Clearly, I needed more therapy, because even after knowing what he’d done, I still wanted him. Badly.
“And I’m not saying what I did was fine and dandy,” he continued, sounding frustrated. “It wasn’t, I freely admit that. I knew it wasn’t right when I did it, and I know it now.”
I felt like we were about to hit the same wall in the conversation we’d encountered the last time we discussed this. How did we move past it? How did this become okay?
“Then what do you want me to say?”
“I reckon I’m asking for forgiveness, Diane. Not understanding, not when I don’t rightly understand it myself.”
That made me laugh. “Does it make any sense that I understand, but I’m not sure if I can forgive?”
His forehead wrinkled. “You understand?”
“If I could put eyes on my kids all time, if I could follow them around to ensure their safety, and that was something they wouldn’t consider a huge invasion of privacy, then you bet I would. But I love my children. I love them. I think about them—”
“All the time,” he finished.
“But you didn’t—I mean, you say you did think about me all the time. And, admittedly, I thought about you all the time, but I wasn’t out there following you around.” I gestured to the forest and road beyond. “For heaven’s sake, we were only together one night.”
And yet, it had been one heck of a night.
“In my own fucked-up way, keeping people safe is the only means I have available to look after those I care about.” His tone took on a thoughtful note, like perhaps he was talking to himself. “I haven’t cared about many people. Three, maybe four in my life.”
“Are you seriously telling me you’ve made a habit of following around folks you care about without their knowledge? I’m not the first?” I couldn’t decide if this new information made things better or worse.
“I have,” he admitted easily.
I shook my head, at a loss. “Like who?”
“Like my daughter.”
If I hadn’t been standing still, I might’ve fallen over. “Your what?!”
“My biological daughter.”
“You—I—pardon me?” My feet stumbled back on their own; I needed to see him better. “You have a child?”
He made a sound in the back of his throat, a rumble and a denial, and he said, “Not really. I contributed a bit of DNA, and the woman I was with at the time gave birth to her nine months later.”
I stared at him. I couldn’t believe this.
Actually, I could believe it. But I still couldn’t believe it. “Did you want a baby?”
“No. And I’ve taken steps to make sure it never happens again.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ve had the surgery,” he said plainly, and he sounded unapologetic about it. “Condoms are to prevent disease. But I couldn’t get a woman pregnant, not even if one broke.”
“But . . . you didn’t want the child?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I wasn’t given a choice one way or the other. I didn’t know there was a child until years later.”
“God,” I gaped, covering my mouth. “What happened?”
“Louisa decided—”
“The mother?”
“The biological mother. She had a sister who was married but had difficulty conceiving after their first. The sister and her husband are good people—the best kind of people—and so Louisa gave the baby to them.”
“Are these people part of the Wraiths?” I asked, now on the edge of my proverbial seat.
“No. The opposite,” he said with a wry note.
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I had more pressing questions. “What did you do when you found out?”
“I moved here.”
“Because she lives here? Your daughter?”
He nodded. “She did.”
I glared at him and his short answers. “Have you ever met your daughter?”
He rubbed his jaw and looked away tiredly. “I don’t particularly wish to discuss it.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” I set my hands on my hips. “Because I wish to know.”
A smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes grew hard. “Diane.”
“Nope. Don’t you ‘Diane’ me. I’m entitled to a little invasion of your privacy after you spied on me for months. Now spill it.”
He faced me, his smile falling into something flat and as rigid as his eyes. “I don’t owe you anything, not if you’re here to call things off.”
Hemming and hawing, I looked at the darkening sky and mountains—now mostly in shadow—and finally settled on, “Well who says I’m here to call things off?”
“Aren’t you?” he pushed, not sounding at all angry. He sounded firm but accepting. “If it were me, I’d have called things off as soon as you told me the truth.”
I sent him a sideways look. “Perhaps you would’ve called things off. Perhaps you would’ve forgiven me immediately. Folks enjoy making claims about knowing exactly what they’d do in every situation, but the truth is until it’s staring you in the face and it’s your situation, you don’t know a damn thing. It’s all a guess until it’s real and real decisions have to be made.” I’d learned this lesson over and over during and after my divorce.
All the people who’d felt entitled to tell me what they would’ve done in my situation—
You should’ve left him earlier, it’s what I would do.
You should give him another chance, it’s what I would do.
You should give him half the Lodge, it’s what I would do.
You should cut him out without a penny, it’s what I would do.
—they didn’t know. Until it’s you, you don’t know.
“Don’t tell me what to do. It’s my choice to make,” I snapped, still weary of folks and their opinions. “And don’t think for one second you know what I’ll do.”
He breathed a laugh, lifting his eyes to the heavens. “Woman, I never know what you’re going to do. And the last thing I want to do—or would presume to do—is try to make your decisions for you.”
“Good.” I nodded once, firmly. “Now, I’d like to pretend for a bit longer to be upset, if you don’t mind.” I sniffed, looking down my nose at him the best I could, considering he was so much taller than me. “If I forgive you now, then it sets a bad precedent for the future. Therefore, I’m going to need to see some groveling, including time spent on your knees.”
He stared at me like I was nuts. But then he laughed again, this time with a fair amount of wonder. “You’re not upset anymore?”
“I know I should be. But I’m not,” I said and realized at the same time. Goodness, what was wrong with me? So many things, Diane. There is not enough time in the day to make a list of all the things wrong with you. “And I guess there’s more evidence of me being wrong in the head, if you needed any.”
He appeared truly stunned. “You forgive me?” Jason reached for my hand, like he couldn’t stand not touching me for a moment longer.