CHAPTER SEVENTEEN JAY
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
J AY
T he moonlight streams through the windows of my bedroom. Shadows flicker across the wall, the limbs of the giant oak tree outside the window blowing in the breeze. I pull Gabrielle closer to my side and breathe her in.
For the first time in four long, hard years, I feel as though peace—if only a sliver—is attainable. Usually, I lie in bed and overthink—ripping apart every decision, every conversation I’ve had, that brought me to this place. A place that most nights I loathe.
No one enjoys being bitter—anger is uncomfortable—but both emotions have dominated my life for a long time. I’ve both hated it and wished it away, and held on to it, because it was better than the alternative of feeling sorry for myself.
“What are you thinking about?” Gabrielle whispers into the quiet.
“Not much. You?”
She hums against my side.
“I thought you were asleep,” I say.
“I was, but I’m not used to having someone in bed with me. Every time it registers that there’s a body beside mine, I wake up.”
Please say no. “Do you want to go home?”
She raises her head high enough to look at me. Her eyes are sleepy, her lids heavy. She’s absolutely beautiful.
My chest tightens as if it’s putting on armor. I know the feeling well. But this time, I don’t want to wall off from the perceived threat. The idea of having anything more than a sheet between us is unfair. It’s just not that easy to break old habits.
“Do you want me to go?” she asks.
“Come here.”
I pull her down so that her head rests against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, snuggling her beneath my chin.
“Can I ask you something?” She draws designs with her fingertips on my stomach. “I don’t want to pressure you. I’m just curious.”
“Okay.”
The designs on my abs slow. “I want you to know you’re right. What you said earlier—that if we have sex, it’ll be hard to forget.” The circles stop and her palm lies flat against me. “It’s already hard to forget.”
I watch the ceiling fan spin in methodical circles.
Those words were a warning—to me, as they were to her. Verbalizing what I knew to be true, that if I slept with her, I was giving in to the feelings I’ve had for her since I saw her lying in that bush.
That I wanted her.
But I feared it would be more than that. Knowing what she felt like would shift the want to a need . Seeing her with that asshole at the bar set off a jealousy that I didn’t expect. Thinking of her with someone else now ... I can’t.
“So ...” she says, prompting a response.
“You didn’t ask me anything.”
I feel her smile against me. “All right. Let me rephrase.” She pauses. “Where do we go from here?”
Shit. I blow out a breath slowly.
“I’m not pressuring you,” she says. “When I left the house tonight, I wasn’t sure I was ready for more than a one-night stand. But you don’t want this to be that, and I don’t think I do either. But I also don’t think it’s that simple.”
“I don’t think it is either.”
“We live next door to each other. I’ve not even known you for a month. But here I am, in your bed, after a night that’s definitely on my list of best nights ever—”
“Hey,” I say, tightening my arms around her.
She laughs. “And I’m wondering what this looks like in the morning.”
I take a deep breath. “What do you want it to look like?”
“I don’t know.”
Her body tightens as the words pass her lips. She rises off me, moving her hair to one shoulder. She twists and faces me, my shirt she slipped on earlier for a kitchen run hanging off her shoulders.
I put my hand on her thigh and give it a gentle squeeze. Her next words are going to determine the course of our future—either together or separately. What I want may not be the right thing, or the best thing. I may also not have a choice.
She frowns. “Just a warning: this is going to go deep fast.”
The words are softened with a wink, which somehow dispels my fear.
“So,” she says, letting her shoulders fall. “Christopher and I didn’t end on bad terms. We were still friends, good friends , and had the wherewithal to realize we were better friends than lovers. That was three years ago. It took me a solid six months after our divorce to even consider dating again. But even once I found my footing and started seeing other men, I never, ever brought them home with me. The boys have never seen me with a man other than their father.”
Oh . . .
“So when Dylan walked in and found you in the kitchen, that was a new experience for him,” she says. “Not saying that it excuses his animosity. But maybe it explains it.”
I nod because it does, even though I didn’t need that explanation.
Dylan might be a jerk face to his mother, but his behavior in the kitchen was born out of a desire to protect her. It was based out of love. I respect that.
I nod again, giving her space to sort the thoughts I see swirling in her gorgeous eyes.
“This probably sounds ridiculous to you—”
“No,” I say earnestly, “it doesn’t. You’re a good mom. Of course they’re the first thing on your mind. They should be.”
“I’m saying all of this, and it sounds ridiculous to me because I barely know you, Jay. I would never bring up ... our future at this point with someone else.” She grimaces. “I must sound like a loon.”
“You do not sound like a loon. You sound like an adult that wants to have a conversation about our situation, and that’s respectable.”
She sighs. “So you understand?”
“Yeah, I understand. I share your hesitations. And I think it would make a lot of sense to figure out where we stand before you go home and it’s awkward.”
She draws her knees up, covering them with my shirt. I wonder if it’s an unconscious demonstration of her protecting herself from me. I wish I could tell her not to. But I can’t.
Because I don’t know how to answer her questions.
“Can I be honest with you?” she asks.
“Please.”
Slowly, her arms release her knees, and they fall back to the bed. The shirt hangs freely again. I think her cheeks flush, but it’s hard to tell in the darkened room.
“I really like you, Jay. I like having you around, talking to you, and having sex with you.” She grins. “And it might be too fast, and I might be too forward—and I don’t know how to balance it all—but I don’t want to go back to the way we were earlier tonight. It would kill me to have this invisible fence between our yards that apparently only Carter can cross.”
I chuckle. “I do have a nice pumper.”
“That you do.” She puts a hand on my cock and squeezes it through the sheet. “I keep thinking about things my friends have said to me lately. About how you have to move on and show the kids that it’s safe to do that. That we only live once and have to make ourselves happy.”
“Do you think I could make you happy?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. How can she be so sure?
The weight of the last few years sits squarely on my chest. It’s a burden I’ve carried with me, that I’ll continue to carry with me. But something makes me think that if I unload a bit of it onto Gabrielle, if I’m honest with her about where I’m coming from, maybe a few blocks of the load will dissolve and I can move forward.
My heart pounds at the thought of it. What would this mean? What would getting to know Gabrielle and her boys do to me?
Can I handle that? Do I want to handle that?
“What are you thinking?” she asks, her voice wobbling.
It’s now or never.
I sit up, letting the sheet pool at my waist. I fight the anger and resentment bubbling to the surface. No, Jay. This isn’t about Melody. This is about Gabrielle.
She takes my hand and laces her fingers through mine. It’s as if she knows I need the contact. I grin, realizing how things between us are so natural. Yes, they may be quick. But that doesn’t mean they’re wrong.
I look at the ceiling and let out a short, tight laugh. “Believe it or not, I’ve avoided this situation, this conversation, for years.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
I rise up, holding her chin in my hand. “Yes, I do.” I press a soft kiss against her lips before resting against the pillows again.
Anxiety builds, making my palms sweat. What if she thinks I’m a fool? What if she thinks I’m weak? What if she thinks I’m still hung up on Melody and she wants to call this off?
“Jay,” she says, my name falling from her lips. “You don’t have to talk to me. But I wish you would.”
Go. “Nine years ago, I met a woman through mutual friends. We had a blind date at a bowling alley, of all places, and hit it off.”
Gabrielle doesn’t blink. I give her hand a squeeze of reassurance—for us both.
Sweat dots my back as I prepare to talk about the one thing in my life that almost killed me. The only thing that I’ve ever been scared of. How do I talk about the most devastating part of my life?
Why do I suddenly feel the need to?
Because this is Gabrielle. And she just might be worth the vulnerability.
“Melody, that was her name,” I say. “She and I spent almost every day together after that. I found out on that first date that she had a baby, a daughter named Isabella. She was eleven months old.”
My throat tightens, burning so hot it’s hard to speak.
“We dated for a couple of years and then they moved in with me,” I say, remembering the day they pulled up in Melody’s compact car. “We celebrated Izzy’s third birthday in my kitchen.”
“That’s a cute name for a little girl.”
I smile sadly. “She is a cute little girl.” Or she was. I don’t know anymore.
A shadow passes across her face, but it disappears as quickly as it arrived.
“Things were great for a year or so,” I say. “And then ... they weren’t.”
“What happened?”
I shrug. “What happens when you’re in a relationship that you never should’ve been in to begin with?”
“Oh, Jay . . .”
“She wanted to get married. And the more she asked, the more demanding it got, and the further I got from wanting to marry her. She guilted me over Izzy—that Izzy called me Dad, and how could I refuse to be a legal family? How could I do that to them?”
Gabrielle covers our hands with her other one. “That’s unfair.”
“She turned into a person I didn’t recognize, and if I’m being honest, I probably wasn’t my best either. There was so much resentment on both our parts. So much bad behavior.” My heart squeezes. “But in the middle of it all was Izzy. A baby girl that I raised from before she could walk.”
I blow out a breath, wanting desperately to stop. But knowing I can’t.
“That kid was my kid , Gabrielle. She was my daughter. Her biological father was never in the picture, and I was all she knew. We went fishing together. Played basketball. Had tea parties and watched princess movies.” I fight back a swell of emotion. “Ever seen Beauty and the Beast ? It’s a good one.”
Gabrielle lets go of my hand and sits at my side.
“I came home from work one day,” I say, grinding my teeth. “And they were gone.”
She gasps.
“Everything. Gone.”
“Jay.”
“She left a note that she was moving to Oregon with her sister since I had no intentions of making her my wife. And she was changing her number and never to contact her again or she’d call the authorities.”
I stare at the wall across the room.
“I don’t know what to say to that.” Gabrielle pauses. “I’m sorry, Jay.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, there’s not much to say.”
My heart broke into a thousand messy and angry pieces over this ... and I never thought those pieces could fit together again. I never wanted them to. It was never a consideration. Until now.
“Did she ever try to contact you?”
“Once. She called and let me talk to Izzy. I think she was trying to get me to come after her in some fucked-up game with our daughter as bait.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I sit up. Gabrielle lays an arm over my shoulders and rests her head on my arm.
My throat is dry. My stomach is twisted. My legs itch to move—to get up and pace, to distract myself from thinking about it.
But I don’t. I want Gabrielle to hear all of it so she understands.
“I’ve thought a million times that I should’ve just married her,” I say, my voice hollow. “Would it have been that bad? Who is really getting punished here? Me and Izzy. ”
“You can’t marry someone you don’t love, Jay. You can’t marry them because they’re holding something—your daughter, for goodness’ sake—over your head. That’s ... that’s cruel .”
I look at her, taking comfort in the concern in her eyes.
“But would it have been better for Izzy?” I ask.
That’s the million-dollar question. The one that keeps me up at night. Did my decision ruin that little girl’s life?
“No, Jay. That wouldn’t have been better for Izzy. Being raised in a house with two parents that don’t love one another, that are always sparring and creating dissension ... what would that teach her?”
“What did never seeing her dad teach her?” I fight a well of tears from trickling down my cheeks. “Does she think I don’t love her? That I haven’t thought of her every day for the last four years? Will she grow up and not trust men because I fucked her up?”
Gabrielle crawls into my lap and pulls my head to her shoulder. She holds me close, running her hands up and down my back.
“You didn’t fuck her up,” she says. “You loved her. You got out of a situation that would’ve put her in the crosshairs of a lot of unhealthy interactions, even though it’s clear it killed you.” She kisses my shoulder. “You showed her what love is, Jay.”
I lean back and position Gabrielle so she’s straddling me. I hold her thighs and gaze up at this woman—this single mom I’m falling for.
“And that’s why I’m ...” I don’t know how to finish the sentence. “You know what I mean.”
“That’s why you’re scared of getting involved with me. Because I’m a single mom just like Melody.”
“Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it?” I sigh. “I’m not saying you’d ever do anything like that.”
She smiles. “Of course not. But you’d be inhuman if you didn’t have some fear.”
I take a long, deep breath and blow it out slowly. “I don’t want this over my head anymore.”
“Guess we have that in common then, don’t we?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to second-guess every move I make anymore either. I want to live again. I want to not be scared.”
My hands find her hips.
Excitement and anxiety mix together in a cocktail of energy that bubbles in my gut. I can’t believe I’m about to say this. But not saying it all is impossible.
Am I doing exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t? It looks that way. Can I see it any other way?
She grins down at me like a fucking angel.
Nope. This is the way it’s supposed to be.
“Wanna see what this could be?” I ask. “My track record isn’t great, and it might not be worth your time. Come to think of it, I might not be worthy of your—”
“Will you shut up?” She laughs, the sound nothing short of music to my ears. “We can see what this can be if you can stop talking nonsense.”
I grin. “Weren’t you on me to talk before?”
“Funny how things change, huh?” Her cheeks are split by a wide smile. “I want to be really careful around the boys. I’m not against them knowing we’re ... friendly. I just don’t want to shock them, I guess.”
Thank God. “Works for me.”
“I’m sure it does.” She lifts up and pulls the sheet off me. Then she sits her pussy down on my cock. “Do you know what would work for me?”
I groan, guiding her hips down harder. “I hope it includes you riding me.”
“Looks like we’re on the same page.”
She begins to lift but stops. Her hair falls into her face as she lowers her lips to mine, kissing me tenderly.
“Thank you for sharing all of that,” she says softly. “It means a lot to me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
The pain in my soul isn’t quite as powerful as it was an hour ago. The load that I carry on my shoulders is a bit lighter. I’m breathing easier.
Gabrielle probably has no idea that I’ve never told that story in that detail to anyone. She cannot understand the gift she gave me by affording me the room, the safety, to unburden a bit of my pain.
I peer up at her.
There’s no judgment in her eyes, no disgust or suspicion. And that brings tears to my eyes.
Gabrielle is the best mother I’ve ever seen, and it means everything to me to have her understand my perspective and take my side. The guilt that I’ve carried with me all these years over not marrying Melody is suddenly ... less. Gabrielle will never know the gift she just gave me.
And I will never forget it.
“Come here,” I whisper, ushering her closer to me.
She’s so damn beautiful. So sweet, so feisty—so kind. And if I’m careful and play my cards right, she might be mine.
I take her face in my hands and pull her in for a kiss.