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Same chiseled jaw. Same stubbled cheeks. Same rock-hard body. Except he isn’t in high school anymore. Nope. The bastard has gained at least thirty pounds of solid muscle, regardless of his bad knee that ended his NFL career before it even had a chance to begin. When his soft, wavy hair falls on his forehead, his gaze connects with mine, and I hold my breath, hating how weak I am, but I can’t look away.
It’s too much.
This is worse––so much worse than I expected our little reunion to be. Because I can’t run away and hide. I have to actually talk to this guy. To form sentences that don’t include why did you leave, and I wish we’d never met.
Shoving his fingers through his hair, Owen pushes it back, then clears his throat and looks down at a very somber Grady on the opposite side of my desk. And just like that, high school Owen is replaced with responsible dad Owen. I kind of hate how easily he’s able to push me aside to focus on his son. But that’s what a good dad would do, and I always knew he’d check off that particular box with ease. That doesn’t mean I want to witness it firsthand, though.
“What the hell happened, Grady?” Owen demands before rushing forward and kneeling down in front of him.
“I-I’m sorry,” Grady whispers with his gaze glued to his lap.
“Look at me, Grady.”
Lower lip trembling, he lifts his chin and stares back at his dad. There isn’t any fear, just…shame.
And it breaks my heart.
“I-I’m sorry, Dad,” he repeats, his voice trembling.
“Come here.” Owen throws his arms around Grady’s neck and pulls him into his chest, making my own tighten with a fierceness that steals my breath.
Don’t break down, Saylor. Don’t you dare break down, I silently beg myself. But this particular brand of torture is crippling. I always knew he’d be an amazing dad. But I thought it would be to our kids. Instead, I get a front-row seat to witness it from a distance. And it sucks.
He whispers something into Grady’s ear that only they’re privy to before Grady nods his understanding. Satisfied, Owen takes the second available seat across from me, leaving the desk separating us. I swallow thickly, fidgeting with a few of the papers as his chiseled jaw tightens with pent-up frustration at being left in the dark.
“What happened?” he demands.
“Should we wait for your”––I lick my lips, hating the way my voice quakes––“wife?”
His eyes soften. Not enough to erase his stern expression, but just enough to show me that he’s well aware of the fact that my insides are in knots, and it’s all his fault.
“I’m not married,” he murmurs.
Waving my arm toward Grady, I correct myself. “His mom.”
“She’s not in the picture.”
I open my mouth, then close it just as quickly.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
I should’ve looked closer at Grady’s freaking file, but initially, I couldn’t stomach it. Now, it’s biting me in the ass.
“Oh?” I offer when an awkward beat of silence has enveloped the room, yet I still can’t manage the courage to look at the guy. Even after all these years.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. It’s just me and Grady.”
“Oh. Okay. We’ll just, uh, get started then.” I tear my gaze away from Grady and force myself to look at Owen while pushing away the last memories I have of us together. The pain. The betrayal. The agony that broke me in a way that I still haven’t managed to repair.
With a deep breath, I close my eyes, then pretend to read a paper on my desk even though it has nothing to do with Grady’s altercation at recess.
I can’t do this.
Focus, Saylor.
“So, um…Grady got into a pretty bad fight during recess today. Under normal circumstances, the principal would be notified and take care of the situation, but ours can be a bit of an––” I bite my tongue to keep from swearing in front of a student and correct myself. “A bit strict sometimes, and I’d like us to be able to work this out on a more…personal scale, if possible. The student he fought with has been having trouble at school. His mother and I were concerned that if we went to the principal, then he’d be expelled, and despite today’s events, he’s been making some real progress lately.”
