I knew this would be hard, knew Cade would be shocked, but I didn't think about the audience. Didn't consider that I'd have to do this with five strangers watching my every move.
"I know this is—" I start, but my voice comes out shaky. I clear my throat, try again, addressing the captain because he seems like the one in charge. "I know this isn't ideal. The timing, the way I… I should have called ahead. Given him warning. I just—"
"You just what?" Cade's voice is sharp now, cutting through my rambling. "Decided that eight years of silence wasn't enough? That you'd show up and—" He stops himself, glancing at Ruby, clearly remembering she's there. That we're not alone. That whatever anger or hurt he's feeling needs to be contained.
But I heard it. The edge. The betrayal.
And I deserve it.
"Ruby, sweetheart," I say, squeezing her hand gently. "Why don't you sit down? I need to talk to your dad for a minute. Grown-up stuff."
Ruby's face falls. "But I wanted to—"
"I know. And you will. I promise." I guide her to one of the chairs at the conference table, "Just give us a few minutes, okay?"
Ruby sits at the other end of the table, but she's not happy about it. She crosses her arms over her chest. Cade's stubbornexpression on her seven-year-old face, and I have to suppress the urge to laugh hysterically at the absurdity of it all.
"Perhaps we could give you folks the room?" the captain says again, more firmly this time. He's reading the situation correctly, understanding that whatever is about to happen shouldn't have an audience.
"Dallas, I—" Cade starts, but Dallas shakes his head.
"We'll be close. You need anything, you yell." It's not a suggestion. He herds the other men out, though I catch them all stealing glances back at Ruby as they go. The door clicks shut behind them, but I can hear their muffled voices immediately starting up in the hallway.
Definitely gossiping.
"Sit," Cade says, his voice flat. Not angry anymore, just... empty. Distant. He's pulling on that armor I remember from after the fire, the walls going up so high I can't see over them.
I sit, but across from Ruby, keeping her in my sight. Cade remains standing, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and the way he's looking at me makes me feel like I'm on trial.
Maybe I am.
"Eight years," he says again, like he's still trying to wrap his mind around it. "You've known for eight years that I have a daughter, and you never—" He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching. "Why?"
It's the question I've been dreading. The one I've asked myself a thousand times, usually at three in the morning when Ruby's had a nightmare and is sleeping in my bed, her little hand clutching my shirt.
"Because you were broken," I say, brutally honest because he deserves at least that much. "After the fire, after everything that happened, you were barely holding it together. You couldn't staythere, couldn't heal with all those reminders. I saw what it was doing to you."
"So, you decided for me." His voice is still flat, but I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "You decided I couldn't handle it."
"I decided not to trap you." The words come out sharper than I intend, defensive. "I found out I was pregnant two months after you left. Two months, Cade. You were gone. You'd made your choice. And I—" My throat tightens, years of justifications and doubts and fears piling up. "I thought about calling. About telling you. But you'd just gotten to Blackwater Falls, you were starting over, and I thought—"
"You thought what? That I wouldn't want to know? That I wouldn't want to be a father?" Now the anger is bleeding through.
"I thought you needed to heal!" The words burst out of me, louder than I mean them to be. Ruby's head snaps up, her eyes wide. I force myself to lower my voice, but I can't stop now. "I thought that telling you about a baby when you could barely get through a day without nightmares would either save you or destroy you, and I wasn't willing to bet our daughter's life on which one it would be."
Cade flinches like I've slapped him, and I immediately regret my honesty. But it's true. All of it. I watched him spiral after the fire, watched him blame himself for the people he couldn't save, watched him become a ghost of the man I loved.
"You should have told me anyway," he says. "You should have given me the choice."
"I know." My eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall. Not here. Not now. "I know, and I'm sorry. I've been sorry for seven years. But I made the decision I thought was right at the time, and I can't change it now."
"Why now?" He's looking at Ruby, and something in his expression softens. "Why come here after all this time?"
"Because she's asking questions." I glance at our daughter, who's watching us with those too-perceptive eyes. "She wants to know about her dad. Deserves to know. And I—" I take a shaky breath. "I realized I was keeping you from her for my own reasons now, not hers. Because I was afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of this." I gesture between us. "Of you hating me. Of you not caring. Of you looking at her and feeling nothing." My voice drops to barely a whisper. "Of you looking at me and feeling nothing."
