I dropped my head back, allowing my gaze to trend upward. The tiny opening where the blue sky danced above brought a grin across my face, remembering when I brought Stetson here.
I reached for my phone in my jacket pocket, finding Stetson’s number and dialing it while holding on to my fleeting confidence for dear life.
“Is it true?” A voice snaked through the trees.
Was I hearing shit?
I jumped, startled, and whipped my head around.
Stetson stood only a few feet away from me, with Cheyenne next to him. His dark blue jeans, hooded sweatshirt, and trucker hat made him look about as exhausted as I felt.
“Is it true?” he asked again. “Did you put a baby up for adoption?”
I searched his voice for any inkling into how he felt, but it was completely void of any sentiment.
“Yes,” I answered. “When I was seventeen.”
“Holy shit,” he mumbled, striding closer to me.
The tone of his voice wasn’t disappointment, disgust, or anger. It was something completely different, something dancing the line between hope and uncertainty and my stomach sank further.
“Stetson…”
“What if you’re her…” he said, moving until he was only a few inches away from me.
My head feverishly shook back and forth.
“Ruby’s birth mom. What if you’re her?” His gaping jaw slowly closed before he began going a hundred miles per hour. “I know it’s crazy, but after I read the article, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you and about her and about how there are just so many similarities.” The optimism in his eyes was like a dagger to my heart, but he just kept going, kept making it so much harder to tell him the truth. “Maybe the world had a reason for putting us together.”
“Stetson…” I interrupted, frantic for him to let me speak.
“Just hear me out. Ruby is thirteen, and you gave up your baby thirteen years ago. Her parents are from Quincey Falls, and you’re from Quincey Falls.” A smile slowly emerged behind his teeth, one that I hated to push back in.
“Stetson, stop,” I shouted, placing my hands firmly on his arms. “I’m not Ruby’s birth mother,” I said, staring right into those ocean eyes that were sure to turn a stormy gray once I was finished.
“How do you know?” he asked. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because seventeen years ago, I gave a little boy up for adoption. I can’t be Ruby’s mom.” The words fell from my mouth in the shape of lightning bolts and thunder heads, turning a spring storm into a category five hurricane.
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped and he shuffled backward. I saw the moment everything inside of him went dark. “I just… I just thought it had to be you. I wanted it to be you.”
“I’m sorry,” I declared. “I would’ve like that too, more than you know.”
The devastation on his face could’ve brought me to my knees, probably because I was disappointed too. What I would have given to not only be the answer to his problem but the answer to a question I’d held with me for thirteen years…
“Don’t be sorry.” He lowered his head. “It’s not your fault. I just got ahead of myself.”
But I was sorry. Sorry that I hadn’t told him, sorry that the article had gotten his hopes up, and sorry that I wasn’t who he was looking for.
I sighed. “This is a lot. I know.”
Part of me hoped he would disagree and we’d spend the next couple of hours talking through everything, but it wasn’t fair of me to expect that from him.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “It is.”
For the first time, even though he was standing right next to me, Stetson seemed distant, like he was miles away. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever feel close again.
“I should probably get back to the studio. Mark’s been on my ass to finish up these last few songs. He’s ready to the cut thealbum now,” Stetson said, shoving his hands into the pocket of his navy sweatshirt.
