"Please don't hate me," he begged, so quiet I could have sworn it was the wind and not Gray's broken voice. "Please, Isla, I didn't realize how much it would hurt to give up a child until it was too late to do anything about it."

"Gray," I breathed, catching the swell of emotions in his eyes. "Why do you think I'd hate you for that?"

"Because," he choked, "because your mother gave you up."

"Oh," the connection smacked me across the face.

"The adoption was private, through family friends, and our church. Once I got my shit together, I negotiated with his adopted family to have limited visitation." Gray shook his head to hide his acrimonious frown, but I could see that there was more to the story. "I'm able to have a relationship with my boy, but he has no idea I'm his birth father." 

"Gray," my words got stuck behind the tight knot blocking my lungs. "I am so, so sorry."

His dark laughter was laced with vitriol. He eyed me as if trying to see if I was telling the truth, or letting him down easy.

"I don't blame you," I replied. "Not that my opinion matters when it comes to someone else's child, but I don't blame you. Hell, I don't blame my mom, most days."

His mouth twisted and his head fell back on the massive couch cushion. 

"It's true," I insisted, grabbing his chin and gently pulling his eyes back to me. "I used to ask my dad about her all the time. When I wrote her letters or made her cards, he promised me that he'd send them.

"When he died? I found two boxes of my old letters in our attic, never sent. He never even addressed them, so I don't think he knew where she was either. I searched online, and I found a few potential women that looked like her in the Boston area, but he wouldn't tell me anything. Neither would my grandparents because it was their son's wishes. I can't blame my mom, because I don't know her situation, or why she gave me up.