Page 99 of I’m Already Gone

He gives me a curt nod, then turns and disappears up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Lily asks from behind me.

“Trying to find the right moment to speak to my son who on some days hates my guts,” I mutter. I’ve been watching Jake swim laps in the pool for the last twenty minutes. He came home from work about two hours ago, and I’ve been hovering, trying to work up the nerve even though he agreed to spend time with me.

“He doesn’t hate you, Ethan,” she reminds me.

I love how much she tries to find reason and hope in everything.

“How are you feeling today?” I ask.

Lily moves her gaze away from Jake, who’s doing a flip turn at the far end, to me. “I’m good.”

I study her face, searching for the truth beneath the answer. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

One corner of her mouth lifts, and a quiet chuckle slips out. “Seriously, Ethan. I’m good.”

Relief moves through me. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Lily rests her hand on my arm and gives me a tender smile. “It’s going to be fine, Ethan. He’s your son, not a stranger. You don’t have to be perfect with him. What matters most to Jake is that you’re there for him.”

She gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to rest for a bit.”

I give her a nod, a silent thank you, and watch as she walks out of the kitchen.

Turning my attention back to Jake, I notice he’s pulled himself out of the water and is sitting on the edge of the pool, his shoulders tense and his back stiff. His feet are still submerged, kicking idly, and I sense the weight of unspoken anger in his posture.

I scrub my hands down my face, the tension knotting my jaw, bracing myself for the inevitable confrontation.

Opening the patio door, I slide it shut and make my way toward him.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he responds, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water.

I kick off my sandals, feeling the hot concrete beneath my feet, and sit beside him, letting my own feet slip into the cool water.

“How long were you watching me?” Jake asks, kicking his feet lightly, sending small ripples across the surface.

“Not long,” I admit. “I was giving you your space. I know how much swimming means to you.”

He scoffs, a harsh, humorless sound that cuts through me. “But not enough to bother to show up to any of my meets before, right?” He finally turns, his eyes burning with disappointment.

I nod, unable to meet his gaze for more than a second. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve a lot more than that, Dad,” he spits out. He turns away again, staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

We sit in silence for a beat, the tension radiating between us. I want to say something, anything, but the words catch in my throat.

“Why did you do it, Dad? How could you hurt Mom like that?” he asks.

I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. That’s when it hits me. I never, not once, had the guts to sit my kids down and tell them the ugly truth about what I did to our family. What I did to their mother.

“There’s no excuse for what I’ve done, Jake. No amount of sorry will ever be enough to fix what I broke.”

“You broke more than this family, Dad.” He looks over at me again, his eyes still filled with anger, but now also swimming with deep sadness.

Hearing those words, spoken with such cold conviction, hurts more than I could ever imagine. But I force myself to absorb every barb, because I deserve every single one.