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I gripped the door handle, hoping my knees didn’t buckle. I wasn’t ready for this. And unfortunately . . . “You’re right. I did keep him from you. For that, I am sorry,” my voice shook. “But I’m not the only person who lied in this situation.”
He tilted his head, with an incredulous question in his eyes.
I was more than willing to fill him in. “That weekend, you led me to believe that your feelings ran deeply for me. That you were deserving of not only my body, but my soul. Both of which I gave you freely, in a way I had never done with anyone else. You have no idea how devastating it was to find out it was all a lie.” Emotion crept into my voice, though I held back the tears. I had already shed too many on his behalf. “So, pardon me for not wanting to be rejected by you a second time. Or worse, have you reject Jameson or even deny that he is yours. And might I remind you, I did try to tell you. I all but begged you to call me.”
He turned a deep shade of red while he appeared to search for the right thing to say. But honestly, what could he say? I spoke the truth.
When he said nothing, I headed for my room to get Jameson’s books.
Drake grabbed my hand as I walked by. “Charlotte, wait.”
I looked down at our hands. Some of the magic of this place, and our time together here so many years ago, seemed to dance between our intertwined fingers. It ignited the searing connection I’d always felt with him. I had to pull away. I couldn’t afford to love him like I did. It was only another foolish endeavor.
Drake’s grip tightened, holding me captive in both heaven and hell.
“What do you want, Drake?” I pleaded with him to know.
He looked up to the popcorn ceiling. “I don’t know.” He lowered his gaze until he was peering into my fiery eyes. “But you should know, our time together was real. Too real,” he added.
“I’m not sure what that means. But, Drake, being a parent is real. Can you be real? Be human for the long haul?”
“I don’t know.” He dropped my hand.
The loss of it felt all too real. “You need to figure that out. Like, stat.”
Chapter Ten
“How long were you in labor?” Drake asked.
I looked down at him from the ladder. I had to smile at him, sitting on the plastic-covered floor, up against the wall in the Graham and Amanda room, surrounded by the photo books I had made of Jameson. He’d wanted to start at the beginning of his life. I’d told him he could ask me anything, but as usual with him, I wasn’t expecting that question.
“Not horribly long. Actually, at first, I thought the pain I was feeling was from a spicy burrito I’d eaten the night before.”
Drake chuckled. So unusual for him.
“By the time I made it to the hospital I was in full-blown labor. Jameson was full of surprises from the very beginning. He’s always in a hurry. He crawled, walked, and talked early. He started reading well before kindergarten. He’s basically a genius.” I grinned.
Drake brushed his fingers over the page. “You look happy.”
“It was the happiest day of my life. I’m sorry you missed it.” I had longed to have him there with me, to hold my hand, to relish in the joy of Jameson.
“Me too,” he bristled. He was obviously still upset with me.
“Really?” I was surprised.
His head snapped up. “I may be a jerk, Charlotte, but knowing I have a child means something to me. And whether you believe me or not, you mean something to me.”
“I do have a hard time believing that.” I tore a strip of blue tape off the roll.
“I understand why,” he admitted.
“It doesn’t matter how you feel about me.” That wasn’t exactly true, but our ship had sailed—more like never left port. And according to Izzy, he was back with Marissa. “What matters is that we are good co-parents. And as the main co-parent I need to tell you, our son thinks you’re grumpy. You’re going to have to work on that.”
He grimaced. “Perhaps if you didn’t tell my employee how he can address me.”
“Oh, please, you’re being ridiculous with the Mr. Foster thing. And not to burst your bubble, but if you want to be in Jameson’s life, I will be in all your business. Like . . . for starters, I need to know who you’re dating.” You know, purely for parenting purposes.
His brow popped. “Do I get the same access to your life?”
“No,” I stated matter-of-factly.
“How is that fair?” he asked, annoyed.
“I figure since I pushed out a nine-pound baby that tore my cervix and have raised him for the last five and a half years, I have more privileges than you.”
