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I stop mid-step with my back to Brit and glance over my shoulder. Cocking an eyebrow, I wait for her to say whatever it is she wants to say.
“For what it’s worth, I’m not out to make things harder on you.” The look on her face is sincere, and I find myself believing her. “All I want is to move on, and I’m happy that Tyson is happy. He’s a great guy,” she says, shaking her head, “even though he broke my heart. He knew that you were it for him, and I can’t fault him for that. So take care of him, okay?”
I nod slowly, and Brit offers me a gentle smile before looking down at the table. I stand there for several seconds … at a complete loss for words.
That conversation didn’t go at all like I had expected. Brit and I will likely never be friends, but I can’t help feel like we’ve come to some sort of truce. And with that thought, I turn and walk away, feeling much lighter than I did minutes ago.
Pulling into the driveway, I shut my car off but make no move to get out. My argument with Harley has been haunting me for the better part of the day. Yes, I should’ve said something before she found out—I realize that now—but it doesn’t take away this deep ache I have in the center of my chest, knowing that she doesn’t trust me. I’ve hurt her once, and even though I thought I had earned that trust back, it’s clear that I haven’t.
What if I never earn her trust back?
Can I spend the rest of my life apologizing for something I can’t change? Do I want to spend my life doing that?
The curtain in the living room window being pulled to the side catches my attention. Max’s face is pressed against the glass, his hand cupped around his eyes as though he’s trying to see if anyone is outside. I’ll bet that anyone is me.
I take a deep breath, push the car door open and step out … but my feet don’t move. I’m exhausted, and not at all prepared to walk in that house and deal with Harley. As much as I love her and want to move past this, I can’t act like everything is okay. Because it isn’t. Her accusations hurt, and the more I’ve thought about it today, I don’t think this is something I can just get over. Can I?
Squaring my shoulders, I walk into the house. Max wastes no time propelling himself into my arms, and even though he’s getting big and I’ll probably hurt my fucking back, I toss him over my shoulder.
“Hey, buddy!” I spin Max around a few times and then he grunts when I toss him on the couch. “How was your day?” I ask, ruffling his hair.
Swatting my hand away, he jumps up and follows me when I walk into the kitchen to take off my jacket and empty my pockets. “I learned about presidents today,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly. I can’t help but smile, because I know he’s probably chomping at the bit to tell me all out about what he learned. This kid loves history and he’s too darn smart for his own good. “Do you know who the eighteenth president of the United States was?”
“Um”—I scratch the side of my head—“honestly, no. I don’t remember.”
“That’s okay,” he says, running to his book bag that is hanging on the back of a chair. He pulls out a book and runs back over. “I can tell you. Here, sit down.” He kicks out a chair and I sit down, but not before looking up and catching sight of Harley leaning against the counter. She has a big wooden spoon in one hand, and a rag draped over her shoulder.
Her gorgeous green eyes are watching me, and they’re swirling with an array of emotions. I try hard not to concentrate too much on them because I need to stay strong. If we’re ever going to make it, we have to move past this the right way. That means no brushing it under the rug.
She takes a hesitant step forward as though she wants to say something, but Max nudges me in the arm. “See,” he says, pointing at the book. I reluctantly look away from Harley at the picture Max is indicating. “That is Ulysses S. Grant. His wife was Julie Dent, and as a wedding present her parents gave them eighty acres. Do you know what he did with those eighty acres?” Max asks, looking at me with wide eyes and a smile to match. My eyes drift toward Harley and Max nudges me again. “Dad?”
My heart clenches and I refocus my attention on Max. He calls me dad every day, and every day it affects me the same way. I thought the feeling would fade over time, but it hasn’t. Even if Harley tossed me out on my sorry ass today, I’d still love this little boy with every piece of my soul. That’s not something that will ever change.
All of a sudden it hits me that Harley hasn’t said anything else about the adoption paperwork. She hasn’t signed it—hasn’t even mentioned it—and I can’t help but wonder if she’s changed her mind. Does her lack of trust in me filter over into my relationship with Max? “I love you, Max,” I say, trying to ease the tension that’s creeping in around me.
“I love you too,” he says quickly, tapping his finger on the book to redirect my attention. “But I asked you a question.”
“Right.” I nod, pushing my insecurities away so I can concentrate on my son. I’ll worry about everything else later. “Um … he lived there?”
Max rolls his eyes, something that he’s perfected over the past year. “Well, duh. Never mind,” he says, waving his hands through the air. “Let me just tell you.” I don’t even bother trying to talk because right now I’m just happy that he’s found something that piques his interest and he’s sharing it with me. “Yes, he lived there, but now it’s a farm in St. Louis.”
I internally berate myself for not remembering one of my favorite places to go as a child. “Grant’s Farm.” I laugh when Max gives me a now-you’re-getting-it look.
“You said you didn’t know!”
“I forgot.”
“Have you been there?”
“I have.” Nodding, I grab the book from Max and slide it across the table. “They have all sorts of animals, if I remember correctly. But do you know the best part about it?”
“Hardscrabble?”
I furrow my brow. “Huh?”
“That’s the house that Grant built himself before he became president. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“That is cool, but I was talking about the Clydesdales.”
