I squeezed my eyes shut as the overwhelming guilt and sorrow filled me.
“You had no choice.” Jake brushed a tear away from my cheek, and the understanding in his too-wise-for-his-age eyes was more than I deserved. “And we were the sacrifice. Me. Noah. You?”
My shoulders shuddered as I tried to swallow back the tears re-forming. “Yes. I promised not to tell anyone who your father was, not even you, in exchange for her.”
Jake bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes became damp, then he pulled me into his arms and held on tight. I could feel his shoulders shake, then he rested his chin on my head. I waited to see if he wanted to say anything else.
Several minutes passed, and I couldn’t quite get a read on him, but when he finally did speak, his words shocked me.
“I would’ve done the same thing.”
I pulled back a little and looked up at him, confused.
“If you had been sick and that was the only way to help you. I would’ve done the same thing.”
I cupped his cheeks and shook my head. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
“I should’ve done something else, anything else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” I worried my lower lip and then took a step back. “Do you have any questions for me? Anything you want to ask?”
Jake slipped his hands into his pockets, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I allowed myself to see the resemblance to his father. Blond like me, Jake had inherited my fair complexion and coloring. But his dark eyes and several distinct mannerisms were all Noah—if you were looking for it.
“About a million things,” he said. “But only one right now.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you going to tell him?”
I’d known that was coming, but I still wasn’t prepared for the way it made me feel. My heart began to thump and my hands turned clammy. “I think I probably should, don’t you?”
Jake shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. But his twitching jaw told me otherwise. “Probably.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
Jake eyed me, then said, “Do you still love him?”
Words failed me as I stared into his eyes, because for the first time since Noah’s return, I allowed myself to acknowledge the fact that I’d never stopped loving him. But instead of pushing me, Jake offered me his hand.
“Why don’t you let me help you down this hill? The last thing I need is you crying over a broken set of heels and spending my college money on their replacements.”
I’d never loved my kid more than I did in that moment. For his grace under pressure, his understanding of the hard emotions, and his ability to forgive when many would not. I knew he was likely just as scared as I was about the future, but as long as we faced it together, I knew we would be okay.
31
Noah
A SON? LAUREL had a son who was practically a man?
It’d been nearly two hours since I’d heard her say the words, and still, I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around it. That might also have something to do with the copious amounts of whiskey I’d been downing since planting my ass on a barstool at Gallagher’s, but hey, who could blame me?
A son… How was that even possible?
Okay, note to self: don’t actually ask someone that, or they’re going to look at you as though you’re insane. It was possible because Laurel was gorgeous and she had obviously been in relationships after me—as much as I hated to think about that.
But her kid had to be, what? Late teens? Which meant she had to have gotten pregnant right after I left, and that cut much deeper than it probably should have.
I looked down the bar to where—What was his name again? Oh, that’s right, Marty—stood chatting with some other customers. When I caught his eye, I raised a hand. A furrow creased his brow as he made his way over.
I pointed to my empty tumbler. “Can I get another?”
He looked to the empty glass and then back to me. “I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?”
Was he serious right now?
“Maybe you should give Ryan a call? See if he’s around.”
Translation: Maybe he can come and babysit you. No thanks; I wasn’t in the mood for questions. Plus, I was still pissed that Ryan hadn’t told me about this mystery child of Laurel’s. I mean, maybe then I wouldn’t have looked like such a fucking moron this afternoon accusing her of dating her own son.
“I don’t want to call Ryan. I want another drink.”
Marty drummed his fingers on the counter and then grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “This is the last one. Got it?”
“Fine.”
I handed over my credit card and was about to pick up my drink when I heard a familiar and unwelcome voice. “Well, don’t you look like shit.”
Justin. Great. Out of all the people I wanted to talk to right now, he would be dead last. But it seemed God wanted to screw with me tonight, because instead of leaving me the hell alone, Justin took the empty stool beside me.
“So, who died and made you look so fucking miserable? Can’t be grief over Harry catching up with you, so…”
I picked up my tumbler and tossed back the drink, and as it burned a path down my throat, I angled my head so I could eye my youngest brother. “What do you want?”
Marty walked over, handed me back my card, and slid a beer on the counter in front of Justin, who gave him a quick wave then watched the old man leave.
“Don’t want anything. Just curious why you look like you were run over by a Mack truck.”
“Why? So you can give me shit? No offense, but I’m really not in the fucking mood.”
I fingered the edge of the glass and willed my brother to leave. But when the seat beside me remained occupied, I started wishing the ground would just open up and swallow me instead.
“Drinking hard on a Monday night.” Justin let out a long whistle. “Something big must’ve ruffled that perfectly pressed suit of yours.”
Just about done with this day as a whole, I got to my feet, ready to leave. But when the bar began to spin, my foot hit my stool and I had to place a hand on the counter to steady myself.
Justin scoffed. “You’re so fucking wasted. How many drinks have you had?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Okay, but how you planning on getting home? You can barely walk in a straight line.”
“I’ll call an…an Uber.”
That made Justin laugh. “An Uber? Where do you think you are? L.A.? I could drive you home and back three times before an Uber got here.”
“I don’t want you to drive me anywhere.”
“Good, ’cause I wasn’t offering.” He picked up his beer and took a swig. “I was just pointing out the fact that you’re an idiot. Have a good night.”
Justin went to turn back to the bar, but before he could, I grabbed his shoulder. “What’s your fucking problem?”
He eyed me for a second and then shrugged. “Don’t have a problem.”
“Bullfuckingshit. You’ve been nothing but an ass ever since I got back here, and for what reason? You have to come to me once a month to get hundreds of thousands of dollars? Oh, your life must be so hard. Sooo fucking miserable. Right, Justin? How do you deal with it?”