I’d done that. In a short time, yes, but that was who I was. I’d already gone there, in my mind, in my heart.
And now Amanda was taking that away from me as well. Not just taking it away. Ripping it from me. Tearing it to pieces in front of me. And as ugly as it makes me sound, I couldn’t help but wonder if the only reason I was there was because our son was sick.
Bone marrow.
I’d paid enough attention in my one semester of Human Biology 101 to know exactly the significance of the words bone marrow when connected to leukemia. The significance was that I wasn’t here to be a father . . . but a donor.
Amanda hadn’t asked me to come to her, to be in her life, because she missed me. She needed me to come to donate my bone marrow to my dying son.
And yes, she was correct: the chances of a parent being a match were rare, but still there. I knew that from my studies as well. Amanda must have been beyond desperate to call me after all this time. To reveal to me the secret she’d kept for so long. She’d have to know I’d be angry, hurt. But that fact didn’t assuage my anger. Not at all.
I curled my fist and glared at them both, an empty ache in my chest even as anger continued to spread through me. “I’m assuming you’re not a match?”
She shook her head. I could see she was wracked with grief at the meaning behind that unspoken no, but I was too angry to let it stop me.
“You’re not a match, so you call me. You kept the fact I have a son from me for over a year and a half. You decided I wasn’t important enough to be in his life, not significant enough to be in his life. Until me being in his life is what’s needed to keep him alive.” I swung around to stare at Chase, standing beside her sister, hugging her with one arm. “And you ask me what I’m going to do about it? As if I’m the one who’s fucked up?”
Amanda sobbed, her eyes swimming with tears and grief as she stared up at me. My insult was brutal. Harsh. Callous. I knew that. But I was angry. So very angry. And so very hurt. Fuck, I’ve never felt so hurt, so helpless and . . . and . . . weak, in my life.
Life. It all came back to life. To living.
“I’ve run out of fucking time, Brendon,” Amanda cried, her face contorted with wretched pain. “This is not how I wanted to tell you. Since the day I found out I was pregnant I’ve tried to work out how to tell you, knowing how much it would change everything. And then when Tanner started to get sick . . . From the day he was diagnosed I tried to work out how to tell you, but I was scared.” She dragged her hands though her hair. “And now I’ve fucking run out of time and our son is dying and all I know is I need you. Here. I need you here to save him, to save us. I need you, his father.”
I glared at her. “His father. The one who never got to be his father until you needed—”
“Hey!” Chase shoved at me, planted her small hands square on my chest and shoved. I staggered back a step and glared at her.
Chase glared back. I could see she was shaking. Trembling. I could see she was scared, facing me down like this, but like Richie all those years ago, she was copping the rage I felt for someone else.
“She fucked up, Osmond.” Chase narrowed her eyes and slid her arm around Amanda’s shoulders again. “She knows that. She’s known that since the day Tanner was born and you weren’t there to hold him. Do you have any fucking clue how many times I’ve watched her holding your son and gazing at him with tears in her eyes, full of regret that she hadn’t told you about him? Do you have any clue how many times Tanner’s fallen asleep in her arms to Amanda telling him about you? About how incredible his daddy is. Huh. Incredible, my ass. You have no idea of many times I found her staring at your picture on her phone, as Tanner slept in her arms. None.”
“Chase . . .” Amanda whispered. “Don’t . . . please . . .”
I doubted Chase heard her. She was either too intent on tearing me a new one, or she couldn’t hear her. Whatever the reason, she didn’t turn her sneer from me. “And of course, you have no idea how many hours she’s cried since the doctor told her your son has leukemia, but trust me, she’s cried enough for both of you. And when she knew she had to call you, when she had to face her fear of you hating her, she still did it. She stepped up. She did what was best for your son and called you. So stop acting like a fucking caveman and step up yourself. Step up and show me why she’s never stopped loving you. Step up and—”
“Enough,” Amanda snapped. She gripped her sister’s upper arms. “Enough, Chase.” Her words were clear. Modulated.
Chase shook her head. “I hate this, sis. I hate . . . He’s dying. My nephew is dying . . . and all you two care about is your pride? Who did who wrong? Do you really think it matters now? Do you really think your pride is going to help the situation? You fucked up, sis. He knows that. You know that. So get over it. It’s done. It’s time to move forward and get your fucking acts together. Now.”
She shrugged out of Amanda’s hands and ran from the living room.
A part of me wondered how the door didn’t splinter with the force of her slamming it shut behind her. The rest of me still raged. I fixed my eyes on the back of Amanda’s head, waiting for her to turn. To face me. To look at me.
“She really does like you,” she whispered, her shoulders slumping.
The wounded attempt at humor sheared at any control I had left. “I don’t give a fuck,” I snarled. “I’m not here to be liked. I know that now. I’m here to be cut open.”
Amanda slumped further, hunching over herself, head down. Her shoulders shook as a raw sob tore from her. “I’m sorry, Brendon. I’m so sorry. I wish I could tell you how sorry I am.”
“Sorry for what, Amanda? For not telling me about Tanner? Or for ever meeting me in the first place?”
She turned then. Fixed me with a level stare, her shoulders no longer shaking. There was steel in her eyes. “I will never be sorry for meeting you. Never. Not even the you standing before me now. If I’d never met you, I wouldn’t have Tanner, and he is the most incredible, beautiful, wonderful thing I’ve ever had in my life.”
I drew in a slow breath. The you standing before her wasn’t a good one. He was resentful and furious. I recognized that, and yet I couldn’t let it go. It was Richie Gribble and Lochie all over again.
“Now,” she went on, wiping at her cheeks with the back on a shaky hand, “if you can put your hatred of me aside for a while, I’d like to take you to meet your son. If you still want to meet him, that is.” She was trying to be strong, to be fierce. I could see that. I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t care at that point.
I had no clue how she’d imagined this all going – my arrival, my reaction to her news – but I doubt it was facing down a resentful Brendon. Amanda had never seen this kind of emotion in me during our time together. Hardly anyone had seen this emotion in me. The last person was probably Richie Gribble. For her to be standing there now, alone, and facing me down . . . it took courage. But I couldn’t applaud her for that at the moment. I don’t know if I ever could.
“Tell me honestly, Amanda,” I said. “Do you think I would walk out that door now and not go see my son?”