“I was sure you’d have all the success.” I smile.
“Excuse me for butting in, but don’t you think it’s time to talk about why you’re painting pictures of a mini-Emmett?” Liz jumps in. And thank God for her because one glance at Juliet and I turned stupid.
“How about we go somewhere a little more private for that discussion?” Juliet suggests.
Fuck me. This can’t be a good sign.
“Sure,” I reply. My eyes meet Liz’s. She looks as nervous as I feel.
“Right this way.” Juliet walks in front of us and we follow. My eyes trail over her frame from head to toe and back up again. The navy blue short sleeved dress flows to her knees, leaving her shapely calves exposed. Her sandy colored hair, longer than before, is full of waves and curls. The view from the back is as stunning as the one from the front. If anything, she’s more beautiful than when we said our goodbyes.
Leading us into an office, she closes the door behind us. “Please sit.” Liz chooses to sit on the small couch to the side of the room, leaving Juliet and I facing one another.
“I think I’m going to stand for now,” I say.
She nods. “You’re wondering about the boy in the paintings.”
“Is he mine?”
“No, he’s ours,” she replies.
I bark out a harsh laugh. “Oh, he’s ours. Which is strange because this is the first I’ve heard that I have a son. Did I miss a phone call? A letter?” Sarcasm drips from my questions.
“No. I didn’t try to contact you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You were so young. I didn’t want you to throw away your future. I knew you’d leave school and come home, and that wouldn’t have been fair to you.”
“No. You know what’s not fair?” My voice raises. “Being denied the right to know I fathered a son. Being denied the right to be a part of his life. You made choices for me that you had no right to.” Bending over, I place my hands on my knees and drag in a few labored breaths.
“I’m sorry, Emmett. I panicked and tried to do the right thing.”
I straighten up. “By keeping my son from me? My own flesh and blood doesn’t even know I’m his father.”
Chapter Nine
Emmett
“Are you married?” Liz cuts in.
“No, I’m not. Are you guys?” Her eyes bounce between the two of us. She thinks we’re a couple?
“No, I’m Liz, his best friend,” she’s quick to reply.
“I remember you, now. You look different, more mature.”
“Yeah, four years will do that.” Liz smiles.
“Now that you guys are besties, can we get back to discussing our son?” My anger is clear.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. But let’s start with his name.”
“Emmett. I named him after you,” she says.
“Why would you do that?”
“I wanted him to have something of yours.”
What? How can she say this with a straight face?
“That makes zero sense to me. If you wanted him to have something of me, then you would’ve let me be his father in more ways than contributing sperm.” I hate that I’m the reason her brow is furrowed with hurt, but what she did is unacceptable. She dropped a bombshell on me, and I need to find a way to accept it. How’s that for a fucked-up situation?
“I’m going to step outside and let you guys have some privacy. Take your time. I’ve got plenty of art to check out,” Liz says, hurrying toward the door. She slips out before I can object, and Juliet doesn’t look pleased she left either. Does she think I’ll lose control without Liz to calm me?
“You were about to tell me why you gave our son my name.”
“When I found out I was pregnant, you were already at college and I was alone. At first, I thought it must be a mistake. My husband and I had tried to have a baby and we were never able to conceive. After I’d taken enough tests to convince myself the results weren’t wrong, I went to the doctor and they confirmed I was pregnant. I want you to know there was never a question of whether I was keeping the baby or not. I fell in love with him the moment I knew he existed.”
“Why didn’t you contact me?” I grit out.
“I did. I sent you the painting.”
“You’re right, you did. With no letter included, I figured it was your final goodbye gift to me.”
Her fingers pluck nervously at the beads on her bracelet. “It was my way of starting up a line of communication.”
“You could’ve just called me. You had my number,” I remind her. “By the way, it’s still the same.”
“I did, but I second guessed myself so many times about having that conversation that I couldn’t follow through. You had plans to play for the NFL and I didn’t want to crush your dream.”
“I don’t know if you’re familiar with my football career, but junior year, I wrecked my knee. That was the end of my football career.”
“I bet that was a difficult time for you,” she offers sympathetically.
“It was. If I’d have had a son to focus on, I dare say it would’ve put things in the proper perspective much sooner.”
“I’m sorry, Emmett. I really am.”
“Those are empty words, Juliet. It seems like you’re only sorry you got caught.”
“I can’t make you understand. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I was planning on reaching out to you as soon as I felt ready.”
“How long would that have taken? Another four years?” I droll.
“I honestly can’t say.”
“You and I can go round and round about what you did wrong, but what I’d like to know is how do you plan to remedy the situation?”
“I…uh...I guess we can figure out how to introduce you to him.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You guess?”
“I’m doing the best I can, Emmett. Seeing you tonight was unexpected. I don’t have all the answers.”
“Save it, Juliet. Finding out I have a son was fucking earth shattering. I don’t think you can compare it to seeing me.”
“I’m not comparing them. I wasn’t prepared to figure all the answers out now. I’d like it if you and I could hash out some of the details together. I’ve screwed up so much already. I don’t want to mess this up too.”
“There’s no time like the present,” I say.
“I’m in the middle of my show. Could we please get together tomorrow and come up with a plan for moving forward?”
“I’m sorry this came out during your very important show, but that’s not on me.”
“I realize that, but this show could be life-changing for me and Emmett.”
I study her face before answering. “Okay. I’ll be over for dinner tomorrow night. I want to meet my son. He better be there.”
“Thank you. He will be. Give me your phone,” she orders, holding out her hand. She sends me her address. “Emmett goes to bed at seven. Can you come over at five?”