19. Blake
19
BLAKE
“ I ’m sorry.” Amanda blinked as she stepped past her cup and gawked at me, approaching the table I shared with Sara. “You what ?”
I leaned over to grab the cup so it wouldn’t fly away and count as litter. Even though my heart was pounding with dread and the only thought that existed in my mind was a nonstop litany of oh, crap , I had the mind not to add to the litter and mess that would cover Main Street. The wind picked up, swaying the many lights strung from post to post overhead. The twinkling specks of brightness cut against the navy sky as more light snowflakes fluttered down. This should’ve been a cozy, fun, and festive night heralding how quickly Christmas crept up on us with the live band playing a snazzy rendition of Run, Rudolph, Run and the scent of roasted chestnuts wafting from the vendor booths.
Instead of smiling and appreciating the collective Vernford holiday cheer, I was cringing as my son’s babysitter plopped down next to Sara. Correction, my son’s aunt.
“Did I just hear you say”—she licked her lips and furrowed her brow as she shook her head—“that you wouldn’t sleep with Zach again ?”
I bit my lip, horrified that the circle of people who knew about Zach being my baby daddy had just doubled. Sara was no longer the exclusive holder of that big secret. And of all people to know, Amanda was a risky one.
“Um…” I ducked my head, not necessarily in shame but awkward discomfort. I was not regretting the fact that I’d slept with Zach. Either time. But I did judge myself for never telling anyone about how we’d created our son from our first tryst. “Yes.”
She carried on with the shock, gaping at me with her eyes as wide as saucers.
“It just, well, it just happened,” I lamely explained.
Then her brows spiked high as she squeaked. “Wait a second.” She slapped her gloved hands over her mouth. “You’re not telling me that—Oh, my God !”
“Okay,” Sara said with a light, forced chuckle, glancing around and faking a chill smile at those seated around us. We were out in the open in front of the café and the tables weren’t that close together. Unless someone was leaning in to eavesdrop—or conveniently walking right past our table on the edge—no one would hear us. So long as we didn’t shout.
Amanda did again, repeating, “Oh, my God !”
“Yeah, let’s not broadcast this,” Sara said as she smiled and nodded at those noticing us. She patted Amanda’s back. “This isn’t public knowledge.”
“Well, of course, it’s not!” She narrowed her eyes at me, stunned but seemingly forcing herself to come to terms with this development. “I mean…” She shook her head, almost lost in a daze from the shock. “I was just a kid when you would’ve conceived George, but… He’s five, and even with his birthday being months earlier than you thought it would be because he was a preemie, that would’ve put you and Zach together right when Kevin died.” She leaned in to hiss as she finished doing the math. “You… Zach…” She gasped again. “At the funeral?”
“Not at the funeral,” I clarified. That made a world of difference.
“Because that’s the only time Zach’s been home to visit at all. Seriously.”
I nodded weakly. “Yeah. I know.”
She sat back, rubbing her hand over her face. “I can’t… I can’t believe this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Blake!” She narrowed her eyes again. “George is my nephew!” It should have been a question, but she blurted it out like it was an accusation. Or as if she were accusing me of keeping that fact from her. “How could I not see this? He… he looks like him!”
This was one of my biggest fears. That Amanda would wonder at some point the older George got. If not her, then Jenny. I was grateful that she’d never outright made a connection between how much my son looked like her grandson. Jenny had tact, though. She wasn’t the kind of woman to voice her concerns like that, and she certainly wasn’t the sort of person to jump to conclusions and ask me anything about suspicions that would arise.
“Please,” I whispered, my gut tensing with more anxiety. “Please don’t say anything.”
“You sure haven’t!” She didn’t scowl at me, but her expression wasn’t one of acceptance or forgiveness.
I glanced at Sara, waiting for a judgmental expression from her, too. She didn’t look at me with any sense of recrimination, though. If anything, she frowned with worry as my lie and secret imploded before my eyes.
Of course, my first reaction to Amanda finding out my secret was to beg her to help me keep it. That was instinct. To put the fire out. To get to safety. To avoid further damage.
“I didn’t know how. Or when. Or…” I cleared my throat and strained to swallow hard. “He wasn’t here, and?—”
“And he’s never given the impression that he’s wanted to be here.” Amanda nodded. “But you could’ve…”
“I know. I know. I could’ve had you or Jenny tell him. I didn’t want to keep it from him. I never planned to keep it from Zach forever, but with him away and wanting to stay away, I didn’t know how or when to tell him.”
“But he’s back now,” she argued.
I shot her a stern look. “For now .”
She opened and closed her mouth, then turned to Sara, as if just now noticing her. “You knew?”
Sara nodded. “As far as I can tell, as of five minutes ago, I was the only one who knew.”
“He deserves to know the truth, Blake,” Amanda scolded. “I get it. This is huge news. And he was away for so long. But this is big. This isn’t some little secret. It’s huge!”
I nodded.
“ I should’ve known the truth. Grandma too!”
Wincing, I lowered my head until my brow hit my hands on the table. “I know.” For as many times as I stated that I had the knowledge of my wrongdoing in hiding this truth, I didn’t do anything to correct it. I’d had five years to rectify this but I hadn’t. With Zach back in Vernford, I had no excuse at all. He was here. I spent the night with him. No obstacles remained in the way of my telling him the truth except for my fear.
Amanda blew out a long breath, as if steadying herself after this rush of news. She faced me, a bit calmer but still showing so much shock. This eighteen-year-old was legally an adult, but in so many ways, I had to remind myself that she was still a kid. Amanda was still young enough not to lose all that juvenile innocence that a long duration of adulting could ruin. But she’d always been sharp. She’d always been aware of George’s health, knowing that he was a preemie with a few health concerns as he “caught up” into his toddler years. Amanda began babysitting him when she was fourteen, with Jenny’s help, of course. In those early years, it had been a matter of all three of us pitching in together and working as a team, often bringing George to the kitchen while we prepped food and even to the catering sites where Amanda would keep him company in the back while Jenny and I served the food.
Without those two women, I wouldn’t be where I was today. Their help, along with Sara’s, had pushed me to survive all those taxing hardships of being a single working mother.
I owed it to them to tell the truth, but I was stubborn to believe that I had to go about it the right way. Zach deserved to learn this reality, that he was a father, before I could tell Jenny or anyone else. Rumors could spread. Word would get out, and I didn’t want to hurt Zach by allowing him to be the last one to find out.
Amanda wouldn’t tell him. I could count on her secrecy the same as I could expect it from Sara. They’d have my back, but with her serious expression, I realized how firmly she’d hold me to it to tell her brother about George.
I will.
I would just need to figure out when and how. I had to anticipate all the ways that Zach could react. He’d be furious to be lied to, but I wanted to hope he wouldn’t stay mad.
“A big part of why I’ve been reluctant to speak up and tell Zach is because he still doesn’t want to live here.” I looked at Amanda, imploring her to hear me. “You said it yourself.”
“Yeah. He said he’d stay until the holidays are over,” she replied.
“And go where next?” Sara asked.
Amanda shrugged, still looking at me as if she had to recalculate her views of me. As if I were a new identity to get to know all over again. A liar.
“It doesn’t matter where he’d go,” I said. “Just that he wants to go. He doesn’t want to settle in Vernford.”
“But knowing George is his son could change his mind,” Amanda replied quickly.
“It could force him to change his mind,” I corrected. “It would be an obligation to fulfill.”
Sara sighed. “I think you’re not putting enough faith in this. Is George an obligation to you?”
“Of course not. I’m his mother. He’s my son.”
She smirked. “And he’s his father. He’s his son too.”
True. But the difference between us as parents was that I loved him. I cherished him. Zach might, if he got to know him, but I couldn’t bank on any fondness or growing love between them as father and son would trump the lure and fascination with traveling or being far from home.
Since he’d come back to town, I faced little things that built a case of wishing for what still seemed so impossible. When he looked at me, I wanted to bask in the thrill of having his attention anytime. When he held me close, I wished he could reach for me at any moment and secure me as his. Then when he stood up to me in front of Reagan and Rory, I dared to imagine what it would be like if I could know he’d always be there in my corner to support me.
Waking up with him had been a glorious dream. All we did last night seemed to fill a gap in my heart. Against all logic, I couldn’t help but envision a future of us together. Being lovers for good. A couple forever. A… family. I’d lost my family and had survived alone for so long that the dream of being in one again felt like a pipe dream, unattainable and a joke.
“You should tell him now,” Amanda urged.
I shook my head, ready to explain that I would after the holidays so as not to ruin the whole festive season.
“Mama!”
I whipped my head around at the sound of George’s voice, alarmed when I spotted him on top of Zach's shoulders. Cole walked with them as they approached our table, all of them smiling and laughing.
Oh, honey…
He was beaming, so giddy and happy on Zach’s shoulders like that. It tugged at my heartstrings, and I willed myself not to get sappy at the image of the father and son getting along so well. George must have seen them at the children’s tent, since Cole would likely be there as well and he had been befriending Zach so quickly.
“Hey, honey,” I replied with all the cheer I could muster. It’d kill me to let him see how conflicted I felt, so I bolstered my smile with a little more enthusiasm.
“So this is where all the cool kids are hanging out,” Jenny said as she walked up as well, coming from the side. When she reached our table, she furrowed her brow and did a double-take at George on Zach’s shoulders.
My heart stuttered. She seemed too pensive, too reflective as she viewed them as a pair, and I worried my second-worst nightmare was coming true. That she was seeing all the similarities and wondering a big what-if.
Zach and George had the same twinkling blue eyes. Even though Zach’s dimples were hidden under his sexy beard, Jenny would recall them, and perhaps even see them with George’s smile.
“Huh,” she muttered, shaking her head as she smiled at us women at the table. “I see you’ve met the mighty and impressionable George,” she said to her grandson.
“I have met the creative mastermind,” Zach answered, frowning at me.
Dammit. I’ve got to hide my emotions better than this.
“Well, shall we walk around and see what’s what?” Jenny shifted into a bright smile, moving on past her moment and gesturing at the things to check out further from this seating area.
“Yeah!” George cheered, oblivious to the tension.
Everyone seemed to look at me, so I smiled and nodded. “Yeah, let’s take a stroll.”
Heading off in a group, I tried to snap out of this funk from Sara and Amanda putting me on the spot to tell Zach my biggest secret.
I would. I knew I had to. But not right now. I would need to figure out how to do so calmly, just the two of us and hopefully on neutral ground.
With every step I took, staying within this small group, I felt like an outsider, not fitting. The usurper, the conflict. Because the longer I kept the truth about my baby’s father covered up, the worse I felt about myself for ever lying at all.