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“We got your back, man,” Trent says.
“We’re here for you.” Atlas exhales.
“Me and Poppy are going home,” Jasper declares after a moment.
They let him go after doing their special friendship handshake.
“Hope you enjoy the crib and bedroom suit I bought for your son,” Jasper says to Atlas.
He nods. “Lake loves it. Call me if you need me.”
Once we leave Atlas and Lake’s home, the tension is so thick I need to crack a window open. I look at Jasper mourning the death of his only daughter. I feel stupid. I feel stupid for judging him. I feel stupid for getting upset with him for not telling me who Harper was. And here I thought she was his ex that he was still in love with. It was stupid of me to make assumptions.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, leaning back into the crisp leather seat.
He taps his thumb on the steering wheel. “For?”
“Assuming she was your ex, thinking you weren’t over her. I thought… I feel stupid.”
He grabs my hand and brings it to his mouth for a kiss. “It’s fine. I didn’t make it clear who she was, so it was only normal for you to think that way. I have a bad time opening up to people about my feelings.”
“I see.”
Once we make it to the condo, I kick off my shoes and I turn to look at Jasper as he removes his jacket.
“Can I see pictures of her?”
He cocks his eyebrow, losing his tie and removing it from his neck before he places it on the coat stand. “Why?”
“She’s a part of you, Jasper, and technically she’s my stepdaughter.”
The truth is, I want to see this side of Jasper. The paternal side, the man he was before the accident. I want to see all of him, the good and bad sides. All of it.
He grabs my hand and envelops me with his arms, kissing my forehead. These forehead kisses bring me to my knees, causing butterflies to dance in my stomach.
“I have some videos, if you want to watch them instead?”
I nod and hop onto the couch. Jasper disappears from the living room, returning with a thumb drive and plugging it into the TV.
He pulls me into his lap, and my eyes are glued to the flat screen as I watch in awe as he feeds baby Harper peas while she’s sitting on a high chair. A woman comes into view. She’s tan with short hair and a curvy body. She picks Harper up and cradles her in her arms. They look like the perfect family. Happy and put together.
“Is that her mother?”
“Yeah, that’s Gemma. She might appear as a good mother here, but she wasn’t. That was a rare moment when she was clean.”
I bring my gaze up at him for him to clarify.
“She got hooked on some cocaine in our early twenties,” Jasper explains. “That’s why I had Harper most of the time. Her grandmother wanted to take the role of her mother, on behalf of her daughter, so we would share weekends and holidays.”
I stare at little Harper, with her gray eyes. I glance at Gemma and Jasper, noticing she doesn’t look like either of her parents.
Is it possible she wasn’t even his? I want to ask, but I don’t want to come off rude. And I don’t want to start some shit. Besides, genetics are a crazy thing. You might not look like one of your living relatives but resemble an ancestor.
Another video starts, and in this one Harper wears a birthday hat. She’s standing in front of a big blow-up castle in the backyard. When my gaze veers over to Jasper, I see tears gloss over his eyes and a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
I trace my fingers along his earlobe. “You went all out for her birthday party!” I tease.
“She was Daddy’s princess. Anything she wanted, she got.” His words bring tears to my eyes. “She was nonverbal and diagnosed with autism at the age of one.” He smiles sadly at me. “If she were still alive, she would have loved you.”
