“What do you want?” I asked again.
“I want to talk about this.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a folder, no doubt the divorce papers she had yet to sign. “Why now?”
“Because I have things I need to do, and I can’t continue to be stuck in this state of limbo. What do you care? The contract is up soon.”
The original contract was up soon, but she’d added in some terms of her own into the prenuptial: if we made it five years or longer, she’d get to keep shares of Hawthorne Industries and because she’d seen the growth the company had, she wanted to cash in on those terms. I’d let it slide before because there was no chance of me meeting another woman I’d want to be serious with. I’d been too busy with the company and my brother’s health to care. The other times I’d asked Camryn for a divorce were the times I’d seen the light or Tessa, sometimes both at once.
I asked for a divorce the week after we got married. I asked again the day after I saw a pregnant Tessa at the conference and again when I saw her a year after that. It seemed she was always at the center of my need for freedom. This time, it was different. This time, I needed Camryn out of my life before the papers for the Hawthorne takeover went through. If she even caught a whiff of what I was doing with the company, she’d never retract her claws, and that was something I couldn’t afford. Not with my plans to buy out other companies before the end of the year.
“We still have six months before you’re allowed to file. Those were the terms we agreed on,” Camryn pointed out, lifting an eyebrow.
“I’m done waiting.”
“Why now?” she asked again.
Miles’s name came fluttering into my head. Miles, the three-year-old little boy who could very well be my son. I shook the thought away. If he was, why was Cody Maverick pawing her swollen belly? Had he been there when she gave birth? Had he been the first one to look my child in the eyes? And where was Samson during all of this? I tried to excuse my brother. He’d been battling brain cancer, for God’s sake, but still. A baby. Possibly my baby. I’d never really considered what it would be like to be a father, but the possibility of having that with Tessa didn’t seem so bad. I was getting ahead of myself.
“Ro,” Camryn snapped.
I turned around and poured some coffee into a mug, paused, sighed, and then reached for a second one. It would be rude of me not to give her some. Hell, maybe it would make her less of a bitch to deal with. I turned, slid a mug to her, and put my elbows on the counter, holding my own warm mug in my hands. She was still obviously checking me out. In times like these, I wondered what her Wall Street boyfriend looked like. Not enough to look him up, but still.
“I need you to sign the papers,” I said calmly. “That’s all. You act like you want to spend the rest of your life tied down to me or something.”
“You act like that isn’t an option.”
“You—” I stopped myself from reminding her how she’d thrown plates and silverware at me the last time she was here. I needed to stay calm while I dealt with her. “What makes you think it is?”
“I don’t know. The fact that I agreed to this ridiculous arrangement is a testament that I don’t think us being married is as outlandish as you seem to think.”
“Says the woman who spent ninety percent of this marriage with another man.”
“Out of necessity.” She glanced away. “What am I supposed to do if my own husband won’t touch me?”
“I don’t think touching or not touching has anything to do with it. You were with him before we signed that contract.”
“I left him when I signed it.” Her eyes flashed. “I left him for nearly a year, hoping I could be enough for you, but all you did was mope and then fuck other women. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about that?”
“I honestly didn’t care.” I didn’t bother correcting her or telling her that her assumptions about me were wrong. There was no point.
“At first, I thought it had to do with Tessa, but it was clear that she was out of your life.”
My heart seemed to freeze. “How would you know?”
“You changed your number. Changed your email.” She shrugged. “If she were around, you would’ve probably tried to get these papers sooner.” She picked up the folder and waved it around. I said nothing. I didn’t want to jeopardize my chance of her signing and getting it over with.
“I don’t want to sign the papers,” she continued. “I want to try to make this work.”
“No. What is it that you really want? More money?”
She glanced away again. “I don’t know.”
“Well, figure it out, have your attorney jot it down, and send it to mine. We don’t need to discuss this.”
“I feel like we do.”
I set my mug down with a clunk. “It’s happening. Whether you want to believe it or not, it’s happening.”
On that note, she picked up her bag and stomped out of the kitchen and my house, slamming the door even harder than she had when she walked in.
Chapter Fourteen
Tessa
Getting Miles ready for daycare on Monday was a shit-show. Between my mom saying yes to everything I said no to and him whining that he wanted to stay home with her, I was about ready to lose my mind. As if that weren’t enough, I couldn’t find my phone anywhere, and I wasn’t sure I knew how to survive the subway without it. It had to be in my bag, probably somewhere underneath the baby wipes, NASA spaceships, and Paw Patrol figurines I used to entertain Miles whenever we were out eating and I had to take a call. I picked up Miles’s backpack, gave Mom a kiss, and offered him my hand.
“Let’s go, Miles.”
“I still don’t wanna.” He crossed his arms, pouting.
Mom smiled and leaned down. “You have to go so that you can come back and teach grandma everything you learned today. When you get back, we’ll go to the park and then out for some ice cream with Nana, how ’bout that?”
“Okay.” He grinned.
Mom straightened. “I’m going to take a shower and go to Celia’s. Mom and I are supposed to go to a wine tasting later.”
“And then you’re going to the park with Miles?”
“It isn’t like I’m driving him anywhere. Besides, some of us can handle our alcohol,” she said with a gleam in her eyes. I couldn’t help it, I laughed. I’d woken up with the mother of all hangovers yesterday and spent the entire day nursing it and telling everyone around me to shut up.
“Don’t remind me.”
“You need to get out more, baby,” Mom said. “Take advantage of us. We’re here to help you. Go have some fun this week.”
“I have fun.”
“Gymboree doesn’t count as fun, Tess.” Mom shot me a look. “And Miles needs a father figure in his life.” She glanced at Miles, who was walking around the coffee table with a rocket in his hands.
“He has Freddie.”
She gave me that sad look I was used to from her. It had been at least a year since the last time she asked who Miles’s father was and I was grateful for it because I wasn’t sure I had it in me to lie or omit things anymore. I still couldn’t believe she hadn’t figured it out. Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe everyone around me knew and they were just playing along for my own sake. I wouldn’t be surprised.
“Let’s go, Miles,” I said. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll take you up on the offer.”
I held Miles’s hand as we walked to the elevator, letting him push the button outside and inside. He was obsessed with buttons and doors and basically everything that had a reaction to his touch. I watched his eyes as they lit up when the elevator started moving. He turned the rocket over upside down to indicate that we were going in that direction. The kid amazed me.
“I have a team trying to come up with a concept for a car. Maybe you can help,” I told him as the elevator doors opened. “Like cool colors and a theme.”
“Like a rocket.”
I laughed. Everything was like a rocket to him. “Like a
. . .” I stopped walking and looked down at him. He glanced up, sensing this. “Oh my god, Miles. Like a rocket!”
I let go of his hand and rummaged through my messenger bag until I found my small sketchpad that I used to jot down ideas. Miles tugged at my arm as I flipped it open to a fresh page and scribbled: NASA (think: rocket).
“Mommy, there’s a man here.”
“Just stay by my side and let him get through,” I said, only half-listening. If I could get the right blue for the leather and come up with a way that—
Small arms wrapped around my leg. “He keeps looking at me.”
My head whipped up, my gaze landing on the glass door and Rowan, who was standing on the other side of it. My pulse spiked. I pushed everything back into my bag, put the strap back on my shoulder and took a hold of Miles’s hand again before walking over to the door. I pushed it open. Rowan looked at me for a beat before training his eyes on Miles. I fought the urge to push him behind me and keep him out of sight. This was not how I planned on doing this. Not that I’d composed much of a plan, but if I had, this would not have been it.
“What are you doing here?”
He looked up and held my gaze for entirely too long. Silently, I prayed he wouldn’t ask the question I knew he wanted to. I would crack, completely and utterly shatter and tell both him and Miles right then and there.
“I came to pick up the books.”
“What books?”
“The books of fabric.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I blinked. “Um . . . I need to get him to daycare. I can give them to you in like twenty minutes. I can even call Freddie and have him—”
“That’s okay. I’ll walk with you.”
“Walk—” I cleared my throat to clear the squeak from my voice. “You want to walk with us?”
“Sure.” His eyes searched mine. “Is there a problem?”
He knew. He knew. He knew. He had to know.
“No. No problem at all.”
We started walking.
“What’s your name, little man?” Rowan said when he reached the corner. Of course, the walking signal was red. Miles looked at me, then at him, as if to ask whether or not he should tell him. I gave him a nod.
“Miles Frederick Monte.”
“Miles, huh?” Rowan’s eyes met mine briefly, but in those two seconds, I knew he knew. I just knew it. He looked at Miles. “Nice name. I’m Rowan Andrew Hawthorne.”
Had this been an entirely different situation, I would have found his response charming. Miles let go of my hand and offered it for him to shake. Something Freddie and I had been working on with him, and in this moment, I wished like hell I could take it all back. I didn’t want them touching. That was a lie. I was just freaking the hell out.
“Je suis très heureux de faire votre connaissance,” Miles responded, telling Rowan that he was pleased to meet him.
* * *
“Whoa.” Rowan chuckled, his eyes lighting up. “How old are you?”
“Three,” he said.
Rowan gave me another one of those knowing glances, and I turned away.
Fuck my life.
Chapter Fifteen
Rowan
This tiny little boy knew French and he was mine. At least I really, really thought he was. I couldn’t be sure why I felt that way. Maybe it was his eyes or the way he kept looking at me, suspicious as fuck but also like he knew something. Like we were bonded somehow. I watched Tessa kiss him on both cheeks for the fifth time in a row and hike his little backpack up. He looked at me from over her shoulder and gave a little wave as he walked away.
“He’s smart,” I said when she was next to me again.
“They want to promote him a grade, but I’m scared it’ll hurt him in the long run.”
“How so?” We started walking in the opposite direction, back to her apartment for those books I could’ve cared less about.
“You know how older kids are. I don’t want him to get picked on because he’d be younger, smaller, smarter.”
“What does his father say?” I eyed her closely.
She was shaking. Her hands, her body, even her smile. She was definitely keeping something from me. The awful thought that maybe Sam was his father crossed my mind, but if that were the case, he wouldn’t have kept it from me. As much as he knew it would hurt me, he would have told me. I didn’t think my brother would do that to me, not after everything.
I crossed my arms. I’d just ask her straight out. I mean, I’d ask if the kid was mine, she’d say no, I’d deal with it. It wasn’t as if I’d ever considered having children, but the thought had been there and gone. Camryn and I sure as hell never spoke about it. I couldn’t even imagine having a child with her, but a child with Tessa? The idea didn’t really seem all that terrible. I summoned the question and allowed myself to ask it, keeping my eyes on hers.
“Is he mine?”
“What?” She stumbled back slightly but then caught herself and straightened.
“Is he mine?”
“Why would you ask that?” Her voice was hoarse.
Holy shit.
He was mine. I felt my own throat closing up. If he wasn’t, she would have laughed, said no quickly, and then told me to go fuck myself. Instead, she looked to be at a loss for words. I swallowed thickly and asked again. All this time I’d held out hope that maybe someday I could go after this woman and make things between us work, despite thinking she had a child with someone else, despite thinking she’d moved on quickly after me, and the entire time she’d been keeping this secret from me? Keeping him from me? I needed to hear her say it.
“Is he?”
She brought her hands up and pressed her face into them, nodding. I reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her off to the side, away from the crowd walking the street. She kept her face in her hands. I stared at the top of her head, wondering why I wasn’t full of rage or overflowing with anger because she’d kept him from me.
What I felt was an intense pressure in my breastbone, something akin to sadness, longing. Things I couldn’t quite place. After years of feeling like I was on top of the world, I suddenly felt small and lost.
Funny how another person’s actions could make you feel that way. A son. My son. I thought about her pregnant, about Cody Maverick’s hands all over her stomach when it should have been mine. My chest squeezed tighter with each passing second.
“Why would you keep this from me?”
“You’d just gotten married,” she whispered. “What were you going to do? Give it all up because I was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
She shot me a disbelieving look. I didn’t blame her. Thinking back, I probably wouldn’t have given any of it up. Not because I didn’t want to. Deep down, I was just looking for an excuse, something to make me throw in the towel and walk away, chase after her.
“You would have been miserable,” she said. “And you would have blamed your son for it.”
She might as well have slapped me; that was how much her words stung. She thought I’d blame a child for my failures? For not being able to keep my end of the bargain and doing what I’d been molded to do? Maybe she was right. Maybe I was that person, like my father, unable to take responsibility for my own actions without blaming those around me. We continued to stare at each other. She looked cagey, as if she would take out the claws I knew she hid well and strike at any given moment. Despite the pain I felt, I wasn’t about to stand down.
“Am I that horrible?” I whispered. “That you wouldn’t think I’d at least want to know that I fathered a child?”
“This isn’t about you.” She wiped the tears that continuously streamed down her face. “I swear it isn’t.”
“Then who is it about?” I shouted. “You’ve kept this secret for three fucking years. Does my brother know?”
“He just found out,” she whispered. “He didn’t know.”
“Bullshit!”
“I swear he didn’t know. No one knows.”
&nb
sp; My eyes narrowed. Bullshit. The kid looked just like me. I didn’t believe for one second my brother didn’t know. He’d obviously been in the child’s life all this time. I wondered if he’d been there for his first cry and his first laugh. His first word. I wondered how many firsts he’d accomplished. The kid knew French, so it was clear he’d accomplished a lot more than I could conjure in two seconds. It wasn’t as if I knew anything about toddlers, but that kid was clearly brilliant.
I had a son. A smart, adorable, son named Miles. And the woman I had dreamed of every night since the day I let her go had kept him from me. I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Sam just found out, and I asked him not to tell you,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I needed time to figure out how I would do it,” she said, her voice shaking with each word she spoke. She shut her eyes as if looking at me while saying this was becoming unbearable for her.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Tessa?”
“You made it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with me the day we saw each other in the courthouse. I gave you my heart on a platter and you tossed it out the window.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“You changed your phone number!” She continued, her voice breaking with each word. “I called and you’d changed it.”
I had. I’d changed it because I didn’t want the temptation of her voice to lure me away from my goals and in turn mess up hers. Still. She had a fucking son. My son. And kept him from me.
“I saw you,” I argued. “I saw you twice. You had the chance to tell me in person.”
“When? Before or after you stopped holding your wife’s hand and parading her around the building like she was made of glass? Should I have told you in front of her? Made a family meeting out of it?”
“So instead of trying to find the right time you shut me out of his life?”
My Way Back to You Page 8
