CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN JAY
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
J AY
M aybe I need to consider Alaska, after all,” I say to the empty house.
I sit on the edge of my bed with a load of despair weighing me down. I’ve done the unthinkable for more than two fucking weeks. For seventeen days, I have come home late and left early—completely making myself unavailable to Gabrielle and Carter. There’s no worry that Dylan will try to talk to me.
But even as the word Alaska comes out of my mouth, I know it’s another impossibility.
I still feel a deep connection to Gabrielle.
If I weren’t absolutely certain that my presence in their lives would create a fissure between them, I would be pounding on the door and pleading my case. I’d fight for them. I would tell Gabrielle I’m sorry for walking away and telling her we would never work out. I’d apologize to the boys for giving up on them so easily when they deserve a man on their side—not to replace Christopher, but to help them navigate their lives. I would explain that I allowed my past failures and wounds to show up in the worst of times—and they didn’t deserve that.
But maybe I don’t deserve them either.
“How am I going to do this?” I ask, standing up and meandering around the dark house. “I can’t keep living like this. But I can’t stand in the shadows, stare at their house at night, and try to send my love to Gabrielle telepathically.”
I’m a damn fool.
A sound makes me jump. I stand alert in the bathroom doorway, listening closely for another sound. Again, it rings through the house. Harder this time.
Someone is knocking.
I glance at my watch. Who would be knocking at my door after midnight?
I move quietly through the living room and peer out the peephole.
What the hell?
My blood pressure screams as I yank the door open. “Dylan, what’s going on? Is everything all right?”
His hair is mussy, like he’s been sleeping. He has slumped shoulders, wrinkled clothes, and a frown that touches the ground on both sides. Despite it all, he lifts his chin and looks me in the eye.
“Can I come in, Jay?” he asks.
I step to the side and motion for him to enter. “Of course. What’s wrong?” The door closes with a snap.
I turn on a lamp by the couch. The air around us stills. The house is so quiet that it doesn’t quite feel real. But the kid in front of me, the one watching me with a silent plea, is as real as it gets.
“Are you okay?” I ask as smoothly as I can manage. “Are your mom and Carter okay? Just answer that for me, please.”
He nods. “Yeah. Everyone is fine. I guess.”
“You guess?”
He nods again.
You’re going to have to talk to me, kid. I scratch the top of my head and think. How do I get him to open up to me? “Does your mom know you’re here?”
“No. And I don’t want her to know.”
“Okay. But it’s late, Dylan. She will freak out if she can’t find you in the house. You know that, right?”
“She’s not going to know.”
“How are you so sure?”
He looks at the ground, and then back up at me. “Because she’s crying in her room.”
Oh, God. I grip the back of the couch and try to catch my breath.
“That’s why I’m here,” he says warily. “I don’t want to be here.”
I clear my throat. “Of course. But do you know why she’s crying? Is everything okay?”
He waits so long to answer me that I’m not sure he will reply. A myriad of emotions sweep across his features so quickly that it’s hard to keep up. The one thing I can glean is that Dylan is tired.
“Do you wanna sit down?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer but slides into the chair beside him. I sit on the couch, too, so that he doesn’t feel threatened by me standing.
“I’m assuming you came here to talk,” I say. “I’m listening.”
“Mom is sad, Jay.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re gone.”
I inhale a long, deep breath, hoping it keeps my heart from splintering. But there’s no amount of oxygen or time or conversation that can stop it from happening. Inside, I fall apart.
“It reminds me of after Dad died,” he says sadly. “She would smile and act like it was fine during the day. But as soon as Carter and I were in bed, if I listened closely enough, I could hear her cry. And she’s doing that again now.”
My head hangs in defeat.
“It’s my fault,” he says.
“No.” I jerk my eyes to his. “This isn’t your fault.”
“It is. I was pretty shitty to you, and I wasn’t very nice to her either.” He swallows, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I wasn’t respectful to either of you and it’s my fault you had a fight and it’s my fault you left and it’s my fault she’s crying.”
He struggles not to cry. I struggle not to march across the room and pull him into a hug. That’s probably what he needs, but that’s also likely to make him feel like a child when he’s very much trying to be a man.
“Let’s get a few things straight,” I say. “None of this is your fault. If it was, I’d tell you. I’d talk to you man-to-man.”
“Even though I’ve been acting like a baby?”
I smile at him.
I’m uncertain of how much to tell him. How deep do I go in explaining this complicated situation to a child? As I mull over the question, he sits stoically before me. He’s ready to take the blame as long as it fixes his mother.
And that’s pretty damn mature.
“You think you’re acting like a baby?” I ask. “Because I think you’re acting more like a man than I’ve seen anyone behave in a long time.”
His brows lift. “Really?”
“Don’t get me wrong. The shit you pulled at your house the other night was childish.”
Dylan’s face falls.
“But that’s the thing about men, and about people in general,” I say. “We don’t have it together all the time. And when we go through things that are painful or hard, like losing your dad, it can make it really hard to always do the right thing.”
He nods, watching me closely.
“Look, the fact that you came over here tonight—even though I wish you would’ve told your mother or left a note or something—because you have a problem and need help is mature. And being able to take responsibility for your mistakes is as mature as it comes, Dylan. I respect the hell out of you for that.”
His lips twist, and I think he might cry.
My heart goes into my throat. “What happened between your mother and me isn’t your fault.” I swallow. “Actually, it’s my fault, if you want to know the truth.”
“Why? What did you do?”
I can’t sit. I stand and move enough to try to dispel some of the energy building inside me.
“Do you know how the loss of your father makes you scared that you could lose your mother?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I know that feeling. And do you know how that feeling made you angry? It made you feel like everything was your enemy. Your dad died unexpectedly in a car crash in the middle of the night, so you can’t trust anything. At any time, something might steal someone else you love from right under your nose.”
He nods. This time, tears well up in his eyes.
I stop and face him. “That pain is indescribable, and it puts you in panic mode. You push everyone away because you know you wouldn’t survive that twice ...”
“Yes. That’s right.” Tears flow down his cheeks. “No one gets it. No one understands. It’s like everyone else can go on like they’re not worried that another one of us is going to be plucked away. Carter is too little to understand it, I guess. But I feel like I’m the only one worrying about it—the only one trying to keep us safe.”
“I get it.”
“How?” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “How do you get it?”
I exhale and sit down on the couch again.
I don’t want to go here with Dylan—I don’t want to go here at all. But it’s the only way for him to understand that I get it. And that I’m not the enemy.
“Years ago, I met a woman with a little baby girl. We fell in love, and she moved in with me. And I raised that little girl like my own child for many years.”
Dylan’s tears slow as he listens.
“Izzy, that was the little girl’s name, wasn’t my blood daughter, but damn it if I didn’t love her like she was. She couldn’t have been more mine. I would’ve done anything for her—I would’ve died for her.”
“What happened to her?”
I sigh. “Things didn’t work out between me and her mother. And her mom moved her across the country and refused to let me talk to her again. Because I’m not her biological dad, I don’t have any rights. If I pressured her to let me see Izzy, it would’ve made things a lot worse for all of us—most of all for Izzy.”
“So, what? You never see her again? That’s bullshit, Jay.”
“I know.” I smile at him. “It is bullshit, and it hurt me like no pain I’ve ever felt. And for years, I felt like I couldn’t survive that again. I walled myself off, steaming with anger, and refused to let anyone close to me. It felt safer to keep everyone at arm’s length rather than to let them in and risk that kind of devastation.”
“How did you get over it?”
I laugh softly. “Your mom fell off your deck. Your little brother kept coming by to use my pumper.”
He cocks his head to the side, absorbing my words. And for the first time, I think Dylan is listening.
And for the first time, I think I’m listening to myself.
I didn’t just get over it from Gabrielle and Carter. I got over it because of Dylan too.
My heart tightens as I look at him. “Do you know what else helped me?”
“What’s that?”
“You.” I grin. “I didn’t realize it until this moment, but you are like looking in the mirror in a lot of ways.”
“We don’t look anything alike.”
I chuckle. “No, we don’t. But your anger and defiance and ...” I scoot to the edge of the couch. “Do you know how you use being pissed off to keep everyone away from you? No one will approach a guy who looks like he wants to bite their head off. Right?”
His face sobers, and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.
I talk faster. “That’s me, Dylan. Or it’s been me, anyway. You’ve been through some shit and have every right to be mad at the world. When I look at you, I see that pain and I hate it for you. I want you to let some of it go and enjoy your life. You’re just a kid. There’s so much more to life for you, and I know your dad would want you to enjoy it. Your mom would do anything for you to be happy. Hell, Dylan— I want you to enjoy it.”
“You don’t think that Izzy would want you to enjoy your life?”
Fucking kid. Wetness dots the corners of my eyes. “I do. And it wasn’t until I met you that I could see that perspective. You’ve helped me whether you know it or not, and I want to be there for you.”
“So how do I get through being pissed off all the time?” he asks. “How do I stop feeling like I want to punch everyone? I don’t want to fight with my mom all the time. I want to be another kid at school and not be the one that everyone expects to screw up. And I don’t want to live with this ... this twisted-up pain in my stomach every day either. But I don’t know what to do.”
I rest my elbows on my knees and smile at the kid who just taught me a lesson without meaning to.
“The only way to get through it, Dylan, is to look around at what you still have. Your mom would do anything in the world for you. Every decision she makes is done after she analyzes from ten directions to make sure it won’t hurt you and Carter.”
He grins.
“And you have Carter, who thinks you’re a jerk face sometimes but also pretty cool,” I say.
Dylan laughs.
“And,” I say, holding my breath, “if you’ll accept my apology for walking away from your family, maybe you can have me.”
His smile wobbles.
“I don’t want to replace your dad, Dylan. He sounds like an amazing guy. I hope, although I doubt that it’s true, that someone out there is reminding Izzy of how much I love her. And that’s what I want to do for you and Carter.” I sigh. “Christopher built a hell of a good man in you and Carter. I want to have a chance to have the honor of being a part of your lives.”
Dylan sits taller in his chair. “Let me ask you a question.”
“Sure.”
“If I have all of that, what all do you have?”
The smirk on his lips lifts my spirits, and I realize I’m not dealing with a little boy. I’m dealing with a young man—one who understands a lot more than people give him credit for.
“You want to be there for me and my brother, but what about my mom?” he asks.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll have to grovel, but I’m hoping she’ll accept my apology.”
“Does this mean you’ll make my mom stop crying?”
Together, our lips part into a grin.
The silence in the room isn’t so deafening now.
I stand, and Dylan follows me to his feet. The air between us isn’t so tense. I think we’re both a lot lighter than before.
“No pressure,” I say, leading him to the door. “But you can talk to me anytime. I’m not trying to be your dad—”
“Jay.” He turns to me and stops by the doorway. “I know.”
“I’m glad.”
He sighs. “I better get home before Mom does check on me. I wouldn’t put it past her to call the police and have everyone in Alden looking for me.”
“It’s just because she loves you.”
He smiles the first real, wide smile I’ve seen on him. “I know.”
I open the door, and he steps into the darkness.
“You are going to fix this, right?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Let me get a plan together. Your mom deserves more than a simple I’m sorry .”
“Well, don’t take forever.”
I laugh as he jogs across the lawn.
I wait until he’s safely back inside his house before I close the door. Then I walk to the kitchen window and gaze across the yard.
My heart is warm, almost full, as I watch the light turn on in Gabrielle’s bedroom. There’s one final piece that I need to click everything in place. I need her. My girl. The love of my fucking life.
No matter what it takes, I’m going to fix this. I’m going to convince Gabrielle to take me back. It might have taken me a long time to get here, but I’m not going back.
They are mine—all three of them. And I won’t let them go again.