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I wipe my tears away, my chin quivering. “He’s my son.”
Jace looks up at the ceiling, like it holds all the answers in the world. “I don’t believe you,” he finally says.
“It’s the truth,” I croak. “He’s my son,” I say again, because it feels so good to finally say the words out loud.
Jace looks at me like he’s never seen me before, like he doesn’t know me, which hurts like nothing else could because he knows me better than anyone.
I turn and head back to my room, gathering the rest of my letters.
“Take them,” I say, shoving them at him. “Read them. You’ll see.”
He takes them reluctantly. “I need to go,” he mumbles.
I fight more tears. “Please, don’t go,” I beg.
He looks at me, his heart breaking and mine too. “I have to. I can’t look at you right now.” I wince. I deserve that. I deserve worse, but it still hurts.
He grabs his coat and heads for the door. He looks back at me, and I feel like he wants to say something but he shakes his head and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him, which is a hundred times worse than if he slammed it, because it means he’s in control.
I drop to the floor and cradle my knees to my chest. I let myself cry for Jace, for Owen, and most importantly, I cry for me.
Nova
Tick tock.
Hours pass, and I sit stationary on the couch, watching the door.
Tick tock.
Every minute, every second, seems to stretch infinitely as I wait.
Tick tock.
I keep hoping he’s going to come back. That he’s going to open the door and fall at my feet and tell me he’s sorry, that he understands why I had to keep this a secret. But I also know Jace, and he
’s incredibly stubborn, so I know the chance of that fantasy becoming reality is slim to none.
It’s after four in the morning when I finally drag my exhausted body to bed.
I feel numb.
I didn’t want Jace to find out about Owen like this. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t. How do you possibly find the words to tell the man you love that you got pregnant at fifteen? It’s not exactly an easy conversation, especially when you add in all my family drama.
It turns out getting knocked up when you’re fifteen and a minister’s daughter is a bad idea. Throw in the baby daddy’s father being the town mayor and it’s a recipe for drama.
I wrap my arms around my pillow, hugging it like it’s Jace.
I miss him and he’s only been gone hours.
I know he had every right to leave, I don’t blame him, but it still hurts. I would’ve loved to have the chance to explain myself. I hope he reads my letters to Owen and understands—that he sees the truth.
But for all I know he might stomp all over them or light them on fire.
Realistically, I know he’d never do that. Jace is a lot of things but he’s not vindictive, at least not to the people he loves.
Eventually, I drift off to sleep. It’s fitful and full of nightmares and I wake more exhausted than I was when I fell asleep.
I get up and Jace still hasn’t returned.
