The Man I Love (The Road Trip #2)

12. Chapter Twelve

12

CHAPTER TWELVE

January

Seven Months Earlier

New York

“Talk.” It felt like an eternity before they were seated in the cafe two blocks away from The Gallery. The waiter had left them alone, and Samantha pushed the menu against the wall, sure she’d never be able to eat again.

“Let me start at the beginning,” Mr. Montgomery said, taking his napkin and gently laying it in his lap. He looked calm and collected, like he had all the time in the world, while her whole body shook with adrenaline.

All she could think about were Mr. Montgomery’s words back at The Gallery: “My son is dying.” His words had been clear and concise, and she hadn’t imagined them.

“We thought we were going to lose him before,” Mr. Montgomery began, “and quite honestly, I could have lost them both?—”

Samatha’s mind began spinning as she tried to understand. Did he mean Renee too?

“When Tristan called me,” he continued.” I couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. The answer was too long, too complicated?—”

Samantha shook her head, eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you talking about, Mr. Montgomery?” she demanded, feeling her patience grow paper thin.

He leaned closer, his whole demeanor changing. “I’m talking about the wedding, Samantha. I’m telling you why––”

“You’re not talking about Tristan, are you?” she demanded, needing him to say it out loud so she could breathe a little easier.

Mr. Montgomery shook his head. “No...” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m talking about my wife—and my son.”

She held onto the table, as all the pieces from years before floated back into her memory. “Your girlfriend?” Is that who you’re talking about?”

“Yes,” Mr. Montgomery stated. “She was my girlfriend then. We were married two years ago, after my son was born.”

As if in slow motion, Sam put all the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle in her mind. The phone calls, the confusion, his unexplained absence.

Mr. Montgomery watched her, studying her every move. “You have to understand,” he began again, “she had what they call toxemia.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I couldn’t be at the wedding, and it almost killed me.”

“No!” she yelled, slamming both hands against the table. “You don’t get to say that! I was there. I saw the turmoil your absence caused. How dare you come in here and tell me about the pain it caused you !”

“Samantha, you don’t understand?—”

“Your kids were a mess. You could have just told them—they would have understood,” she said through gritted teeth. “What kind of father misses his own daughter’s wedding and doesn’t say a word?”

He threw his napkin on the table. “A father who was scared of losing his family!” Saliva spewed from his lips. “You can’t possibly know what that day was like. How much it killed me to have to choose. Everyone was still upset with me about the affair, how could I...” He wiped his mouth, and his eyes averted to the table.

Samantha glanced away. She’d known him practically her entire life, yet she’d never seen him like this. His voice was raw, shaking, piercing her heart with his own pain. He spoke about something that had happened years earlier, yet his eyes told her that was just the beginning. She pulled her napkin from the table and placed it in her lap with shaky hands.

She didn’t like what he’d done, but his grief was palpable. She could see it all over his face, feel it in the air all around them.

“My son was born that same day.” He glanced up again. “Ironic, right? Two moments a father holds dear happening at the very same time.”

“I had to make the choice.” He shifted in his seat. “Stay at my wife's bedside as she battled toxemia, or walk my only daughter down the aisle on her wedding day.” He looked down to the table, as though fighting an internal battle. “It wasn’t an easy decision, and I didn’t come here today to convince you that I’d made the right one. I’m asking you for your help.”

His head tilted, his eyes red and full of remorse as they locked onto her face. “My two year old son is dying of leukemia, Samantha.”

In the next moments, everything began to spin. Her life, Tristan’s life, the life of a little boy she’d never met, all floating around in her mind like a tornado. Mr. Montgomery sat across from her, a basket of breadsticks placed in front of them, as he told her what was going on. Normally she found comfort in spaces like this. The atmosphere dim, the sounds of voices blending as though one—like a chaotic symphony soothing tension from her body. Now the sounds overwhelmed her, rumbling like an avalanche caving in and suffocating her.

She pushed her chair back from the table, hoping the distance would help her breathe. She needed space, but all this information filled every part of her. Her mind, her heart, and her soul.

He went on to describe how he had been following her on social media, knowing about her relationship with Tristan, and how it brightened his days. Despite not being part of their lives since the wedding, he seemed up-to-date about their activities—their travels, her partnership with Mr. Covington, Renee and Phin’s ballet career, and her New York Gallery contract. He made it clear he was only there with her as an avenue to get to his children.

She wanted to be angry with him, but she understood. She would do terrible things for the people she loved most, and sitting across from him now, she could see that he was desperate.

“What’s his name?” she asked, searching the dark circles under his eyes, wondering how long it had been since he’d slept.

“Liam,” he whispered. “It means strong-willed in Irish.” His eyes bore into hers, not hiding all the love and pain he felt inside. “He came into this world fighting. I only pray he never stops.”

Mr. Montgomery pulled his phone from his pocket, dragged up the home screen, then passed it across the table to Samantha. An image of a little boy who couldn’t have been more than two was thrust into her palm. He had shaggy blond hair, and his smile was slightly crooked—just like Tristan’s. The same smile. The same cleft in his chin, almost as if they were clones.

Mr. Montgomery swiped the phone bringing up the next image. The same small boy, but now he lay on a hospital bed. Tubes extended from his small frame in every direction. His wild unruly hair, gone.

“I want to give him a chance, Samantha. That’s all I want.”

Fighting back tears, she gripped the phone as hard as she could to try and keep her hand from shaking. “What do you want me to do?” Her voice cracked.

“He needs a bone marrow transplant,” he explained. “We’ve exhausted all other options and we’re running out of time. A familial link will give him the best odds.”

That’s when she realized what he was asking. He needed Tristan and Renee. After all this time. After all he’d put them through, now he needed them.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the nagging hum that reverberated through every limb. “And you came to me.” She shook her head, already knowing the answer. “Because I’m her best friend and because he’s my boyfriend.” He really didn’t need to answer, but she wanted him to say it anyway.

“They won’t talk to me, Sam. I’ve tried and?—”

She set his phone on the table. “What makes you think I can change their minds?”

“Because they trust you.”

“It’s not my place.”

Mr. Montgomery reached out a hand to cover hers. “I know I’m asking a lot. I wish we had more time, but we don’t.”

She snatched her hand away, pushing backward in her chair so she could stand. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I know,” he whispered.

She grabbed her bag from the back of her chairandthen lifted it over one shoulder.

“I only want to talk to them,” he said, pushing himself to stand beside her.

She looked out the window, at the city that was bright with lights and buzzing with life. “I need to go,” she whispered. “I need to get ready for tomorrow.” She turned toward the exit but paused when Mr. Montgomery grabbed her shoulder.

He spun her back in his direction, forced a folded-up piece of paper into her palm, and whispered, “My number is on the back. Please call if you change your mind.”