Chapter 26
Ellary
“We have a court date with the judge to finalize the divorce.”
I stare at my attorney, unsure of what to say in response to his announcement. When he called and asked me to come to his office, I should have realized it was about this. Every meeting, phone call, and document he’s had me sign has been leading to this moment: divorcing Jackson.
I have been willfully ignoring the divorce, playing happy families with Jackson, preparing for the baby, and now it’s come to this.
I told my sister I was still in love with Jackson, and she warned me that I had better be damned sure before I stopped the divorce.
Not just because of the expense, but the cost to my mental health and my future happiness.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve had countless moments where I could have told Jackson that my feelings have changed. I’ve looked at him and opened my mouth to say I love him, but then all the words on my lips melt away.
I hadn’t wanted to ruin things.
It is the weirdest and most insane thing to admit, but our relationship has never been this good. We talk about everything. I prioritize myself more than I did before, when I was always focusing on what Jackson wanted. Our relationship feels healthy, honest, and real.
Aside from not being able to tell my husband, who I’m days away from divorcing, that I still love him.
“Ellary?”
I snap back to the present, refocusing on Robert, my lawyer, who is patiently waiting for my response to him telling me we have a court date to finalize the divorce. “Uh, sorry.”
Robert tilts his head, steepling his fingers on his clutter-free desk. “Can I assume from your troubled expression that you’re having doubts about the divorce?”
“Of course not,” I lie. Then I sigh. Lying about this isn’t helping anyone. He needs to know if I still want to go ahead with this divorce, and his time is costing me money. “It’s complicated.”
He smiles gently at me. “I imagine it must be. The first time you walked in here, I didn’t know you were pregnant. A lot has changed.”
“Yeah.” I look down, taking in my rounded belly.
I’ve not reached the waddling stage yet, but at nearly seven months pregnant, bending down to tie my laces takes more effort than it used to.
“We’ve been spending a lot of time together, getting ready for the baby.”
He nods. “And that’s affected your feelings?”
“Even before we started spending more time together, I was having second thoughts about the divorce. He was changing so much, and he has continued to change.” I have a sudden realization. “Is this another reason the judge likes to wait until after the baby is born?”
He flashes me a brief smile. “I think so. I can reschedule the date. This can move as fast or as slow as you want. Go talk to your husband, Ellary. Be sure. Then, when you’re ready, come down to my office, and we’ll figure out the next steps together.”
“Okay.”
Jackson hasn’t stopped looking tense since I texted him outside the attorney’s office and asked him if he could come to the house after work; we needed to talk.
“Is the baby okay?” he asks, sitting across from me at the kitchen dining table. He doesn’t look the least bit relaxed even after removing his tie and suit jacket.
He’s tense. Afraid, even.
I shake my head. “The baby is fine.”
“Then it’s about… us?” he asks hesitantly.
All his tension bounces over to me, and I swallow. “Yeah. I, um, spoke to my lawyer today. Robert has a court date to finalize the divorce.”
For one anguished second, he stares at me, a light in his eyes going out.
What I see in him and that he’s desperately trying to hide is what’s reflected in my heart.
We should have had this conversation days ago.
Maybe when we were sitting on the top of the stairs after I burst into tears when he surprised me with a memory box for our baby.
Maybe even when I called my sister and told her I still loved him.
“That’s good,” he says, injecting false cheer into his voice. “This is what you want, and it’s good that we finally have a date, and we can get this finalized and start—”
“I think I want to stop the divorce,” I whisper.
His mouth snaps shut.
He stares at me. His fingers grip the edge of the table as he takes a breath and releases it in a quiet, almost soundless exhale. “Are you telling me that…”
“I still have feelings for you.”
Another silent inhalation, followed by a barely audible, rough exhalation.
“Because of the baby?”
I shake my head. “I’ve spoken to my sister about it. This isn’t because of hormones, and it isn’t because of the baby.”
He stares at me for another two beats.
This conversation isn’t going the way I thought it would. I don’t know what I was expecting. More words, I guess?
He clears his throat and pushes himself to his feet, his voice husky when he says, “Can you give me a couple of minutes?”
I watch him, my confusion growing as he walks to the back door, opens it, and steps out, closing it behind him.
Two minutes pass so slowly it’s almost painful. I keep track of every second on the clock beside the kitchen door.
My gaze slides from the clock to the backyard door, where Jackson stepped out over two minutes ago and has yet to reappear.
What if that wasn’t pain in his eyes after I told him about the court date? What if he’s moved on, and admitting I have feelings for him has chased him away?
Getting to my feet, I walk over to the back door, peering out through the window to check he’s still out there before I open it.
The sight stops my heart.
Jackson is standing near the swing set with his back to me. His hands are on his hips, his head tilted slightly back, face pointed up to the sky. I wouldn’t know what he was doing out there if his shoulders weren’t shaking.
My husband doesn’t cry.
Not when he got into his dream college.
Not when I said yes to his proposal.
Not when he was carried out of his last professional hockey game on a stretcher with an injury that destroyed a career he spent his entire childhood dreaming of.
But he’s out in our backyard crying for me.
I pull open the door and walk out.
I’m three steps away when he must hear me, whirling around and swiping at his red eyes and wet cheeks with the back of a shaking hand. “Sorry,” he says, voice husky. “I meant to come back inside. I just needed a second to process.”
“Process what?” I whisper, my own eyes burning in response to the tears in his.
He peers down at me. “Something I was too afraid to hope for. You.”
I reach up, my fingers trembling, and touch his cheek—the first time I’ve reached out to him in so very long. He closes his eyes, leaning into my hand as if it were instinct. And a little of it is instinct. We have loved each other since we were sixteen.
Moving slowly, as if afraid he’ll startle me into running, he wraps his arms around me, pressing his wet face against my neck.
There’s a catch in his voice when he whispers, “I love you so much, Ellie.” He pulls away to look at me, cupping my face between his hands, eyes still red and voice husky.
“Nothing means more to me than you. I’ve dreamed and wished and hoped, but I know I don’t deserve a second chance with you.
Sorry I didn’t come back inside. I kept trying to convince myself this was real and lost track of time. ”
“That’s okay. I thought you’d run away.” I peer up at him with tears in my eyes and a wobbly smile on my lips.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “We’ll go slow. Marriage counseling and talking and seeing where things go.”
But his eyes betray him. They flick to my mouth, and as much as he wants to go slow, he’s desperate to kiss me.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, my pulse spiking.
“Okay?” he echoes in the same low tone.
“You can kiss me,” I tell him.
He hesitates, his eyes searching mine, and what he sees in my gaze chases the tension from his shoulders.
My belly tightens, and all the breath sticks in my throat as he dips his head.
We’re not the same people anymore.
His kiss is the sweetest apology, a promise never to hurt me again.
My response is wary, unsure, wanting to believe pain isn’t waiting if I open my heart to Jackson again.
The tip of his tongue teases the seam of my lips.
His caress is patient, tempting, teasing—a slow reawakening of the desire I shut my mind to long ago.
My lips part, letting him in.
His tongue does not sweep in.
He takes his time. Takes all the time in the world, a nibble here, a nip there, releasing the sweetest groan into my mouth that instantly makes me ravenous for him.
We cling to each other as he explores each corner of my mouth. Who needs to breathe with a kiss as potent as this?
Sucking in a breath at a short, sharp pain in the region of my kidney, I break away, wincing with my right hand against the side of my belly. “Ow, ow, ow.”
Instantly, Jackson is alarmed. “Shit. Did I hurt you?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I lean against him. “Soccer,” I mutter.
“What?”
I grin up at him, confusing him even more. “Boy or girl, this kid is going to be a soccer player,” I say. “I know you want them to be into hockey, but it is not happening. Just ask my kidney.”
His burst of laughter floats in the air, lifting me up, right before he spins me and laughingly kisses me again.