Page 9 of Unravel Me

Tommy is a wonderful child, sweet and incredibly gentle, but I have no right to leave the care of a two-year-old to someone else.

And yet that's exactly what I'm about to do.

I quickly relay everything Storm has just told me to Alex.

As expected, he immediately starts listing all the reasons why this is a dangerous idea, but I gently steer the conversation away before it turns into an argument.

I've made my decision.

◆◆◆

That evening, I go to bed with Tommy in my arms.

My heart aches almost physically because, for the first time in my life, I'll have to leave my son with someone else. Tommy was born prematurely through surrogacy, and he spent the first three months of his life in an incubator.

Even then, I sat beside him every single day, staring at his tiny body fighting for its life. I never left his side. It was an unbelievably difficult time. Sometimes I'd sit there, looking at his tiny face with tubes running into his nose and mouth, delivering oxygen and milk, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Having a child had always been my dream, and I had come so terrifyingly close to losing him. My heart broke a little more every day from the pain and fear.

Now, lying here with him in my arms, I rest my fingers against Tommy's cheek as he slowly drifts into a deep sleep.

His long eyelashes rest against his plump, slightly flushed cheeks.

"Now I have to leave you, Tommy," I whisper so quietly as not to wake him. "I don't want to do this, buddy, but we've reached a dead end. I have to find a solution for us, and something inside me believes I need to check this forest out."

I lean down and press my lips very gently against my son's warm forehead.

"I love you, buddy. Please forgive me. Alex will take good care of you, and I'll come back as soon as I can…"

Then I carefully move him into his crib. He shifts slightly, his little fingers closing around his OmegaCat plushie.

Leaving the room, I move silently, walking on my tiptoes because I also don't want to wake Alex, but I quickly realize he's not asleep. He's downstairs in the living room, curled up on the couch.

I lean carefully over the railing when I hear quiet sobbing coming from below.

He's clutching something that looks like a thick notebook, maybe a journal, and tears are running down his cheeks.

I hesitate, wondering if I should go downstairs or give him some privacy.

Truthfully, he doesn't have to explain why he's crying. Even though it's been ten years since he and Bay broke up, I know he still loves him and still wishes they could be together.

I stand there, frozen in indecision. I've spent my whole life avoiding emotional conversations where real feelings rise to the surface. Moments like that are never a one-way exchange, and I've got too much bottled up inside me. I'd probably fall apart if we shared our pain and were honest with each other.

But for some reason, this time I want to go down to him.

When he sees me, he immediately straightens up and quickly wipes away his tears, trying to hide his emotions. But I walk up to him, sit down on the couch, and place my hand over his small one, which is tightly wrapped around the battered journal.

"You're still thinking about Bay, aren't you? You still love him."

He snorts almost angrily.

"Of course I do, Jared. And I’ll never stop. We are this incredible case where our souls are like those of True Mates, but our bodies are incompatible."

I stay silent because I don't have an answer for him. His story is heartbreakingly tragic and unfair, and there’s so little hope for them.

Alex’s large amethyst eyes lift toward me, and he whispers, "If I were you, I'd go on that journey, Jared. I'd take every chance I could get. Even though traveling to some unknown place, to a blank spot on a map, sounds insane and dangerous…" He trails off and wipes away a tear. "But I understand you, because I'd do everything, even something crazy, for Bay."

This is the moment when I have to step out of my safe shell, let go of my reserve and emotional restraint in my interactions with people. I have to leave behind the fear of speaking about things that can be intimate and fragile.