“And it helped you get your revenge against me at the same time?”
“Helped nicely, yes.” Her smile was clever.
“He never said a word to me. Never mentioned financial issues or that he might lose the house. And he never mentioned Johnny.”
Nor had he mentioned Chloe, or that she gave birth.
Standing abruptly, he paced the ground in front of the steps.
“He thought I abandoned my kid. You allowed him to think that,” he accused, borderline outraged. “That I never wanted him and never wanted you. When neither is true.”
“I know that now. I didn’t know it then.” She stared out over the lush green lawn to the water beyond. “Back then, everything you just said was true.”
“For ten years, I stayed away so I didn’t have to see you. So I could forget you even though you wouldn’t leave me in peace.” He tapped his chest, right over his heart. “I stayed gone, and rarely saw him, and now he’s dead. You robbed me of my son, and you robbed me of time with my dad.”
“I’m not in charge of you. You made your own decisions,” she said with a glare. “And I wanted you to live your dream. Become a SEAL. By the time he was six months old, it was too late anyway. The time to overturn the adoption had passed.”
“Now you’re altruistic? You did it so I could live my dream?”
“I did it because I had no choice. None other than the choice you assumed I made, that is.” She shook her head. “Since you think so highly of me.”
He held his arms out. “He died thinking I deserted my child.”
“No, he didn’t. I lied to him. Told him we discussed it. That we agreed on adoption together before you left. You were squeaky clean in this mess.”
“And you think he believed that?”
“Yes. He did.”
Jameson scoffed. “Think again.”
“Some mornings, while we watched the sunrise, he would get nostalgic. He would say, ‘My son is loved, but I don’t know if he’s safe. What worse fear is there for a father?’ Then he would chew on that for a while and say, ‘But my son’s son is loved and safe. What greater sacrifice is there from a father?’ He’d tap my hand and say, ‘and a mother,’ and then we’d cry a little,” she admitted. “Then we’d go about our day.”
Bowing his head, Jameson realized he had it easy the last decade.
Unburdened of the aftereffects, thanks to Chloe shouldering the consequences of their slip up. The one time they had unprotected sex.
Sitting back down on the step, he poured himself another shot. Held the open bottle over her glass, offering a refill, but she refused.
Chloe had formed a bond with his mother that summer. Hours spent together in the kitchen, sharing their mutual love for baking. For Jameson. He wasn’t sure his dad, who was laser-focused on curing Lydia, even knew of Chloe’s presence.
“You two were close?” The second shot went down easier than the first.
“Yes. I was stuck inside my house for months. Genevieve had me on lockdown once I started showing. After that, me and my baby bump only went from that house to this house, to the beach.” She pointed to the stretch of sand where Maine Lane met the Atlantic.
“My dad knew about him from the beginning?”
“Not the beginning. But after a while, it became impossible to hide. Even Genevieve couldn’t deny it, but she’d sooner tell people I was hooked on the carbs then admit I was pregnant. She told people I went to Europe to attend school for the winter.”
“She’s a despicable person.”
“Of the highest order,” she agreed. “But our dads? They were my rocks. And I survived.”
She said it simply. As though going through a teenage pregnancy, then giving birth without the aid of drugs or the baby’s father, then giving up that baby to loving strangers who couldn’t have their own biological child but did have an impressive financial portfolio, wasn’t the hardest trial a woman could endure.
And she did it with grace.
At seventeen.
“Jonah named him. A very grown-up name too, like the one he gave you. John Jameson. Sounds like a royal, doesn’t it?”
“Or a weatherman.”
She laughed, swatting at him. “Meteorology is a noble profession.”
“I see him in the major leagues.”
Her smile slipped, and she reached for his hand, never breaking eye contact. Saying without words what they couldn’t speak aloud.
Look at our boy.
Look at what we made.
Look at how special he is.
“When I first held him, he was so tiny. Not much heavier than a bag of sugar, and I thought, ‘John seems too serious.’ So I called him Johnny.” She caught her tears with a finger before they spilled. “Jonah said Lydia did that, too. Thought Jameson was too grown-up for a tiny boy. Called you Jamie instead.”
Looking away, the cover of darkness and the crashing of waves hid the sob he couldn’t swallow.
“The Hennesseys could have changed it, but they chose not to. They kept the name his biological family gave him. They’re those kind of people, Jameson. He’s loved.”
Running the pad of his thumb over her hand, the gesture was more soothing to himself than her. “By more people than he’ll ever be allowed to know.”
“Someday,” she whispered after a beat, looking up, the night sky filled with stars. “I wish. I wish—I wish—I wish . . .”
Letting go of her, he scrubbed his hands down his face, wiping away moisture and years of hurt and resentment.
“For the life of me, Chloe, I don’t know where this leaves us.”
“I love you, Jameson.” She stood, leaving the bottle and shot glasses behind. “But I have to move forward. I’m going to move forward.”
She was trying to convince him, and herself.
“How?” Because if it included Wyatt, he might kill a man tonight.
“I’m planning a baby shower, for the first time in my career.” She held up a finger, her smile determined. “Wendy’s gonna have the best damn gender-neutral party this side of the Mississippi, even if it means I run into the bathroom and blubber during the diaper game.”
He laughed. Had no goddamn idea what the diaper game was, but her cheeky grin was contagious.
“Will there be ridiculously expensive baked goods?” he asked hopefully.
She eyed him, as if assessing whether or not he deserved a pastry.
“I might save you a gourmet sugar cookie. If you’re nice to me. If you’re still here next week.”
He didn’t respond to her calculated query. “Good for you, cupcake. Proud of you.”
She nodded, but he could see the cracks in her bravado.
Celebrating the upcoming birth of a baby wasn’t easy when you’d done it yourself, and not had a baby to take home afterward.
“But if we ever want to move forward together,” she added. “As the us that we are now? We need to stop looking back. You have to forgive me, and I have to forgive you. The love has to be stronger than the hate.”
“Is it?”
“I’ve been sitting in a swing for the last ten years, waiting. That tells you my answer. Why don’t you ask the guy who spent the last ten years running? He’s the confused one.”