by Lili Valente
“Then I’ll go to the store. Or stay up with the baby,” Jacob says, chin lifting as he adds in a don’t-even-try-to-argue-with-me voice that’s one-hundred percent Deacon, “I’m dropping out of school and moving to San Luis Obispo with Addie. We’ve already decided.”
“Like hell, you are,” Deacon growls.
“I’m going to get a job, something flexible so I can take off if I need to,” he pushes on, his gaze fixed on my face, but his words a clear challenge to his father. “Adriana’s way better at school than I’ll ever be. It doesn’t make sense for her to drop out and lose her scholarship. I’ll withdraw at the end of the semester and go back to finish my degree when the baby’s older and Addie’s in grad school.”
My lips part, but I snap them closed again, refusing to let the words on the tip of my tongue find their way out into the world. They’re so young, and love is so hard, and parenting is even harder, but Addie’s father and I made it work for a long time. I wouldn’t trade a single one of those happy years, not even to be spared the pain of Grant throwing everything we’d built together away to hook up with a woman half my age.
Grant…
Oh God, he’s going to lose his damned mind.
“I’m assuming you haven’t told your dad about any of this,” I say. “Considering he hasn’t stormed into the house and bricked up the door to your room.”
Addie shakes her head fast, her flushed cheeks going pale. “No, I can’t tell him, Mom. He’ll kill me.”
“He won’t kill you.”
“He’ll kill Jacob,” Addie says, her eyes beginning to shine again. “And I can’t do this without Jacob. I just can’t.”
“No one’s going to kill Jacob,” I assure her. “I’ll talk to him. See if I can find a way to smooth things over as much as possible before you see him again.”
“If she can’t stand up to her own father, then she’s not ready to be a parent.” Deacon’s words are kind, gentle even, but that doesn’t keep them from making my head explode. I’m about to turn and give him a piece of my mind—a big piece—when Jacob does it for me.
“Back off, Dad,” he shouts. “You don’t know Addie. She’s one of the strongest, smartest, best people I’ve ever met. She doesn’t want to talk to her dad because he left her mom for a girl the same age as her sister, who bosses Addie around and treats her like a kid when it’s absolutely not her fucking place.”
A year older than Beatrice, but he has a point. One that Grant and I have argued about extensively every time he allows his not-overly-bright and absolutely inexperienced new bride to put in her oar when it comes to raising Addie.
Though, here I am with a teen daughter pregnant by my boyfriend’s son, so maybe I shouldn’t throw stones.
“I’m not trying to insult Adriana,” Deacon says with patience that’s clearly forced. “I like Adriana. A lot. As far as I can tell, she’s a great kid. But she’s still a kid, Jacob, and in a lot of ways so are you. I think it would be a mistake not to consider all the options.”
“Like what, an abortion?” Jacob asks, steel in his voice. “Because that’s not happening. Adriana and I already talked about it. We can’t say what’s right for anyone else, but it’s not the choice for us.”
“Then adoption,” Deacon says. “There are so many couples out there who would give everything for a shot at a healthy baby. Especially from kids like you. You’re both sweet, smart, athletic and—”
“And we’re not giving up our baby.” Jacob shifts closer to Adriana, who steps away from me, putting her arms around him and leaning into the person who’s clearly well on his way to taking my place as her rock and touchstone.
It hurts a little, to see how far she’s already flown from the nest without me even realizing it was happening, but it’s also good. Right. If they’re going to have any shot at getting through this relationship trial-by-fire, they’re going to have to do it as an unshakeable team.
“Please, Jake,” Deacon says, dragging a weary hand through his already wild hair. “Can we go inside and talk about this, man to man? I’ll give Violet the keys to my truck, she can take Adriana home, and we can all reconvene later.” He glances my way, his voice stiff as he asks, “If that’s all right with you, Violet. I assume our plans for the day are canceled.”
Canceled because we know what Adriana’s up to or canceled because we’re canceled, I don’t know. I’m too worried about Addie to stress about what’s going on with Deacon and me right now. There will be time to stress about that later, after I’ve wrapped my head around the fact that I’m going to be a grandmother in six months.
I nod. “That’s fine with me. I think Adriana and I should go home and get some rest. It’s obviously been a big night for all of us.”
“I was going to be home before you got home,” Addie says in a small voice. “That’s why we got up so early. I didn’t want you to be worried about me. And I had no idea that Deacon was Jacob’s dad, or I never would have encouraged you two to…” She trails off, cutting a quick glance Deacon’s way before her gaze flits nervously back to me. “You know. But if you’re happy, I’m happy. Just because Jake and I are together, it doesn’t mean you and his dad can’t…be a thing. Or whatever.”
“That’s gracious of you, Addie,” I say, wryly, “but not something that needs discussion right now. First, we need to make sure you’re getting solid prenatal care, so this baby has the best shot possible.”
“I’ve already been seeing a doctor. She says everything looks good and cleared me to keep running track. I mean, Alysia Montaño ran the eight-hundred-meter when she was thirty-four weeks pregnant, so I knew it was probably okay, but I wanted to check and make sure. Be one-hundred percent safe.” Addie pauses, biting her lip as she glances over her shoulder at Jacob. “We actually have an appointment tomorrow. That’s where I’m going at noon. Not to Georgia’s house to make Christmas cookies. I’m sorry for lying.”
I want to ask her a hundred different questions, all at once—how did she get to the appointments, how long did she plan on hiding the pregnancy from her family, and when did she get so responsible and organized, because I remember a time in the recent past when she couldn’t be trusted to make it to the bus stop on time, let alone a series of prenatal appointments—but I’m suddenly tired.
So, so tired.
“I’ll take those keys, Deacon.” I turn to him, torn between the urge to shout at him for making this already hard situation worse and a wish to fall into his arms for a hug.
“Sure thing. Be right back.” He trots across the yard, disappearing into the house. The moment the door slams closed behind him, Jacob’s shoulders drop away from his ears and hurt flickers across his features, giving me a glimpse of the scared kid behind the supportive partner he’s trying so hard to be.
I put a hand on his arm, giving a gentle squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. Your dad is just one of those people who has a hard time letting go of the way he thinks things should be. But he loves you so much. He’ll come around.”
“Probably,” Jacob says with a sigh, “but not before he tries to browbeat me into changing my mind for a few months first.”
I want to assure him that it won’t be as bad as all that—that his dad just wants to make sure he understands all his options and the consequences of his actions—but I’m not sure that’s true. I understand where Deacon’s coming from, but there comes a point when you have to let people make their own choice, even if you think it’s a mistake. Even the people you love.
Jacob leans in, pressing a kiss to Addie’s forehead. “Get home safe. I’ll be at your place at eleven thirty.”
“Do you mind if Mom comes to the appointment?” Addie asks. “It would be nice to have her there.”
Jacob shoots a shy smile my way. “Yeah, if you’d want to, Ms. Boden. That would be great.”
“Violet, please. And I’d love to. Thank you for including me.”
That’s all I want—to be included, to remain a part of my child’s
life as she grows and changes and starts a family of her own. I didn’t expect this to happen when she was still so young, and I hate that she’s going to have a harder time of things than if she’d waited to become a mother, but she’s so precious to me. No matter what path Addie chooses, she’s always going to be a person I want to know and love and support, for as long as she’ll let me.
As Deacon emerges from the house with the keys, I want to pull him aside and tell him what I know in my heart to be true—that we’re here to help our kids get strong enough to make their own choices, not make their choices for them—but his jaw is clenched so tight there’s a little marble of muscle rolled up near his ear.
He’s not ready to talk. He doesn’t want to hear my two cents. And as soon as Adriana and I are gone, I’m sure he’s going to tear into Jacob with the unrestrained passion of a man who believes that his way is the right way. The only way.
I pat Jacob on the back, silently wishing him strength. “See you soon. Let’s go, Addie.” I hold out my hand, palm up, and Deacon drops the keys into it without touching me.
“I’ll come get it later. Just leave the keys in the glove compartment,” he says, his voice as cool as the morning air.
I close my fingers around them without looking up, not wanting him to see the hurt I’m sure is visible in my eyes. “Thanks. Good luck.”
“It’s not too late. We’re going to fix this,” he says, but I hear what he’s really saying.
That he’s going to fix it. That he will bend the world to his iron will and God help anyone standing in his way.
But I don’t think things are going to work out that way this time around. Willpower can accomplish a lot of things, but it can’t transform a heart. Love plays by its own set of rules and is every bit as stubborn as Deacon Hunter.
CHAPTER 26
DEACON
Don’t go. Stay with me. Don’t leave me here alone.
The words come so close to spilling out of me, it’s shameful. The only thing keeping them in is my clenched jaw, which I keep locked tight until Violet and Addie pull away.
I’ve been a single parent for almost two decades and a grown man for even longer. Even when I was married, I wasn’t the kind of person who needed my partner by my side for moral support.
I support myself and offer a strong, solid pair of shoulders for the people I love to lean on. I don’t fall to fucking pieces, I don’t doubt my judgment or second-guess myself, and I don’t wish someone else would step in and take the wheel.
But as I face my son across the kitchen table ten minutes later over cups of coffee, I can’t help wishing Violet were still here, which makes zero sense. I don’t agree with the way she’s handling this. She’s too accepting, too soft, too easily swayed by the naïve pronouncements of two kids who have no clue what they’re signing up for.
If she were calling the shots, we’d already be picking out baby names and stocking up on organic cotton swaddling blankets and vegan baby food.
But still…
I want her here. I want her hand in mine. I want to know what she would say to Jake when he pronounces in a flat voice, “You’re wasting your breath, Dad. I’m leaving school, and Addie and I are having the baby. That’s it.”
They say love makes you do crazy things, but it just feels like it’s made me plain crazy. I’m so off my game, my only response is a long tired sigh and, “We should talk about this later. After we’ve both gotten some rest.”
Rest.
The old Deacon didn’t need rest or time to think. The old Deacon knew right from wrong, black from white. But now it’s all confusing shades of gray, punctuated with questions I’m not sure how to answer.
All I really know as I climb the stairs is that I don’t feel whole without Violet.
CHAPTER 27
VIOLET
A driana’s three-month checkup goes off without a hitch. She schedules her next appointment, and she, Jacob, and I head back to our house for a late lunch, during which I begin to suspect my daughter may have found the love of her life.
Jacob truly seems perfect for her, a goofy, kind, curious, take-no-bullshit person I can see keeping my daughter on her toes—and deeply in love—for years to come.
He stays to watch a movie with Addie and then for dinner after, lingering over tea and cards until both Addie and I are yawning over our hands before he heads back to the farm, clearly not looking forward to returning to his father’s house.
Deacon doesn’t call. Or text. And I go to bed with a cannonball where my heart should be.
I miss him. So much.
But there’s no time to mourn what we had, or what I thought we had.
I have to tell my ex-husband that our teenage daughter is pregnant.
“You want me to come with you?” Adriana asks the next evening, from her place on the couch, curled up under a cozy blanket with a massive bowl of popcorn. “I could hide in the back seat and come in when you give the all-clear signal.”
“It’s too cold to stay in the car. And I’m not expecting the all-clear signal tonight.”
Addie sinks lower on the cushions, worry creeping into her eyes. “What do you think he’s going to say?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not going to give him Jacob’s name. Just in case.” I shrug on my coat. “Don’t worry. He’ll come around. Your dad has his faults, but deep down he’s a lover, not a fighter. He won’t stay angry for long.”
“Okay,” Addie says in a small voice. “Good luck, and thanks for telling him, Mom. I really appreciate it.”
“Be back in a couple hours,” I say, blowing her a kiss as I head out the door, drawing my coat closed at the neck as the bitter wind sneaks beneath my clothes.
Winter crept in like a thief overnight, leaving a chill in the air that insists Christmas will be here before we know it. Best if we get the drama out of the way before then so we can all enjoy the holidays.
Sliding into the car, I pull out, headed for Mama Theresa’s.
When I called earlier today to reschedule our Adriana pow-wow, Grant suggested we do drinks at our old local haunt instead of coffee. Usually, I would have said no—there are too many memories at Mama’s—but tonight I’m hoping the ghosts of all those happy times will mute the anger explosion.
And memories of the old days don’t hurt as much as they did even a few weeks ago. Deacon helped work that miracle, and for that, I will always be grateful to him, even if I never touch his magical peen again.
That’s what I miss, I tell myself. The peen, not the man attached to it, the man I was so in love with that my heart feels like it’s being pounded with a meat tenderizer.
As I push through the door to Mama’s, pausing a moment to let my eyes adjust before moving into the dimly lit bar attached to the restaurant, the smell of garlic and marinara sauce hits so hard I’m overcome with a wave of nostalgia. Not for my marriage to Grant, but for our friendship, the way we’d laugh, and how relatively easy things were then. Back before I knew that even forever love can fall apart in your hands, disintegrating so fast it’s hard to believe there was ever any substance there to begin with.
But there was. It was real. And it was good.
And maybe that’s enough. Maybe things don’t have to last forever. Maybe they were never intended to. Maybe we should all start thinking of love like our careers in this modern world—things that change many times over the course of a life and not the foundation of present or future happiness.
Grant spots me across the bar and lifts an arm with a smile that falls from his face as I slide onto the bench next to his. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice filled with concern. “Are you crying?”
I swipe at my cheek, surprised to feel tears on my fingertips. “Um, yeah. I guess so. I was just thinking…”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Love,” I answer honestly. We’re in for a tough conversation tonight, might as well jump in head-first.
Grant’s gray eyes, those eyes
that were once my safe place, soften with understanding. “Yeah. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately, too.”
I blink faster. “You have?”
“I have.” He shifts on his stool, until his knees brush mine, making me flinch. We haven’t touched much in the past two years, and the familiar-but-not-familiar sensation is disconcerting. “But I’m sure my thoughts aren’t as interesting as yours. You always had good things to say about love.”
I press my lips together, fighting tears as I shake my head. “No, nothing interesting today. Just…confusion. Lots of questions, no clear answers.”
“I get that, too,” he says with a sigh. “How about a glass of wine? Or three?”
My lips curve. “Two. I have to drive.” And stay sober enough to deliver the bad news in the least damaging way possible, I add silently as Grant orders us both a glass of the house Chianti and water with no ice.
He knows what I like, this man. After nearly twenty years together, he should, but it’s still nice. Nice to be known, even by someone who decided that knowing me wasn’t as interesting as knowing his new receptionist.
The familiar surroundings, the familiar taste of the wine, the familiar way Grant takes charge—ordering garlic bread and stuffed mushrooms even though I insist I’ve already eaten—combine to work a little everyday magic. Soon, I unexpectedly find myself enjoying the wine and conversation. We stick to neutral topics, Grant’s latest nightmare client at work and the salamander drama at the shelter, saving the hard stuff for later by unspoken agreement.
Of course, Grant has no idea how hard things are about to get, a fact that eventually leads to a conversational stall. I take a gulp of my second glass of wine and push a stuffed mushroom around my plate with my fork, mentally running through the spiel I had all planned out earlier this afternoon.
But now the words feel wrong.
I’m so distracted, so filled with dread, that I’m completely unprepared for Grant to drop his own bomb.
