“So are you…Dad.”
I thought for sure Donovan would lunge for Ryan then, and I prepared myself to step between them, but the physical confrontation didn’t happen. Instead, Donovan calmly told Ryan, “I’m not your fucking father, and the sooner we get a paternity test, the better.”
“I agree,” Ryan told him. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
The two men exchanged cell phone numbers and Donovan told Ryan he’d be in touch. He didn’t look at me or say another word before he stormed out of my condo, slamming the door behind him.
Ryan turned to me. “Do you want me to leave, too?”
I didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
Surprisingly, he didn’t give me any pushback. I watched him go, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into, and how the hell I was going to get out of it.
* * * *
Thursday afternoon, I was with a patient who was suffering from a bout of plantar fasciitis, when the receptionist stuck in her head to tell me that someone was waiting to see me.