“I never thought it was their business. No one even asked.” When I got the first check from Jamison, I tore it up and threw it in the trash. By the time the second one came, I realized I’d save it all for Palmer. That if she couldn’t have her daddy, she could have his money.
“And you didn’t think to volunteer the information? Your family shares every time they take a goddamn piss, but not something that might cast me in a better light? That you keep to yourself?” He stands and walks across the room.
“I was hurt, okay? I didn’t want to see you in a good light. I wanted you here. With me.” My finger points at the floor and I stomp my foot, then I suppress the cringe since the movement hurt my incision. “I didn’t want your damn money! I wanted your arms, your heart, your hugs, your kisses, your love.” My voice rises as all the pain from the past rushes back.
“It’s all I could do at the time. I wasn’t fit to be a father or a boyfriend.” He runs his hands through his hair.
“And I came to terms with that, but the money felt like an insult. The first check you sent, I was knee-deep in dirty diapers and my nipples were so sore from breastfeeding, they could have been used as sandpaper. You have any idea how hard it was on me?”
He twirls back around. “No, I don’t, because you won’t talk to me about it, but yer sure hell-bent on making me pay for it.”
All the frustration from months of wanting to hash this out with him comes tumbling out. “You think what happened to you didn’t break me too? Do you think I didn’t weep for you when the doctor told us your professional soccer career was over? I might’ve put on a strong front for you, but it broke me as well. I knew what soccer meant to you, but I thought we were strong enough to get through it together. But you just pushed me aside. Do you know how badly that hurt?”
“I handled it the only way I knew how. It stripped me of everything. How was I going to support you? Support our baby? I felt like a fucking failure. Because I’d had control of the situation. Maybe if I’d waited longer to come back or wouldn’t have been so aggressive on the pitch. The what-ifs plagued me like a bad nightmare. I was embarrassed. Ashamed. I could barely face you.”
“We were a team! We’d always been a team. If you’d have just let me be the one to boost us up, to see us through the bad times—”
“That’s not how I was raised. I’m the man. I’m supposed to take care of what’s mine, and you and Palmer are mine.”
His declaration silences me. I can’t lie and say hearing those words from him doesn’t make my heart float, but that fact alone gives me pause.
So instead, I say, “Well, this isn’t the nineteen fifties. I’m not going to stand around with an apron on at five o’clock, waiting to serve you dinner.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m not saying I expect that. I’m just being honest about what was going through my head. Now I’m back, and every time I think we’re moving forward, you push me away. You make sure I know exactly all the things I did wrong.” His voice rises again.
“What do you expect me to do? Sing your praises for finally showing up?”
He stares for a moment and I swear his nostrils are flaring. “I didn’t expect that you’d keep rubbing it in my face every second. I’ve been here for a week, and though I didn’t think it would be an immediate fix, I thought you’d see me trying and maybe cut me some slack.”
“I see you trying, and I’m trying too. I’m trying to let you form a relationship with Palmer, but it’s so hard to be around you.”
He turns around and waves. “Yeah, yeah, ‘cause you hate the sight of me. I get it. You’ve been clear.”
My bravado fails and my shoulders fall. “It’s not that I hate you. I’m just so hurt. It’s hard to be around you because I’m still attracted to you. I still want you and I want to feel the safety you always offered me, but that idea terrifies me. What if you check out and leave me on my own again? You were my best friend and my boyfriend.”
He slowly turns around, standing in front of me like a defeated child.
“Don’t take me struggling to mean that I don’t want you in Palmer’s life. I do. I just can’t decide if I want you in mine.”
“Lass,” he says, and I close my eyes. “I want to hold you and promise you that I’ll make up for the last eighteen months every day, if you’ll have me.” He steps closer. “I want to wake up next to you, feel the way you’d slide your nose up and down my jaw while you get more comfortable. I want lazy Sunday mornings where we watch Palmer play and promise to get dressed but never do. I want it all.” He takes another step closer.
“When you’re with her and she’s in your arms, it cuts me open.” I swipe a tear from my face. “All the hatred for you runs out because seeing you clean again reminds me of the Jamison I loved. The man who would lie down and die for the ones he loved. When I reflect on the precious way you treated me all those years, I know how great you’ll be as a father.”
He steps a foot closer. “Then why don’t we try to get back there? If it’s what we both want?”
Before I realize it, he’s in front of me, toe to toe, his hand reaching to brush away my tears. My body yearns for his touch. Just to allow his hands on me one more time. What harm could it do?
“I love you, Sedona. You’ve always been my girl.”
I close my eyes. His hand cradles my cheek, and I press my face into his palm, allowing shivers to wrack my body. His touch feels so good, so comforting. I’ve wondered for so long whether I’d ever hear those words from him again.
“Let me, and I’ll spend a lifetime making this up to you.”
My body desperately wants to shove all this under the rug. One thing is for sure—I have to admit my feelings for him. Fighting them so hard is only making me miserable.
I cover his hand with mine, and a small smile lifts his lips. “I won’t stand here and lie and say that I don’t want you so bad that I’m breaking my own heart with what I’m about to say, but I need time.”
“Time?”
I nod. “I need to build trust between us again.” He draws back, and I step forward this time, gripping his hand. “I’d bet on you. I know we’re going to get there, but I’m not ready. Not yet. You’re a great guy. You always were, and now that you’ve committed to sobriety, you’re going to be a great father. I have no doubt about that. I’ve been so set on putting you in your place after all this time, but I’ve been hurting myself by doing so. So if we’re going to do this, let’s do it. But let’s start slow—as friends.”
“Friends?” His voice cracks as if he can barely stand to say the word.
“We’ve always been great friends.” I grip his hand harder.
He nods reluctantly. “Okay.”
“And I promise no more mention of the past. I’ll talk to my family.”
“Can I hug you?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
He nods as if he’s okay with my decision. “Want to see my new car?”
He drags me by the hand to the window looking down on Main Street.