One in a Million

by Adrianne Byrd

  He looked up with confusion etched in the lines of his face.

  Mustering courage from every pore of her body, she walked back to where he stood. "They test relatives first for a possible match. I wasn't approved for the transplant."

  Gregory's breath caught in his throat as Whitney's trembling hands reached and grabbed his own.

  "I came here to ask you to go in for testing because...you are his father."

  Chapter Two

  Gregory probed deep into the windows of Whitney's soul and took cognizance of the truth, which reflected there. A blistering heat rose from his neck and scorched the top of his head. He loosened his tie to get oxygen into his lungs while his mouth dehydrated.

  Without a word, he bolted towards the bar, his mind centered on something stronger than water.

  "Greg, please say something," Whitney voiced in a shaky whisper, while her shoulders slumped.

  His heart slammed incessantly against his rib cage as he grabbed the Jack Daniels bottle from the back of the bar, and then poured a double shot. He whisked it down in record time then looked back at her.

  "What would you like for me to say?" He shook his head against the liquor's burning aftertaste, yet the blazing heat he felt resided somewhere within his heart. He poured another shot.

  There was no mistaking his rigid posture; his body language spoke volumes of his astonishment. Whitney couldn't tell whether he was angry, happy, or just didn't give a damn. She turned and walked over to the window, while she tried to prevent her heart from shattering. "I know that this may come as a surprise to you and I know..." She struggled for the right words. "...You may need time to adjust to the news, but--" she turned back toward him in time to see him down another drink then stare at her.

  "But?" he asked with cocked brows.

  She took a deep breath and held his hard glare. "But can't we leave the past behind us and focus on what's at hand?"

  Gregory's jawline hardened. "That's a very cowardly thing to say. Don't you agree?"

  Whitney's chest swelled with indignation. This wasn't going the way she had planned. "Perhaps."

  The heat of his gaze penetrated her.

  "I’m waiting to hear the rest of this lovely story. Especially the part where you overlook telling me I have a son.”

  Whitney blinked at his harsh tone and fumbled to remember her prepared speech.

  “I’m waiting.”

  She flared with her anger. “You’re not making this any easier for me by snapping my head off.”

  “I wasn’t aware that I needed to make this easy for you. Were you thinking of me when you decided to keep this bit information from me?” Gregory sneered.

  “Greg…”

  Hell, it’s been ten years since I’ve seen you. Are you sure he’s mine?”

  With open palms, Whitney slapped him. The sound reverberated like a gunshot. “I see I made a mistake by coming here,” she declared as she turned to storm out of his office.

  Gregory raced, then blocked the office door before she reached it. “I’m sorry,” he shouted.

  Whitney refused to look up at him.

  “I mean it. I’m sorry,” he said.

  She lifted her eyes, then waited for a full minute before she turned away to walk toward his office window.

  She turned from him to gaze out of his office window.

  The perfect view, she thought. She watched as the afternoon sun's kaleidoscopic beams bounced, danced, and glistened off the sculptured, glass buildings. It seemed as if she stood on top of the world. But the ache within her heart demolished the beauty in the scenic view and helped form the tears that brimmed her eyes.

  She didn't hear Gregory come up behind her or see his matching tears, but when he sheathed her inside his arms, she leaned back and drowned herself in his essence. She savored the warmth of protectiveness, security, and dependability his arms offered. They were qualities that seemed foreign or long forgotten to her.

  "Why didn't you ever tell me?" His low husky voice trembled with emotion.

  Eyes closed, she released more tears of regret before she faced him. What she saw halted her words. There, in his strong, handsome face, were his confusion, heartache and even disappointment.

  Whitney pulled out of his arms, then and stepped around him. Her beautifully French-manicured hands wiped and smeared the moisture from her face as she moved back across the room. She needed space.

  "I’m sorry if this ruins your carefree bachelor days,” she said fury mounting. She was unsure if it was a justified emotion. “Don’t think that I’m here to change your life. That is not my intention. I just want--" She hesitated then tried again. "I need your help to save my son." When she ended the statement, her lips quivered, but she held her head high.

  Gregory blinked. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, then rocked his weight on the balls of his feet. The muscles in his jawline twitched.

  Whitney watched his rising anger and her own stress level erupted. Her body shook with the force of her words. "I don't want your house, or job, or even your damn money!" Her eyes lit with fire. "My son means everything to me and I don't give a damn if you're angry about--"

  "You're damn right I'm angry!" The words boomed between them. The blaze of fire in his eyes extinguished her own. "What right did you have to keep my son away from me?"

  She looked away guiltily. Relief flooded her. He wasn't mad about having a son. He was mad for not having him in his life.

  "I had no right." She tried to control her emotions. At thirty-one, she felt ashamed of her past actions and hated this situation.

  "That's not good enough!" His roar clashed like thunder in her ears. Whitney jumped when he stormed across the room towards her.

  Gregory grabbed her arms to force her to look at him. His hold was firm and demanding. He searched hard to discover if something else lay hidden in her expression. But, he knew the answer because he knew her. They remained posed that way for what seemed like eternity.

  "How dare you," he said, in a restrained voice. He released her arms, then slammed his hands back into his pockets.

  "Ten years, Whitney." He muttered, shaking his head. "I just don't understand." He faced her and shrugged his shoulders. "Please, make me understand."

  Whitney blinked the surprise from her face before she realized that she hadn’t finished her confession. “There was no other man, Greg. Well, I mean Michael has helped but…”

  His angry expression remained chiseled in stone.

  “What I mean to say is, I never married Michael. I couldn’t.”

  Time stopped as he stared at her. His mind registered her words, and his heart swelled with hope. “Then, why…why didn’t you come back and tell me?”

  Whitney sighed then dropped her head into the palms of her hand. "My reasons were immature and juvenile."

  A son, Gregory thought. The corners of his mouth lifted as he pulled his hands from his pocket and folded them in front of him. It was apparent to him that she wasn’t ready to talk further as to why she’d never told him. But curiosity nagged. “Do you have a picture of him?”

  She nodded.

  "Can I see it?"

  She strolled back to the sofa to get her purse and pulled out a thick, white, 5x7 photo album.

  Gregory joined her and stared down at the album she handed him. On the cover, the name inscribed in gold, caught his attention. He touched each letter, then peered over at her.

  Whitney inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Demetrius," he murmured softly. "That was my father's name." His eyes brightened with pleasure.

  "I know. I remembered how much your father meant to you and how much you loved him."

  Their eyes met.

  "His full name is Demetrius Gregory Woods. He's nine." She offered the information with pride in her voice.

  Gregory sat back on the sofa. When he opened the photo album, the first precious picture he saw brought tears of happiness to his eyes. He gazed with wonderment and awe at the tiny fingers
and feet. The next picture was of Whitney, in a hospital bed, cradling their newborn son in her arms. Adoration covered her face while Demetrius slept.

  Other pictures showed his son's first steps, first birthdays, and first days at school. As he continued to flip through the album, each photo dug a deeper hole in his heart. Pictures of little league, football, soccer, some of past Thanksgivings and Christmases, were like knives that sliced at his soul.

  "I picked out the pictures I thought you would like," she confessed.

  Gregory closed the album. "There's another face that should be in here. Mine." He stood with the album clutched in his hands

  She lowered her gaze and remained silent. But she badgered herself inwardly. How many times had she rehearsed what to say to him today? It had to be at least a thousand times. Now, nothing seemed to come out right. Seeing him again, after all this time, should've been like living a fantasy. How many nights had she reminisced about him, dreamed about him--loved him?

  Maybe, she had kept her love for him alive through Demetrius. Her son was a dead ringer of his father's image, he was a part of Gregory that she held on to. She must appear crazy to him to barge in here and demand his help while she hadn't given him one real excuse as to why she had kept his son from him all these years. But she couldn't bring herself to confess the truth of her actions, not yet.

  It broke her heart to see him this way; hurt and confused. She hadn't meant to crush him with the news. She had hoped if she came here and admitted her faults and her sins, everything would work out. Now that reasoning seemed naive. Being with him brought back too many memories, too many regrets.

  "Please don't hate me." She heard herself say after a strained silence.

  Gregory never stopped his slow pace across the carpeted floor. "I could never hate you, Whitney."

  His words warmed and caressed her heart. "You will help us then?" she asked, hope laced in her voice.

  "That was never an issue," he answered simply. One hand reached up and massaged his tense neck. "My question is--what happens now?"

  She blinked. "What do you mean?"

  He stopped and stared at her. "You know exactly what I mean. What happens after all this? What is to become of me and my son? What role will I have?" He moved towards her. "Or were you planning to disappear again?" The bitterness of his words stabbed her.

  Whitney stood. "I...I..."

  Gregory dropped his gaze. "I see you haven't thought that far ahead." He shook his head with disbelief.

  It was true, she hadn't thought that far ahead. She was so desperate for his help that she never thought of what bringing him into their lives would change.

  "Of course," Whitney crossed her arms beneath her chest. "You can be a part of Demetrius' life." She cringed, hating the way that had sounded.

  "That's very kind of you." Gregory gave a sarcastic smile.

  His sarcasm stung her. Whitney straightened her shoulders. "I don't want to fight with you."

  "Why not? I think you owe me that much," he snapped then stopped short to let his mask of frustration dissolve into one of acquiescence. "I'm sorry." He sounded defeated. "I don't want to fight either."

  Pivoting around, he reached his desk in three strides and dropped into his chair. Elbows on the desk, his hands formed a pyramid beneath his chin as he expelled a heave of frustration and tried to start over.

  "This is a difficult situation and a little hard for me to handle," he said with knitted brows and a rigid pose. "Rome was not built in a day." He shifted his weight.

  "I know," Whitney admitted. She walked to his desk and stood in front of him. "I wish I could make this easier for you." They held each other's gaze. "I wish things were different and I accept the blame for everything."

  Their reticence lasted a full minute.

  "I don't want to place blame anywhere," he confessed, rubbing the annoying twitch between his eyes.

  "I just hope that you can find it within your heart to forgive me." She pleaded with her eyes and subconsciously twirled her thumbs above her braided fingers at a frantic pace.

  Gregory let his hands slide down to the desk while Whitney continued.

  "But I can't change the past. I wish I could. All I know is---I need you."

  Gregory watched her ginger-tinted eyes float in a watery pool and felt his heart lurch with a ray of hope.

  "We need you," she finished.

  I need you, too. Both of you. He lowered his eyes before she could see his own gaze glisten. "When can I see him?" The words were soft but laden with thick, raw emotion.

  She smiled. "How about now?"

  * * *

  An hour later, they entered Egleston Hospital. As Gregory followed Whitney, he struggled with a myriad of emotions. What should I say? What if he doesn't like me?

  When they stepped into the elevator, Whitney pushed the floor number then turned and looked at him. "Are you nervous?"

  He swallowed the enormous lump wedged in his throat. "Nervous doesn't begin to describe how I feel." His voice managed to croak out of his extremely dry throat.

  Taking hold of his hands, she tried to encourage him. "You're going to be just fine. He's going to love you."

  "Does he know?" He looked down at her. "Does he know that I'm coming?"

  Whitney sighed. "He knew I went to see you today."

  The elevator reached their floor and they stepped out. Before she could lead him down another long hallway, he stopped her with his curiosity. "What have you told him about me?"

  Whitney avoided eye contact.

  Gently, he grabbed her shoulders. "Whitney? Look at me." The rich timbre in his voice beckoned her compliance.

  He shifted in discomfort. "Demetrius had to have asked about his father. What did you tell him about me?" He watched her and waited patiently through the silence that frightened him.

  "The truth," she muttered softly then whispered, "Sort of."

  Gregory remained quiet. He wanted to hear the rest.

  After a pause, she explained. "I told him how much we had cared about each other in the past. He knows he's a child born out of love."

  He inhaled softly. At least he knew now that she had once loved him. But what happened?

  "I told him, that as a couple, it just didn't work out."

  Why didn't we? Gregory nodded as if he understood and dropped his hands away from her.

  "I also told him," Whitney continued unaware of Gregory's uneasiness. "That after I moved here with his Grandparents, we lost contact." Her eyes filled with tears again.

  Gregory exhaled then a new question formed out of fear. "Does he think that I abandoned him?"

  Whitney shook her head vigorously. "No, no, no. He doesn't believe that. I made sure that he understood that you were never told about my pregnancy." She wiped away the few tears that had escaped and trailed down her cheeks. "I know it's been hard for him to grow up without a father." She turned out of his grasp.

  He wanted to tell her that it never had to be that way had she only told him years ago, but they seemed to run in circles over that moot point. Of course, he did realize that she still had not answered his question: what was the reason for all the secrecy? She had claimed immaturity but he knew there had to have been another reason, something she hid safe within her heart. He didn't know how yet, but he felt determined to learn the truth. But first things first.

  The walk to Demetrius' room made him feel like a convict heading for the electric chair. He could even hear the tiny voice in his head trying to get an emergency prayer in to God.

  He suffered a mild case of hot-flashes as he unbuttoned his collar, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and swallowed nervously. This had to be the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, mainly because it was the most important thing he had ever done; this was his son.

  When they reached Demetrius' door and Whitney placed her hand against it to enter, he called out, "Wait."

  She stopped and looked at him.

  "Maybe I should go in alo
ne," he said then added with more confidence. "Yeah, I would like to go in alone and talk to him. Do you mind?"

  Whitney hesitated. "Are you sure?"

  He gave a firm nod. "I need to do this."

  She moved away from the door. "Okay, but if you should need me, I'll be right out here."

  Inclining his head in acknowledgement, he placed a sweat-slick hand against the door, took a deep breath, then entered the room.

  * * *

  The soft creak of his shoes against the linoleum floor magnified its sound a thousand times as it hammered inside his head. A sudden chill from the overpowering air conditioner breezed across his face. His apprehension intensified as he tried to elicit courage from within to demolish his sense of fear; fear of being inadequate, a disappointment, and even being too late.

  Gregory saw the small figure beneath the thin white sheet. His feet guided him closer for a better view without him being aware of their movement. Drenched with nervousness while his breathing labored in small tokes, Gregory now stood above the most wonderful, beautiful and precious sight he had ever witnessed in his life. Demetrius Gregory Woods. His son.

  He recognized the face not unlike his own and felt his chest swell with pride. His eyes glistened as he noticed his son's shaved head. The importance of Demetrius' condition punched Gregory like an iron fist. What if I can't help him?

  He lifted his right leg and leaned over to sit next to the teenager. The bed rumbled and creaked in protest beneath his weight. Long, feather-like lashes fluttered as a weary groan reverberated from the child's lips. Slowly, he moved his head and opened his eyes.

  Gregory's heart pounded like African drums, wild, uninhibited, and loud. He tried to project a calm, cool, and collective demeanor but he was sure he most likely held a nervous, shaky, and frightened composure.

  He waited as he watched Demetrius' eyes roam curiously over him. The potent silence roared and gained momentum between them as Demetrius took his time inspecting the man in front of him.

  Gregory thought that he would explode from the air pressure trapped in his lungs when, finally, Demetrius' inquiring face broke into a wide grin that sparkled and reflected in his eyes as he said, "Hello, Dad."