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His fingers brushed through my long hair, but he avoided my eyes. “How could you possibly know that, little flower?”
“It’s not hard to figure out. You get this look in your eyes when you talk about her. Like pure love. And to do what you did as a teenager?”
“Lots of dumbasses become teen fathers. Not exactly something to brag about.”
“You’re right.” I lifted a brow, challenging him to argue before I said the words. “And quite a few of those struggle. I dare say a good many choose to let someone else raise their kids because they don’t know how to transition from kid to adult. You made her your priority from day one.”
“I didn’t have a choice. It’s not some monstrous feat. It was what I had to do. I made her. She was my responsibility to take care of and love.”
I let it go. He seemed to struggle to believe he deserved any acknowledgment or praise for being the best dad he could be.
On his left side was a pair of military boots and a rifle with a helmet hanging from the barrel. “My little brother. He died almost two years ago in the line of duty. A little over six months after I met you.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, knowing it did little good. A meaningless condolence when you didn’t know what else to say.
But he didn’t respond as most with it was a long time ago or it’s okay. “I miss him every damn day. So much. But I like to think I got lucky because Henry could’ve died that day, too. I’m not sure I would’ve handled losing them both. And I think Ryan is probably watching over us both.”
I continued tracing the different pieces from script to detailed pictures until I ran my fingers over an image of two pinky fingers clasped. Below, it simply showed L&K.
He gripped my fingers, pulling them away. “Liam and Krista.” My brows dipped, something itching my brain, but I couldn’t quite grasp the idea. “My-um… My ex-wife.”
My mouth formed an ‘O’ as more questions formed, but only one came out. I didn’t know the details of his marriage, but I’d worked out enough to get the gist. “Why did you keep it?”
He dragged both hands over his face and growled. I expected him to get up and leave, but when his hands dropped, a look of pleading filled his unique eyes. “Krista… She-uh… She wasn’t always like she is now. She wasn’t just some girl I knocked up and married, either. She was my first friend when we were just little kids. We met in kindergarten, and a lot of kids avoided me because… Well, it was because their parents told them to. I’m a dad, so some part of me gets the idea of protecting your child. I… I don’t think they thought things through. The people in that town aren’t forgiving and have some strange notion that sins are contagious… and unforgivable. They didn’t want their children befriending the son of an ex-felon.”
He paused, staring at me, waiting for a reaction, but he didn’t find anything but a shrug. “People can be self-righteous, judgmental assholes.”
His head tilted in surprise at my response, but he didn’t comment on it. “She was a little girl whose mom forgot to pack her lunch most days. Her mom… She was self-absorbed. Being a parent wasn’t a huge priority for her. She was more concerned with looking the part of wealth and influence, and her dad did everything he could to make sure she had everything she wanted, which meant he wasn’t around much because he was always working.
“So, yeah… She was my first friend. My first kiss. My first…” He raised his eyebrows, telling me with his eyes instead of words what I’d already guessed. “And she’s my daughter’s mother. No matter what she’s done, I will always love her.”
***
How stupid am I to fall for a man who will always love someone else more? How stupid am I to lie here because he wouldn’t tell people about us? Isn’t that the proof I need that I’m in this more than him? I want everyone to know about us. He’s terrified anyone will find out.
No more. I won’t be that girl.
The covers fly from my body, and I force myself from the bed. I won’t sit around and mope another second.
After a nice long shower, I throw on a pair of shorts and a tank and head for the kitchen. What I’ve needed all along is coffee to get me out of this funk. It’s not a broken heart. It’s a lack of caffeine.
I grab my favorite mug and fill it to the brim, then grab my phone and earbuds and head to our small private terrace that overlooks the Lower East Side. The warm sun beams down, beckoning me. On days like today, I miss California.
Falling onto one of our comfy chaise loungers, I stuff my earbuds in my ears and crank up Mötley Crüe. Nothing better to help a festering heart move on than some good old fashion slut music from a fantastic slut band. Ahh, the eighties. Spandex, big hair, and bigger personalities fueled by alcohol and lots of snow. Decades before my time. I must admit, it kind of makes me sad I missed all the fun. Though, if I wanted to really experience all of that, I could. The styles may change, but the party favors stay the same. I just always preferred a natural high to artificial ones.
After snapping a few selfies, I open my social media apps and start posting. It’s been a few days, and part of my deal with a few brands is to post regularly. My parents provided me with a nice trust, just like they did for my brother. They also help pay for my expenses while I’m in school, but I’m not an idiot. I may be spoiled, but I know if I want to maintain at least some semblance of the lifestyle I’m accustomed to, I need a steady stream of income for the day I can no longer depend on my parents’ support. I could live without the Manhattan luxury apartment, the five-star restaurants, and the cute little convertible, but Mama needs her Prada.
Don’t worry. I invest, too. I don’t buy ten-thousand-dollar bags every day. I’m not that spoiled.
Okay, I am, but unless I can buy it with my own money, I don’t even expect those things from my parents. I was fortunate to have a few modeling jobs in my teens with certain brands, and I’ve maintained a good relationship with them over the years as an influencer. For reasons I don’t understand, people are interested in my life, so I have a decent following, which gets me lots of free goodies.
I wonder if they’d be interested if they knew most of my days are spent in classes. Or, until two weeks ago, hiding out in Liam’s apartment while he taught me to play the guitar?
Posting out of the way, I slide my sunglasses over my eyes and just relax for a few minutes. The sun is nourishment for my soul. Its warm beams seem to melt the tension away.
I’m not sure how long I lay there when suddenly my warmth vanishes as a shadow falls over me. I open my eyes, expecting to find an overcast, but the shadow is coming from the wrong direction. Sitting up, I look over my shoulder, and my heart somersaults. He stands in the doorway, staring with his hands holding onto the header. A sliver of ink decorating those drool-worthy abs peeks from where his shirt rises. My body flushes under his intense gaze.
Then I remember I’m not only angry with him, we’re not together, so he shouldn’t be looking at me like that. “What are you doing here?”
