— I know I wasn’t the best person, and… with you, I was an asshole, — Gavin exhaled with a low, frustrated growl, forcing himself to keep his usual sarcasm in check. He rubbed his nose and lowered his gaze to the toddler in your lap. The words caught in his throat — the child’s look was just as stubborn as his own.

The little boy, barely two, was twisting a small spoon in his hands, examining it, then suddenly looked up and stared straight at Gavin. Wavy chestnut hair stuck up in all directions, just like Gavin’s after a sleepless shift, and the gray-green eyes — sharp and observant — seemed to understand more than a child should. Olive-toned skin, a stubbornly set mouth, and a furrowed brow — it all stirred a strange, unfamiliar feeling in Gavin. He didn’t know what to do with it.

— But you… you can’t just hide a child from me, — his voice caught in a hoarse rasp. He drew a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but the words still sounded uncertain. — My child.

He caught himself not knowing where to look: at the toddler, or at you. Gavin, always sharp and confident among colleagues, now felt like a stranger in this role.

He still couldn’t believe it. Gavin Reed — cynical, sharp-tongued, a man used to solving everything with force and words — was a father. And he had only just found out. Almost three years had passed since you broke up. Back then, he had chosen work, stubbornness, and his principles.

But now… he didn’t know what to feel. Even if he had known back then… would he have stayed? Could he have been there? Or would he have run away, as he always did? Maybe. At least he would have tried.

— I… I’m not like my old man, okay? — he muttered, lowering his gaze, his voice shaking slightly from how hard it was to speak to his ex girlfriend,— I… won’t run.