Chapter 40

He’s turned away from me now, like he can’t bear to look at me. Like I might have that look on my face again. And I think about Jack, the Jack I’ve known since he was still a boy, as full of promise and joy as Gabe is now, and how his father slowly sucked out of him his faith in himself. How Jack’s father wore him down, like a river over stone, eroding his ability to see the best in himself.

For a long time I believed it was my job to keep that faith, that ability, alive for Jack.

But in the end, when it mattered…

So now I understand. I understand what happened that night. And I feel so much relief, and also so much guilt and grief.

“I didn’t trust you. I didn’t believe in you. When you needed me to.”

He very slowly looks up at me, and the expression on his face—it’s simultaneously so broken and so hopeful.

I take a deep breath. Because there are a lot of layers here. There’s a lot of talking that needs to be done, a lot of sorting-out that needs to happen.

“I owed you the benefit of the doubt,” I say, slowly. “Not just a chance to explain yourself, but the benefit of the doubt. Because of how it was between us. And Jack, it was so good between us. So good.”

He’s quiet, still, just listening to me.

“But—I was scared, Jack. I didn’t know you very well. I mean, for all that I’d known you forever, I didn’t know the adult you. All I knew about you were the rumors, and they—”

“They weren’t flattering.”

“They weren’t. And I wanted to believe I was different from all the other disposable women, but—then I had this evidence right in front of my face that I wasn’t different. And I—I wasn’t bigger than my fear, I guess.”

He looks an awful lot like Gabe does when you’re answering his why questions. Just eyes and attention, his face so vulnerable and downright—sweet.

“Neither was I.” He takes a deep breath. “You are different from all the other disposable women. You are different from every other woman. It was only ever you. And it will only ever be you. And the only thing I regret more than letting you walk away that night is letting you move out of my house last weekend.”

My heart is suddenly three sizes too big. “Oh.”

“And I just want you to know that I’ll do whatever it takes. Work on my temper—”

“Your…temper?”

I’m genuinely befuddled.

“The other night, when Gabe wouldn’t go to bed, and I lost it?”

“Was I there?”

“You were standing right there. And I was like, trembling with rage—”

“Oh, yeah, those bedtime shenanigans can make you lose your shit.”

“In my head, I just hauled off and screamed at him, and my spit was flying in his face—”

His voice cracks. His eyes are agonized. And it takes me a moment, but then I get it. I get that for him, that moment felt so real and so familiar, it broke his heart.

I reach for his hand, grab it tight. “You know it doesn’t count if you don’t actually do it, right? I mean, if it did, he would be dead from shaken baby syndrome a thousand times over. I can’t tell you the number of times I had to walk out of the room when he was a baby so I wouldn’t do something awful to him.”

“But how did you know you wouldn’t? One day? Some day?”

“I just—I knew, you know?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t.”

And I look at him, like I’m seeing him for the first time, and I think I am seeing him for the first time. Hair just long enough to wave, eyes the blue-gray of a cloudy day’s ocean, features set in steel, including a jaw clenched so tight I’m afraid something’s going to crack.

“Oh, Jack,” I say, reaching out to touch the evening’s early stubble along his rigid jawline. “I know.”

He drags in a deep breath.

“I know you will never hurt us. And if I could go back, and never have had my faith in you flag, not even for a millisecond, not in any way, I would.”

He closes his eyes, just for a second, then opens them again. It might just be my imagination, but they look a little damp. Which makes my own heart feel like it’s going to burst.

“Just because I did that one stupid, idiotic thing and let myself believe that you would sleep with stupid Penelope Mills does not mean that I ever thought you wouldn’t be a good father. You are not your father. You couldn’t be your father if you tried. You are the very best father.”

Now it’s my turn to draw a shaky breath. “You are the man I want to teach Gabe how to be a man.”

He leans his face into my hand. Turns his head just a little, so he can press his lips against my palm. They’re warm and gentle, and that touch sizzles straight through me.

When he lifts his head again, his eyes are warm, and I can see the tension has melted out of his jaw.

He smiles wryly at me.

“Even though I’m unemployed?”