41. Vaughn
FORTY-ONE
VAUGHN
I pulled my gloves off and brushed a smudge of dirt off my thigh.
Glancing over the tops of the townhouses lining the street, I paused to take in the sunset.
Clouds drifted across the sky in soft brushes of white, their undersides limned with fire.
The sky was awash with color, deepening to a dark purple above my head.
I’d watched the sunset from up here every day this week, my face pointed toward the west, my skin goosepimpling in the cooling night breeze. As far as retirement went, this wasn’t a bad way to start.
Charlotte would be going to her first day of first grade on Monday.
She was at her mother’s place now, as she had been for most of the summer.
We were due to go back to mediation in a couple of weeks, and I was intending to prove to Tiffany and the mediator that I was serious about setting work aside for the sake of my daughter.
No more late nights. No more handing Charlotte off to the nanny because I had to get a project over the line. I would make sure that for the rest of Charlotte’s life, she knew that I was there for her.
Funny how a few months of existential panic and all-out misery changed a man’s point of view.
Not for the first time, I wished Alba were beside me so I could thank her for making me see things clearly.
If she hadn’t walked away from me, I wouldn’t have felt the pain I needed to clear my head.
I would’ve kept on working, kept on giving all my time to reach some mythical success that didn’t really exist—all to prove to a dead man that I’d succeeded despite his best efforts to ruin our family for the duration of my childhood while he chased his growing ego.
But I was a father now. I wouldn’t let Charlotte grow up with the same feeling of abandonment and instability. If that meant burning my business to the ground so I could make more time for her, then that’s what I was prepared to do.
If it meant growing old by myself, because the best relationship of my life was the price to pay for that lesson—well, that hurt, but I’d accepted that I had to pay it. I’d lost Alba, but I wasn’t losing my daughter.
As the light dwindled to the soft gray of twilight, I cleaned up my workspace with the small brush and dustpan I’d left here for that purpose. A car rolled down the street below. A door slammed. Someone called out to their child down the street.
Then there was a noise that was more familiar. I brushed the last few bits of soil off the workbench, frowning. It was a slight squeak, barely audible over the other sounds of life and city, and it took me a few seconds to place it.
My mail slot. Someone had just dropped something off at my house.
Idle curiosity made me glance over the low parapet wall of my rooftop terrace, peeking down at the steps that ran up to my front door. No one was there, but my gaze snapped to the lone figure of a woman darting down the street away from my house.
A blond woman, above average height, bundled in a long, knitted cardigan that brushed against her calves as she hurried away. Her hair was piled in a high bun that I’d recognize anywhere.
“Alba!” I called out, hands curling against the brick of the low wall—but a car honked at the same time, and she didn’t slow, didn’t stop. “Alba!” I called out again.
Her steps faltered, her head turning slightly. It was her. She was here, at my house.
After all these months, Alba had come back.
My heart thundered, and before I knew what I was doing, I was shooting down the trapdoor and down the rickety ladder that led to my attic space.
Then I flew down the attic stairs, landing hard on the wood floor outside Charlotte’s room, and I ran to the main townhouse stairway.
Two flights of stairs spat me out at the front door, where an envelope lay waiting for me in the foyer.
It was a normal letter-sized envelope, and Alba had written my name in block letters on the front.
I snatched it up and crashed into the door, swearing as I tugged on it and found it locked. I threw the lock and sprinted down the steps, vaulting over a dog on a leash while its owner yelled at me. I’d left my front door wide open, and I didn’t care.
“Alba!”
She turned a corner, her cardigan fluttering around her legs. I redoubled my speed, legs and arms pumping, breaths gusting out of me. Finally, I turned the same corner and saw that I’d gained on her.
This time, when I yelled her name, she turned around. Her eyes widened, shock and panic flashing across her face, and she made to spin around again.
“Alba, wait!” I crashed to a stop in front of her and watched as she took a deep breath and turned to face me fully. My lungs burned, my legs trembling from the all-out sprint.
Her eyes snapped from my face to my right hand, where I held the crumpled envelope she’d slid through my mail slot.
I held it up. “What’s this?”
She gulped. “A letter. I—I have to go.”
“Wait,” I said, and took another deep breath.
“Wait. What does it say? Why a letter?” It hit me then, that she was right in front of me, wide-eyed and blond-haired and beautiful.
My throat clogged up, and all the feelings I’d tried to ignore for months came rushing back at me.
All these months, I’d tried to forget her.
I’d done my best to clean up my life, but she’d left a big, gaping hole in the middle of it.
And now she was here. Out of nowhere, she appeared at my doorstep. I couldn’t let her go.
“Just read it,” she replied. “Read it and get back to me.”
“Don’t go,” I pleaded. “Please, Alba. Just give me a second.”
She closed her eyes, shoulders dropping, and nodded.
I tore the envelope so aggressively it ripped nearly in half. Pulling out the folded piece of paper, I glanced at Alba, who was staring across the road at the leaves on a tree—the first tree on the street with its leaves beginning to change.
My gaze snapped back to the letter. She wrote:
Vaughn,
My cowardice hasn’t allowed me to face you in person, and even the thought of hearing your voice over the phone or seeing your name pop up on my phone screen fills me with fear, so I find myself planning to drop this at your house before I scurry and hide.
Maybe it’s for the best, because it’ll allow you to process the news on your own.
I’m pregnant ? —
My gaze stumbled over the word, and then I looked up at Alba, who was still staring at the tree, then down at her midsection.
She wore a loose, flowing dress that hid her shape—until a gust of wind blew against her.
The outline of her stomach bulged slightly, a curve that confirmed what her letter proclaimed.
She braced herself, squaring her shoulders the way she had before entering the Noble Gala Foundation, and shifted her gaze to meet mine.
Her expression was steady, but I saw the doubt and fear hidden behind her eyes.
Her chin lifted slightly, and she said, “We can get a DNA test once the baby is born.”
“What?”
“I haven’t been with anyone else, but I don’t expect you to believe that after how we left things.” Her hand cupped her lower stomach protectively, and she gave me a tight nod. “I’d like you to be in his life, but I understand?—”
“His? It’s a boy?”
Her brows tugged. “Did you read the letter?”
I looked at the letter again, but my vision was jumpy. My heart thumped a little too hard, and I was afraid that if I took my eyes off Alba, she’d disappear.
I’m pregnant. It’s yours. My due date is December 1 st , and I’m having a boy.
I understand that this may come as a shock to you, and I’m not sending you this letter because I’m looking for money from you. I simply think it’s my duty as a soon-to-be mother to tell you about the child and ask you to be part of your son’s life.
Take all the time you need, and contact me when you’re ready. My number hasn’t changed.
Alba
When I looked up again, Alba’s gaze slid away from me. She’d been watching my face as I read, so she saw the myriad of emotions that swarmed me. The shock. The bolt of happiness. The crushing despair.
We could’ve experienced this together if I’d been a better man. If I hadn’t screwed up and turned on Alba when I was supposed to support her. If I hadn’t been so selfish.
“So,” Alba said as she gave me a tight smile. “Now you know. I’ll give you some time?—”
“I don’t need time.”
Her brows jumped, and pain flashed across her expression. Then she took a bracing breath and nodded. “I see. Understood. You won’t hear from me again.” She turned to walk away.
“I love you,” I blurted out to her back.
Alba froze, then whirled around. “What?”
“I love you, Alba. I’ve been in love with you for so long I don’t remember when or how it started.
Maybe it was the moment you walked into that private dining room for our first lesson.
Or maybe it was when you ran your fingers through my hair that first time.
When you told me I was scruffy looking. Maybe I loved you the moment you walked up to my table at Carmine’s and called me a failure. ”
“I don’t recall using those exact words?—”
“I haven’t stopped loving you these past months, even when you walked away from me. But now, with this?” I held up the letter. “I won’t let you walk away again. Let me fix what I broke, Alba. Please.”
Her mouth pinched, and I suspected it was to stop her bottom lip from trembling. Her eyes went watery, and she looked at me like I’d just handed her the first bit of hope she’d felt in a long time.
I closed the distance between us and lifted my hand.
Hesitating for only a moment, I cupped her cheek and tilted her head up so I could look in her eyes.
“I love you, Alba. I love how resilient you are. I love your strength, and your sass, and I love that you give as good as you get. You make me a better man, and I’m not talking about teaching me how to hold a wine glass. ”
She huffed, a tear falling down her cheek.