Chapter 15
Jackson
“I’m sure she would have told you eventually,” Wade says, handing me a beer.
I shake my head, refusing it, needing to think. “She’s had plenty of time to do it. She doesn’t want me to know she’s pregnant.”
We’re in his backyard. His two kids are running around screaming, which isn’t unusual on a weekend when they can unleash all the energy they've had to keep in check from going to school all week. Owen and Nina are seven and eight, so they have a lot of energy to burn.
Ellie and I would spend lazy weekend afternoons at their house, just sitting in their backyard, chatting, drinking wine, and grilling.
It wasn’t always easy knowing that my friend and his wife had kid after kid, and we struggled to have one.
But Ellie never wanted to stop coming, even though it sometimes made her sad afterward.
Wade Shepherd has been my best friend since childhood.
Ellie knows that. She’s never made an excuse to see Wade and Kate less.
Ellie used to think our fertility issues were secretly her fault, even though the doctors had ruled out any problems with her. She once told me that maybe it would be easier for me to have kids with someone who can bear them since she couldn’t.
My wife is incredible. Beautiful, smart, wise, generous, and sweet. She’s so damn loving, she gives and gives and never thinks of taking for herself. It’s why I’m not with her right now, demanding to know why she’d keep her pregnancy from me. She didn’t tell me because something stopped her.
“Do they ever stop running around like that?” I ask, watching Wade’s two kids chasing each other around at the bottom of the backyard.
They’re showing no sign of slowing down since I heard them screaming and laughing when I pulled up outside Wade’s house fifteen minutes ago, having driven here from the grocery store after learning Ellie is pregnant.
Wade lets out a tired sigh. “No, they do not, but I will never complain because one day they’ll be teenagers. One day, a teenage boy will be dating my little girl, and I will want to kill him for the thoughts he will have about her.”
“That puts things in perspective,” I say, wincing when I remember what I was like as a teenager. I turn to look at him. “Why do you think Ellie didn’t tell me?”
He takes a swig of his beer. “I can guess, but it will only be a guess. You need to ask her. Why didn’t you ask her at the store?”
Ellie isn’t vindictive. Some might think she’s cruel to keep the fact that I’m going to be a father from me.
But that isn’t Ellie. She’s sweet and caring and one of the most non-confrontational people I’ve ever met.
That doesn’t mean she’s weak. When she takes a stand on something, few things can move her.
Like this divorce.
Like not using any of my pay that goes into our shared checking account every two weeks.
Like going through this pregnancy alone and dealing with the associated challenges it throws up. Literally. Her morning sickness was so bad that she lost weight. I guessed she was sick, and I was right. It just wasn’t the sickness I thought it was.
I’d been positive she would refuse to move back into the house.
Now I understand why she would. We bought that house to raise a family.
Her parents' home is too small, and her sister lives in a shoebox-sized one-bedroom downtown with a balcony so tiny that one step out is about as much as you can take. Working part-time as a barista doesn’t pay enough for Ellie to get a place of her own.
Ellie is a realist. She would have considered her options and put her child's—our child's—needs over any discomfort she felt about moving back into the house.
Maybe she won’t always stay there. Maybe she’ll get used to working again, eventually find a better-paying job, and get a place of her own that isn’t a home we built together.
Yeah. That’s exactly what I see her doing.
“I don’t need to give her more of a reason to hate me than she already does, and if I’d gone up to her in the store, I’d have demanded, she’d have gotten defensive, and any hope I have of convincing my wife to take me back would have gone out the window.”
Wade can’t hide his shock. “That’s surprisingly… thoughtful of you.”
I snort. “Expected me to go full-on raging and demanding, huh?”
He knows how much I want to be a dad, so it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that I’d immediately demand answers from Ellie about why she’d keep the pregnancy from me.
He grins. “I saw you on the ice.” His amusement fades. “But seriously, this is a new side of you I’m seeing.”
Maybe it’s the benefit of having a therapist, learning to take a step back and think about why someone would do something instead of leading with what I want. Maybe I’m just growing up. Maybe it’s something else entirely.
While I’m not happy Ellie kept the pregnancy from me, I’m not gunning to shout at her. I’m hurt that the thing we’ve both wanted for so long happened soon after I blew up our relationship. I’m angry at myself for what I did, not at her for keeping it a secret from me.
With a sigh, I get to my feet. “I’m going to buy my wife some flowers and go see if we can talk about this baby we’re having without fucking it up.”
“The flower shop on Main Street,” he says. “Lord knows how many times I’ve messed up with Kate and needed to make amends. Ask for Charlotte at Bloomin’ Marvelous. She’ll make you a bouquet that will make Ellie cry.”
I lift my brow.
“With happiness,” he explains. “You will cry at how much a custom flower arrangement costs.”
Grinning, I turn back to the kids and cup my hands around my mouth, shouting, “See you later, kiddos!”
They briefly, and I mean briefly, stop chasing each other around to wave and shout back, “Bye, Uncle Jackson.” Then they’re off again.
Wade wasn’t wrong about the cost of flowers.
But Ellie is worth it. She deserves more than flowers, even though this bouquet cost nearly two hundred bucks.
Internally wincing, I pull my wallet from my pocket and pay Charlotte for the beautiful floral arrangement I waited twenty minutes for her to put together.
I’ve never seen anyone make an arrangement right in front of me before.
When I bought Ellie flowers for Valentine's Day or her birthday, I’d call a local florist and order a bunch of pink roses or sunflowers to be delivered to her with a card.
Then I paid over the phone. Charlotte, a petite blonde woman in a pink apron, had asked what Ellie liked when I told her I wanted to surprise my wife with something special that would make her smile.
“She likes sunflowers and bright colors,” I told her.
Charlotte led me around the flower shop, pointing out options that would work well together in an arrangement. I nodded at the ones Ellie would like and shook my head at the ones Ellie hadn’t shown any interest in over the years.
After picking several flower stems, Charlotte disappeared into the back of the store with the flowers, leaving the door open. I waited at the counter while pop music from the radio played overhead, emerging with a bouquet wrapped with white and yellow paper and twine.
I’m not a flower person. Shit like that has never appealed to me. But looking at the arrangement, I wanted to smile, and I could absolutely see Ellie’s eyes filling with tears because Wade was right. This woman knows how to make a bouquet that Ellie will love.
After paying, I leave with flowers for Ellie and my bank balance dented.
I drove around for a bit after heading to Wade’s house, when I struggled to think about what to do when I saw Ellie in the grocery store.
I was with Wade much longer than I intended, chatting with Kate, his wife, before I headed out to speak to him in the backyard.
On a late evening in Melton, the streets are bustling with couples strolling on dates and groups of people out for drinks. The sun is setting in the distance as I pass a small Italian restaurant and glance inside automatically.
And I stop.
Ellie—my wife—is sharing a small round table with a man who is not me.
Tall. Clean-cut. Easy smile. The kind of guy who looks like he’d never broken anything important in his life.
She’s wearing a beautiful dark blue lace dress I have never seen her in before, and she’s smiling as she talks animatedly with a man whose eyes bounce from hers to her mouth. As if he’s planning to kiss her and is unsure when he intends to do it.
She’s dating.
When did she start dating?
Who is this man looking at her as if he’s half in love with her already? Does he know she’s still married and is carrying my child? Why the fuck am I not ripping his spleen out with my bare hands?
My heart stops as he reaches across the table, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingers, and even from feet away, I catch my wife’s breath hitch in response.
I feel something inside me go very, very still.
Her gaze drops to the table. Her cheeks flush pink. He’s leaning toward her when I wrench my head away. I take five steps away, and I stop.
My fingers tighten around the flowers I picked out for Ellie. It feels like I’m losing her all over again. The drumming of my heart fills my head. My instincts scream at me to walk into that restaurant and break that guy's nose.
Someone bumps into me, and I spin around, snarling. A man in black sweatpants and a gray T-shirt with his cell phone tucked against his ear mutters an apology and keeps walking.
My head twists back to the restaurant.
I never stood a chance. I kept thinking maybe I’d win her back, convince her our marriage was worth saving. But I never stood a chance.
She’s the sort of woman a guy would dream about. Of course some other guy would notice she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and make a move on her. Ellie is incredible. Sweet and loving and generous.
You fucked up, Jackson. You fucked up so badly that nothing can mend what you broke.
I look at the flowers dangling from my right hand. A lump forms in my throat, and my eyes well with tears. Did I really think a bouquet would crack open the door back into my wife’s life again? Was I really stupid enough to believe that anything I could do would make her happy?
I fight back the urge to rush into the restaurant, fall to my knees in front of Ellie, and beg for a second chance. But I tried that before, and she told me she wanted a divorce. No amount of begging will change a thing.
Every part of my body, my soul, my heart, aches for her. To have her close. To breathe in the scent of her skin… to hold her.
But it’s over. I kept telling myself over and over that maybe I could achieve the impossible. Maybe I could convince my wife to love me again.
But I can’t.
I start walking toward my car, dumping the flowers into a trash can on my way.
I ruined her life before. If this guy can make her happy, I can’t ruin her life again.
It’s time to let her go.