Chapter 33 Janie
THIRTY-THREE
Janie
I kick the closed door as Warren walks back to his truck. The hollow thud sends a shooting pain up my leg. I hop around, grabbing my shin, and then fall to the floor.
Silence crashes over me. I can't breathe. Can't think. I pull my knees tight against my chest and bury my face, tears streaking down my legs.
The first sob rips from somewhere deep inside me, then another follows, and another, until I'm clawing for air between each broken sound. My leggings are damp with tears I can't control.
God, I was so stupid. So fucking stupid.
Why did I let him in? Why did I think he could answer questions, that he would somehow make it make sense?
I let him plead his case, and he took no responsibility for any of this. He sees himself as Beckett's savior. Like Beckett needs saving.
Jesus Christ. It was never about me. I was his fuck hole so he could spend time with his son and sneak the custody petition on me. The illusion of us being a family was his Trojan Horse, his way to get my guard down.
My body rocks with another wave of sobs. I can’t stop picturing Warren’s face. First, it's the fury from moments ago. His eyes were so sharp and cold.
But grief plays tricks. My mind won’t leave it there. It drags up the softness, too, the way he tucked Beckett in, the warmth of his kiss against my shoulder in the early morning light.
I push myself up on wobbly legs. My reflection in the hall mirror shows a stranger. My eyes are swollen, mascara streaked, hair wild from where I've been gripping it.
I’m supposed to meet Blake and the kids in just over an hour. The thought is absurd. I can barely stand, much less smile through pancakes and Santa photos. I can’t even drag myself to the shower.
I need something to flush this out of me before I try to get myself presentable.
I stumble out to the porch where my phone sits abandoned on the side table. The morning air is bright, too normal for a world that's sinking in on me by the second.
My fingers shake as I dial. I fall into the chair.
"Gemma? I'm so sorry—I know it's early..."
"Janie? What's wrong?" Her voice is thick with sleep but instantly alert.
I sob so hard that I can't form words. She lets me cry into the phone, staying silent, waiting for me to get it out. "He—he was here. Warren." My voice breaks.
"Oh, honey."
"I was such an idiot. I wanted him to make it all better. I was still holding onto hope after everything." Fresh tears choke my words. "All he did was blame me."
"Take a breath. You're not an idiot."
"I let myself believe—"
"I know. Just breathe."
I pull my knees to my chest, clutching the phone like a lifeline while my free arm wraps around my legs, trying to hold myself together.
Gemma’s voice stays soft, steady. “You’re okay.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. My throat is too tight to answer.
And then I freeze. Footsteps crunch the grass. My pulse spikes, as a sick jolt of fear slams through me. I look up, and his figure materializes in front of the porch.
My stomach drops. Warren.
I drag the phone closer, as if talking quieter and directly into the phone will make him not notice me sitting here falling apart. “Gem—I’ll call you right back.”
I end the call before she can respond, my fingers shaking so badly I almost drop the phone.
"The front door was locked," he says quietly. "I couldn't just... leave it like this."
My instinct screams to tell him to go. To protect what's left of my pride. To not let him get to see me broken open like this.
"There's nothing left to say." My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. "I told you we were done. Please, leave, Warren."
He takes another step toward the porch, opening the screen door. "I'm not leaving until I say what I came here to say."
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache.
I don't respond. My silence is a form of permission, because the truth is, I hate how this all just ended.
"I handled everything wrong." His voice is stripped raw, nothing like the controlled attorney who coldly threatened me minutes ago. "The petition... I never meant for you to find it like that."
Of course I wasn’t supposed to find it. He wanted the papers ready, filed before I knew what hit me.
My chest burns, because even while that’s true, the crack in his voice doesn’t sound like a man preparing for battle. It sounds like a man unraveling.
"But you meant to file it.” The words slice both of us. I throw them like a weapon, even as some foolish part of me hopes he’ll say no, that he never meant to.
"Yes. No. I don’t know." His shoulders slump. "Five years ago, I walked away because I was afraid of losing Blake, of losing the only family I’d ever known."
My arms wrap tighter around myself, the urge to reach for him nearly unbearable.
"And now I’ve done it again," he admits. "Drafting petitions instead of trusting you. Walking away, in a sense, but not being able to let go completely. I let fear and control dictate my choices instead of—" His throat works, struggling. "Instead of love."
The word lands between us, fragile, dangerous.
"Both times, my fear cost me the very thing I wanted most." His eyes lift, unguarded. "You. And now you and Beckett."
My throat closes. "Why are you doing this to me, Warren?"
"I need you to know." His voice frays. "I’m not asking for forgiveness. I couldn’t leave without telling you it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It was because I didn’t believe I deserved you. That you’d stay."
The words cut. Only a few minutes ago, I swore I was nothing more than his pawn, a body he used to slip past my defenses. But the man in front of me doesn’t sound calculating. He sounds gutted. The rawness in him slices through my anger.
My heart hammers as I stare at the man I’ve loved since I was too young to name it.
The father of my child.
"I…" My voice fails, cracks. I force it out again. "I don’t know what to do with that. I tried to talk to you. I gave you space. And now? I don’t know, Warren."
He scrubs a hand down his face, looking wrecked. His tie gone, shirt rumpled, stubble darkening his jaw. He looks like I feel—shattered.
“You think I don’t see you, Janie?” His voice comes out rough. “You're everything I've ever wanted.”
Fresh tears sting. “Then why? Why draft those papers? Why make me your opponent instead of your partner?”
His jaw tightens as he steps closer, heat radiating through the icy shell I’ve built.
“Because rules are all I know. The law doesn’t waver, Janie. It doesn’t walk away. People do.” His voice drops, hoarse. “And I couldn’t risk Beckett on something that fragile. I didn’t believe you would love me forever. I didn't think I was lovable for the long haul.”
His eyes lock on mine, unflinching. “So I leaned on what I know—the law. Something that wouldn’t vanish, even when you decided I wasn’t enough.”
The words scrape across me like glass. “Ironic that you’re the one who disappeared every time it mattered.”
He swallows hard. He looks down in defeat. “I know.”
“All of this could’ve been avoided if you’d just told me. So much pain. So many lies. Years we can’t get back. Why now?”
His chest heaves. “Because I’d rather risk my heart breaking than let you keep believing I didn’t love you.”
The silence crushes me. My body leans toward him before I snap back, nails biting into my arms. My heart doesn’t care that every alarm screams not to trust him.
“All I ever wanted,” I whisper, “was to hear you say you loved me.”
“I know.” His voice cracks. “But I’m saying it now.”
This time, he doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t argue. He just takes my anger and pain, his shoulders sagging, regret carved into every line of him.
"I want to be strong enough to deserve you," he whispers.
And for one dizzying moment, my body aches to close the distance, to kiss him, comfort him, crawl back into his arms.
But the wound is still too raw. And I don't trust myself.
My body aches for it with a hunger that startles me, even now. I remember the warmth of his skin, the security of his hand on the small of my back, the way he would trace patterns on my shoulder in the early mornings.
I swipe at my eyes, forcing my voice steady. "I need to get ready. I'm supposed to meet Blake and the kids at a breakfast-with-Santa-thing."
The ache flickers across his features. It's quick but unmistakable. The silent devastation of being excluded from exactly the kind of family ritual he craves. He wants to be the father watching his son sit on Santa's lap, experiencing the magic of Christmas through his eyes.
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Could I—" He stops, clears his throat. "Would it be okay if I came, too?"
The question is soft, almost pleading.
My heart twists painfully in my chest. Part of me wants to say yes, wants to pretend none of this happened, and to experience this together with our son.
But the other part, the wounded part, remembers those custody papers with his perfect handwriting across the top.
"That can't happen, Warren." I shake my head slowly.
The words cut both ways. Saying no isn't the easy thing. It isn't what I want. But I can't parade him up there in front of my family after everything that's happened. I can't trust him just because he told me what I've always wanted to hear.
Not to mention, my heart can't take much more heartbreak. Like he said a few minutes ago before he left out the front door, this isn't about me. It's about protecting his right with Beckett.
Warren nods, clearly trying to mask the sting, but his eyes betray everything. The hurt settles there, dark and heavy. "I understand."
He doesn't move. Instead, he stands there looking lost, like a man who's reached for something precious only to have it slip through his fingers.
"I don't want to lose you. Us. I know I can fight you in court, but I don't want to. I know I made the first shot, but…"
"We can't take back what we've done. There are no re-do's."
As I turn toward the door, making myself walk away before I throw myself into his arms, Warren speaks again, softer this time. "I'll tear up the petition. I'll notify the court that I want to withdraw."
I pause, my hand on the doorknob. I don't turn around because if I do, I will lose all strength.
"That's your move, Counselor," I say, and push it open, closing it behind me. My heart pounds like I’ve just surrendered and struck a blow all at once. I was a nanosecond away from throwing myself into his arms. I needed a closed door between us, because I'm not strong enough.
Through the side window, I watch him stand there, unmoving, staring at the closed door like he's hoping I'll come back.
I won't. I can't.
I move over, willing him to leave, to be stronger than me.
The screen door creaks, and then I hear it snap shut.
He's gone.
I scroll to Warren's message thread, thumb hovering over his name. How many times have I done this dance over the years? First in Chicago, staring at my phone screen until my eyes burned, waiting for a response that never came.
Now here, with too many words between us instead of none.
He says he'll tear up the petition.
He says he wants to choose us.
The problem is that Warren's words have always been beautiful. It's his actions that cut me open.
I close my eyes, staring at his name. Images flash behind my eyelids.
I'll call you later, when I get home.
I send the text before I can stop myself. Maybe I will.
Maybe I won’t. But for right now in this moment, it’s the closest I can come to forgiveness.