She turns to fix herself in the mirror. She’s dressed in a sharp suit, and I’m in a simple floral sundress that’s borderline business casual.
“It’s the truth, and it’s the hardest part, don’t stray from that. Just go with it, minute by minute. Stop hiding to protect everyone’s feelings, including your own, because that was a hell of a lot worse. Just…let yourself react to things as they come.”
“Okay.”
She catches my eyes in the mirror. “I’ve watched you lose yourself, and every month you’re getting better, despite the stumbling. I’m so proud of you.”
“I feel like I’m back where I started.”
“No.” She gives me a reassuring smile. “Not even close. You’re going to have moments. Panic attacks like the one you had yesterday. These are setbacks, not step backs.”
“Setbacks not step backs.”
“That’s right.” She slaps my ass like I’m about to shove a helmet on. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put an asshole in jail.”
She moves toward the door, but I latch onto her back, hugging her hard from behind. She holds onto my arms, and we rest there.
“I love you,” I whisper.
I can feel her shake a little with relief. “I know it’s been hell on you, but I thank God every day you came back.”
“Even as I am?”
“God, yes. Who am I, if not your sister?”
“Don’t you ever leave me.”
“Not a fucking chance.”
She pats my arm to free her because too much affection is not her style. She gets it from my Dad. Just before she pries the door open, I stop her.
“Sammy?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”
“Which one?”
“Exactly.”
She tosses me a look over her shoulder, and I see her threatening tears. “I think the better question is—can you forgive yourself before the bomb drops?”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Gavin
Noah sits on the dock with his fishing pole, swinging his feet off the edge as I bait my hook.
“Daaad, nothing is biting the worm.”
“Give it time, Son.”
“We’ve been here forever,” he sighs as I look over at him. Her sideways glance steals my breath. He has my lips and chin, but from the nose up, he’s all Katy.
“There you go, Captain. Evidence of a job well done. Now you’re stuck with us both because of your incessant wooing.”
Exhausted, she places him in my arms looking up at me with the love I crave, the love I’ve come to need from her. A delirious giggle escapes as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe a crappy pickup line led to something so perfect.” Happy tears trail down her cheeks as I press my lips to hers before I pull away, captivated by the sight of him.
I stare down at the love we made, speechless, knowing nothing could ever top this feeling. Before Katy, I was never much for emotion, but she brings the heart out of me like no other. With where I came from, I never imagined a family for myself to be a possibility. But with her, my heart gave itself freely without my permission, and I followed, a willing slave. Loving her was never a choice.
“Noah,” she whispers softly. “It means a state of tranquility, a state of rest. It suits him, right?”
It’s as if she understands what I’m thinking, and when our eyes lock over a whisper of sun-kissed hair, I know she does.
“Rest in him, Gavin. You’re going to be the best daddy there ever was.”
The day he was born, and every day after, I knew I couldn’t hide much of anything from my wife. I’d been trying her whole pregnancy not to show my insecurities about becoming a father because I was terrified to repeat my own father’s mistakes. But all along she’d known and named our son specifically to soothe my fears because she trusted me so implicitly, and she wanted me to trust myself.
Ache spreads, and I soak it in, allowing myself to feel it. It’s the only way I’ll start to heal. I’ve spent so many nights pacing my new apartment that I’m marking the carpet. Twice I’ve tried to venture out for a revenge fuck and returned pissed, drunk, and alone. Both times I’ve kept myself from calling her, when it’s all I wanted to do.
Noah casts his line back in the way I taught him as his voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Daddy, how long will you be mad at Mom?”
Fuck.
“I’m not mad at her.”
“I saw your text message to her the other day when I got on her iPad. You told her you didn’t give a shit.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Language.”
“Sorry. Just telling you what I read.”
“You shouldn’t be reading her messages.”
“You only cuss when you get mad.”
“I was mad at the time, but I’m not now.”
He gives me the same side eye as I swallow hard.
“Watch the bobber,” I say, trying to distract him.
“Soooo, you can come home, now. If you’re not mad.”
“I’m not mad, Son.” I can think of a hundred better words.
Staring out at the calm trees that surround the lake, I try to soak in some of their tranquility. My temperament as of late is shit, and I need this weekend away with him to remind myself that I’m not my father. I won’t let my son down the way he let me down. I’m the cement in his life, no matter what happens between his mother and me.
“Dad, why won’t you come home? Mommy planted all the flowers she said you gave her. Don’t you wanna see?”
“I’m not mad. I’m just working hard,” I offer as a pathetic excuse.
“Then tell her you’re not mad and come home.”
I’m about to lose my shit as my son drills me. All I want to do is blame her, tell him she’s the reason I don’t tuck him in some nights. To tell him to ask her why I’m not at home, but a part of me blames my lack of timing. If only I’d accepted the first dinner invitation. If I’d given her a chance when she was reaching out, instead of letting my hurt and ego get in the fucking way, we might not be having this discussion. And with that thought, I’m backhanded by a thousand others, imagining the worst. Thinking of the two of them together, fucking, happy, of him drying the tears she refused to shed for me. Even with the devastation she showed when she got home that day, nothing eases the betrayal.
Love and anger run through me in equal measure all day, every day and I’m suffering under the weight of it.
“Sometimes adults need a break. End of discussion,” I say firmly.
“Well, I’m done fishing. End of fishing,” he pipes, letting go of his rod. I catch it just before it hits the water as he stomps past me.
“Son, this pole cost a lot of money, and you will not treat it like a toy.”
“I don’t care!” he shouts.
“Noah Jameson, get your ass back here, right now.” It’s a commanding voice I trained myself to use with him.
“Son, I mean it.”
Noah keeps moving until he reaches the end of the dock.
His shoulders drop as he slowly turns to me, his eyes filled with tears.
“You owe me an apology,” I say in a tone that sounds uncertain even to me.
“She’s sick, Daddy! You left when she’s sick! And you can’t ’spect her to get better without her medicine.”
Noah’s gaze falls on my shaking hands before I set the rods down and stalk toward him.
“I’m her medicine,” he declares, stopping me in my tracks, “and you are too!” he shouts as his heart cracks in front of me, and my own follows. “You’re her medicine too! She said it. She said we could make her better.” His lip quivers as he puffs out his chest before letting out a painful cry in his exhale—his face crumbling. Within seconds, he’s in my arms, letting his ache show as he fists my T-shirt. I’m buckling fast because his cries sound like hers, and I feel every implication, every part of the guilt he’s placing as he soaks my chest and neck with his tears.