Page 46 of Reeves

I absorb this silently while the bar sharpens around us.

A glass hits the counter somewhere to my left. Ice shifts in a shaker. A woman laughs too loudly at the next table.

Every sound is distinct, like it’s right beside me.

None of it touches what’s happening in my head.

The server stops by when she sees my empty glass. "Y'all doing okay?"

"I'd love another," I answer back. I look at Charli's glass and see she still has more than half left. "Do you want anything else?"

"I'm good right now," Charli answers, looking at the server, not me.

"You didn't try to find me," I say as soon as she's gone. It's not a question, but there is a part of me that wonders why she didn't try to share any of this with me over the years.

"You made yourself clear about what you wanted, Reeves. No marriage. No kids. No roots." Charli's voice stays level, factual. "I wasn't going to trap you when you explicitly said you didn't want children.”

The bourbon burns as I take another swallow. I imagine sayingthat's different,orI would have come back,oryou should have told me anyway.

But none of that is true enough to speak aloud. Because it probably wouldn't have changed anything.

Or, would it have?

"What does he like?"

A small smile touches her lips, genuine for the first time tonight. "Trucks. Water. How things work. He takes apart his toys to see what's inside them."

Each detail cracks like a bullet. They are direct hits to places I didn't know could hurt.

"Is he..." I pause, searching for the right word, "...happy?"

"Very. He is a sweet boy, very protective of his friends, of people he sees as vulnerable. He's an old soul in a lot of ways."

The server drops off a fresh bourbon for me, juggling a tray full of other drinks. I offer a weak excuse for a smile and grab the glass as she moves off.

I turn the glass in my hands. The weight of learning all of this life-altering stuff in a short time presses down on me.

"Why didn't you try to reach me over all these years?" The question slips out before I can stop it. I'm not angry with her, necessarily, but I do feel like she could have done more. "Six years, Charli. That's a long time."

She tilts her head slightly, confusion crossing her face before understanding clicks.

"I did tell you, Reeves." Her voice is calm but firm. "I left that letter on your windshield. I had no reason to believe you wouldn't read it. We always left each other notes like that."

The memory sharpens into focus. That white envelope tucked under my wiper. The way I yanked it off and shoved it in my pocket without opening it.

"But we had just..." My words trail off as I remember.

"We had just gone through a pregnancy scare two months earlier." Her fingers trace the condensation on her glass. "You made it crystal clear you didn't want kids. Or marriage. You said those exact words to me. I wasn't going to have an abortion."

I can't argue with that. I remember the relief that flooded through me when that second test came back negative, how clearly I'd told her I wasn't built for fatherhood.

"When I found out I was pregnant, I didn't know what else to do." She looks directly at me now. "I wrote everything down and left it where I knew you'd find it. I didn't want you to feel pressured, because I was going to have this baby regardless of what you wanted."

The weight of what she's saying sinks into me.

"When you never called or came back, I assumed you'd made your choice." She shrugs one shoulder. "The message seemed pretty clear. I wasn't surprised, because you'd said it before."

I lean forward, both hands gripping my glass.