Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
DAGGER
Fuck. I slam my fist against the handlebars of my bike, the sting sharp and immediate. It doesn’t help. Nothing ever does. I tried to do the right thing, to make things right with Chloe, and she threw it all back in my face.
“Fuck her,” I mutter, but the words are empty. I don’t mean it. I could never mean it. She was angry, yeah, but she had every right to be. And me? I’m still stuck here, spinning in circles, trying to fix something I broke without even realizing it.
I twist the throttle hard, the engine roaring beneath me as I peel away. I don’t have a destination, just a need to ride, to lose myself in the road. For hours, I push the bike faster and harder, but it doesn’t stop the memories from creeping in. Chloe, standing there with that fire in her eyes, looking at me like I was the last person she wanted to see. And now, with my son—my son —growing inside her, I can’t get away from the guilt no matter how fast I ride.
Eventually, I find myself pulling up to a house I haven’t been to in years. My mom’s place. Only, it doesn’t look like the house I left behind. The yard is immaculate, the grass trimmed and lush. There’s a neat row of flowers blooming along the edge of the driveway, vibrant reds and yellows standing out against the fresh coat of white paint on the house. Someone’s put in a hell of a lot of work here.
Killing the engine, I swing my leg off the bike and take it all in. The new shutters, the clean windows, even the welcome mat by the front door—none of this is what I expected. My chest tightens as I make my way to the porch. I don’t know if it’s guilt or surprise, but it’s there, heavy and suffocating.
I knock, the sound of it loud in the quiet evening air. A few moments later, the door opens, and a man I don’t recognize stands there. He’s older, maybe in his late fifties, with a sturdy build and a calm but guarded expression. He looks like he belongs here. Like he should be here.
“Who the fuck are you?” I growl, my instinct kicking in before I can stop it.
The guy doesn’t flinch. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, his eyebrow lifting slightly. “Who the fuck are you? ” he fires back, his tone just as sharp.
Before I can step closer or say something stupid, my mom’s voice cuts through the tension, warm but firm. “Will you two stop it already?”
I look past him, and there she is. Mom. She’s smaller than I remember, her hair streaked with gray, but there’s a light in her eyes I haven’t seen in years. She looks... happy.
“Frank, this is Jeremy. My son,” she says, motioning between us with the kind of no-nonsense tone that hasn’t changed since I was a kid. Then she turns to me, her expression softening. “Jeremy, this is Frank. We’re getting married.”
The words hit me like a gut punch. Married. My mom’s getting married. To this guy. I glance at him, taking in the way he stands beside her, solid and sure, and it clicks. He’s the reason the house looks this way. The reason she looks this way.
She doesn’t give me time to process it. “Now, get your ass in here and give your mama a hug.”
I hesitate for a second, pride warring with guilt, but one look at her face is enough to break down whatever walls I’m trying to hold up. With a heavy breath, I step inside, the smell of her cooking wrapping around me like a blanket. She pulls me into a hug, her arms tight and familiar, and for a moment, everything else—Chloe, my son, the mess I’ve made—fades into the background. But it’s still there, waiting.
I step inside and freeze, my eyes scanning the room. The place looks... different. It’s warm and inviting, the kind of home you see in movies or on holiday commercials. The walls are painted a soft, welcoming color, and there’s a quilt draped over the back of the couch. A couple of framed photos sit on the mantle, and the faint smell of something baking lingers in the air. There’s even a vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table. It’s cozy. Alive.
“Come here,” Mom says, pulling me into a tight hug before I can process it all. Her arms wrap around me like they used to when I was a kid, and all the tension I’ve been holding onto melts away.
Why the hell have I waited so long to come back? I know the answer—too many bad memories tied to this place. But looking at it now, it’s hard to reconcile the house I grew up in with the one I’m standing in.
Mom steps back and smiles up at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She looks good. Happier than I’ve seen her in years. I kiss the top of her head, my chest tight with emotions I can’t quite name. “Sorry, Mom,” I say, my voice low.
She pats my cheek, her touch gentle, and gives me a look that’s pure love and forgiveness. “Nothing to be sorry for, Jeremy,” she says softly. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
She motions toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
“I’m okay,” I say, grinning. “Really.”
“Come sit, then,” she says, gesturing toward the couch. “Tell me what’s been going on with you. You know I always love hearing your stories about you and your friends.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I follow her to the living room. “You’re the only person who could make my life sound interesting, Mom,” I tease, sinking into the plush couch.
She just smiles knowingly. “Well, you’ve always had a knack for finding trouble and turning it into an adventure.”
I glance toward Frank, who’s standing quietly near the doorway, watching us. I realize I haven’t properly acknowledged him yet. Standing, I extend my hand. “Hey, sorry about earlier,” I say, meeting his gaze.
He studies me for a moment, then reaches out and shakes my hand. His grip is firm but not overbearing, his expression calm. “No hard feelings,” he says with a slight grin. “It’s a lot to take in. I get it.”
I nod, appreciating the way he handles himself. He seems... solid. The kind of guy who’s good for Mom.
Frank steps aside to let Mom sit next to me, and I sink back into the cushions, letting myself relax for the first time in what feels like weeks. The place feels like home in a way it never did before, and for a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to come back more often.
But then the thought of Chloe and my son cuts through the moment, sharp and relentless. My jaw tightens, and I force myself to focus on the sound of Mom’s voice, on the warmth of her hand resting on mine. I’ll deal with the rest later. Right now, I’m here. And maybe that’s enough. For now.
Frank sinks into the worn leather of a recliner, the kind that practically molds to you after years of use. He leans back, resting one ankle on his knee, looking completely at ease, like he’s been part of this home for years. Mom settles beside me on the couch, a soft smile playing on her lips as she glances at him. There’s something in her expression—a kind of quiet happiness I haven’t seen in her for a long time.
“So, how’d you two meet?” I ask, leaning back and letting the warmth of the moment settle over me.
Frank chuckles, the sound low and easy. “It’s a bit of a story,” he says, glancing at Mom like he’s waiting for her to jump in.
Mom laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not that much of a story,” she says, nudging him playfully.
“Oh, it’s a story,” Frank counters with a grin. “One of my favorites.”
Mom rolls her eyes affectionately and looks at me. “I went into his hardware store one afternoon, needing a hammer.”
“A hammer?” I raise an eyebrow, amused.
She nods, laughing a little. “Yeah, a hammer. I had this idea to hang a bunch of pictures I’d been meaning to put up forever, but I didn’t have the right tools. So I went to the store, thinking I’d just grab one and go.”
Frank leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She walked in, all determined, but the moment she picked up a hammer, I could tell she didn’t have the first clue what she was doing.”
“I did too!” Mom protests, but she’s laughing now.
“You were holding it upside down,” Frank says, grinning.
I can’t help but laugh at that, imagining the scene.
“He offered to come out and help,” Mom continues, ignoring Frank’s teasing. “At first, I said no. I didn’t want to bother him, and, well...” She hesitates, glancing down.
“She was stubborn,” Frank adds, shaking his head with a fond smile. “But I insisted. Told her it wasn’t any trouble and that I couldn’t, in good conscience, let her destroy her walls trying to hang pictures with the wrong tools.”
“So he came over that weekend,” Mom says, her smile softening. “Not only did he help me hang those pictures, but he fixed the wobbly kitchen cabinet I’d been dealing with for years.”
“And then she cooked me the best dinner I’ve ever had,” Frank says, his voice turning warm. “Chicken and dumplings. I was hooked after that.”
“She’s always been a great cook,” I say, grinning at her.
Mom waves off the compliment, but I can tell she’s pleased. “After that, he just... kept showing up,” she says, her tone light but meaningful.
“Couldn’t stay away,” Frank admits, leaning back in the chair with a contented smile. “Since that day, we haven’t gone more than a few hours without seeing each other. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
My chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, and I glance at Mom, who’s blushing faintly but smiling like she hasn’t smiled in years.
“And then he asked me to marry him a few months ago,” Mom says, her voice softer now. “I said yes, and, well, here we are.”
“He moved in after that,” I say, piecing it together.
Frank nods. “Figured there was no point in waiting. We’re not getting any younger, and I wasn’t about to let her get away.”
There’s a silence after that, but it’s the good kind, the kind that feels like a warm blanket on a cold day. I glance around the room again, taking in the changes, the care that’s gone into making this house a home. It seems like Mom’s finally found the happiness she deserves.
“Well,” I say, my voice breaking the quiet, “it’s about damn time, Mom.”
She laughs, leaning over to pat my knee. “Maybe it is.”
Mom leans back into the couch, her eyes narrowing a bit as she looks me over. “Alright, so tell me—what’s been going on? You meet anyone?”
I grunt, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together. The question hits harder than it should, and before I can stop myself, I make a face.
Her laughter rings out, light and teasing. “Uh-oh. That’s not a good look. What happened?”
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. “There’s someone,” I admit, my voice low and rough. “But I fucked it all up.”
Mom shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You always think you screw things up worse than you do, Jeremy. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “This time, it is. Trust me.”
Her eyes soften, and she leans closer, resting her hands on her lap. “Alright, then. Spill it. What happened?”
I blow out a breath, sitting back and rubbing the back of my neck. “You want the short version?”
She smirks. “Whatever version you’ll give me.”
I stare at the floor for a second, trying to figure out how to put it all together. “Alright,” I start, my voice still gruff. “There’s this woman, Chloe. Tough as nails. Smart, gorgeous. The kind of woman who doesn’t take shit from anybody. Least of all me.”
Mom raises an eyebrow but doesn’t interrupt, letting me talk.
“We’ve known each other for a while. Had some history. One night... things got heated.” I pause, my hands tightening into fists on my knees. “We hooked up.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but I can feel her waiting for more.
“I didn’t know what the hell to do with it afterward,” I admit, my voice dropping. “Didn’t know what to do with her. So, like a damn idiot, I left.”
Mom’s brows knit together, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“It wasn’t supposed to be for long,” I say quickly. “Just needed to get my head on straight. But by the time I came back...” I trail off, shaking my head.
“What?” she presses, her voice soft but steady.
I glance at her, then back at the floor. “I found out she’s pregnant.”
Mom sits back, blinking as she processes that. “She’s having your baby?”
“Yeah,” I say flatly. “A boy.” The words feel heavy as hell, like I’m carrying the weight of the whole world on my shoulders.
She lets out a breath, her face softening. “Wow. That’s... a lot.”
“No shit,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair. “And she’s pissed at me. Can’t blame her. I handled it all wrong, and now she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
Mom leans forward, her hand landing on my knee, her grip firm. “Listen to me. You’re not a bad man, Jeremy. You made a mistake—fine. But you’re trying now. You’re here, and that counts for something.”
I glance at her, skeptical. “Don’t think she sees it that way.”
“She will,” Mom says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You stick around. You prove to her that you’re serious. You be there for that baby, and you don’t quit. You hear me?”
I nod, though I’m not sure I believe it’ll work. “We’ll see.”
“No, we won’t ‘see.’ You’ll make it happen,” she says, her voice sharp but not unkind. “You’ve always been stubborn. Use it for something good this time.”
I huff out a small laugh despite myself. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice, huh?”
“Not if you want to make things right,” she says with a knowing smile.
I lean back into the couch, letting her words sink in. The road ahead looks rough as hell, but sitting here in the warmth of her home, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I’ve got a shot at putting it all back together.