Chapter 21 Janie
TWENTY-ONE
Janie
The flames lick upward, catching on bits of wood and curling into orange tongues. I exhale into the silence, finally able to breathe.
My wine glass dangles from my fingertips, half-empty like my thoughts.
The phone wobbles against the wooden arm of the chair. Gemma’s face fills the screen, her smile bright even in the thumbnail.
“Hey, you,” I announce after pushing the speaker button.
“You sound exhausted. You still going through all the insanity, or just a long day at work?”
I laugh, the sound surprising me. “Both? Neither? I don’t know anymore.”
“So, things are still brutal dealing with Warren? I was hoping something would give, one way or the other.”
The fire cracks, sending a shower of sparks upward. “I mean, I guess I could say things are slightly better. Hard to get much worse, so that’s a low bar.”
“Slightly better is an improvement. Tell me more.”
“He came for dinner the other night after soccer. Beckett invited him in front of me, and we were both like deer in headlights. When Becks begs, Becks gets.”
“So, he came over. How was it?”
“That’s where the slightly better comes in.
We actually talked, instead of grunting and avoiding eye contact.
It was the first time since he found out that there was a semblance of civility between us.
” My throat tightens. “After all the shouting and rage, he finally told me he respected what I’d done. Raising Beckett alone.”
Gemma clears her throat dramatically. “Um, alone? Hello.”
“I swear I gave you credit too.” I grin through sudden tears, grateful for the phone call instead of FaceTime tonight. “You were my lifeline.”
“Damn straight. And you were mine. We were Thelma & Louise, right?”
The levity steadies me, but something deeper lingers. Warren respects me. That admission has had me on a high since Saturday. Something is shifting between us, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
“So what now?” Gemma’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“I don’t know. He said he’s still angry, so it’s not like everything is hunky-dory. He left, locking back down the familiar chill. But—”
“But…?”
“Just the tiny peek of light between his steel guard, the concession that he appreciated juggling everything to take care of Becks… I guess I'll call it progress.”
“I’m glad for you, then. You guys are now forged together, whether you like it or not. He’s still processing, but it sounds like once the dust settles, hopefully at the very least, you two can be friendly.”
My heart sinks. I don’t want just friendly. But she’s right, that’s still better than being frozen out.
“Oh, and guess what. My mom told me today that she invited Warren to Thanksgiving. She’s obsessed with how much she thinks he’s stepping up to be the father figure in Becks’ life. She has no idea how close she is to the truth, and yet is completely oblivious.”
“Shit. Yep, you two have to figure out how to be friendly. I think you’re stuck together.”
“Yeah. Friendly.” My chest twists tight, making it hard to breathe.
“Beckett will be thrilled.”
“I know.” That’s exactly what terrifies me. I break a little more every time I watch them together, knowing how much they deserve to be together, and I'm the one who kept them apart.
I stare into the fire, watching the flames dance. A beep comes through, and I glance at the screen to see my mom calling in.
“Hey, Gem. My mom’s calling on the other line.” I swallow hard. “I need to grab that. Can I call you back?”
“Call me tomorrow. I’ve got to get a few things done before bed.”
“Sounds good. Love you.”
I end the call by switching over to Mom.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mother?”
I measure flour into the mixing bowl while Beckett spins around the kitchen island, dinosaur in one hand, soccer ball tucked under his arm.
"And then Coach Mike said I was getting really good at dribbling, Mommy. Did you see me? Did you see how I kept the ball away from Cassidy?" He doesn't wait for my answer, continuing his breathless recap of yesterday's get-together for the kids to kick the ball around.
"I saw, buddy." I smile despite my exhaustion. "You were amazing."
Sunlight streams through the kitchen windows, catching dust motes in golden beams that dance across the countertop.
I'm trying desperately to focus on these cookies Beckett begged for, but my mind keeps drifting to Warren sitting across from me at the fire the other night, his face softening for just a moment before his walls went back up.
A knock at the back door startles me from my thoughts.
Warren stands there, one hand raised against the glass. My pulse quickens embarrassingly as he steps inside, moving through my kitchen with the ease of someone who belongs here.
"Warren!" Beckett abandons his toys, barreling toward him. "I was just telling Mom about soccer! You should have seen us play yesterday!"
Warren crouches down, meeting Beckett at eye level. "Oh, you played yesterday? I thought your footwork looked sharp at the game on Saturday."
"It was a structured playdate, not a game or practice," I offer, worrying he thought I didn't let him know about a soccer event.
I brace myself for Warren's usual pattern, which has been ten minutes of politeness before he makes an excuse to leave.
Just long enough to connect with Beckett but avoid me entirely.
But instead, he clears his throat, standing taller. “There’s a fall festival set up in Delray tonight. Thought Beckett might like it.”
I freeze, flour-covered hands hovering over the bowl. He thought of it. He planned something for Beckett.
My chest stutters.
Beckett’s eyes go wide. He bounces on his toes, practically vibrating with excitement. “Please, Mommy! Please, please!”
I wipe my hands on a towel, trying to steady my breath. “Sure. Just have him back by seven—”
"I was thinking the three of us could go."
My stomach flips, a rush of heat curling through me at the thought of the three of us together. This is progress, but I know better than to read anything into it, not yet, not when forgiveness is still so far away. But God, am I pumped.
I grip the edge of the counter to steady myself, flour dust smudging into my palms. His eyes stay locked on mine, steady, unblinking, like he’s daring me to turn him down.
“I’d like that,” I manage, trying to hide my complete excitement. I turn off the oven and pull out the cookies.
Ten minutes later, we pile into Warren's truck, Beckett buckled securely in the backseat, chattering about cotton candy and Ferris wheels.
In the front seat, the air is charged between us, every accidental brush of our arms electric.
It's a surprisingly quick drive. We pull into the dusty parking lot about fifteen minutes later. Thankfully, Beckett filled the air with his chatter, so it wasn't too terribly awkward.
The fair sprawls across the field like a neon-painted dream. Blinking lights, whirling rides, and a symphony of sounds wrap around us as we walk through the entrance.
Beckett bounces between Warren and me, his excitement physically impossible to contain. His small hand grips mine tightly, then, without warning, he reaches out and grabs Warren's, too.
My breath catches. Here we are, connected by our son's sticky fingers, walking three across like...
Like a family.
"The spinning teacups! Can we go on those first?" Beckett pulls us forward with surprising strength.
Warren's eyes find mine over Beckett's head. "You still get motion sick?"
A jolt runs through me. "You remember that?"
"Hard to forget you throwing up on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the church carnival when you were a kid." The corner of his mouth twitches up.
"I was ten!"
"Mommy, pleeeease?" Beckett's eyes, so like Warren's, pleaded up at me.
"You two go. I'll watch from safety."
I stand at the railing, watching Warren help buckle our son into the teacup. He's so gentle, so patient with each of Beckett's excited questions. My chest aches with what might have been if I'd made different choices.
After three rides that leave Beckett dizzy and giggling, Warren disappears into a crowd, returning moments later with a massive elephant ear covered in powdered sugar and—
"Kettle corn?" I stare at the bag he extends toward me. "How did you—"
"You used to steal mine at every movie night." He shrugs like it's nothing. Like remembering my favorite fair food after more than five years is casual.
The sweetness melts on my tongue, a perfect match to the ache in my chest.
"Look, Mom! The Ferris wheel!" Beckett points skyward.
The three of us squeeze into one swinging cart, Beckett between us. As we climb higher, the fair transforms into a twinkling sea beneath us. Beckett whirs at each new height, leaning first against Warren, then against me.
At the very top, the wheel stops.
Our cart sways gently in the night breeze.
Over Beckett's head, I meet Warren's eyes.
The carnival lights paint his face in shifting colors, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the intensity in his gaze.
We're too close in this small space. Close enough that I remember exactly how his lips felt against mine.
The wheel jerks forward, breaking the moment.
Later, Warren crouches behind Beckett at the ring toss booth, guiding his arm.
"Elbow up. Now follow through."
The ring lands perfectly on a bottle neck. Beckett erupts in joyous screams while Warren lifts him in celebration.
"We did it! We won!"
The carnival worker hands Beckett a small, lopsided teddy bear. My son immediately pushes it into my hands.
“For you, Mommy!”
I clutch the cheap prize against my chest, throat tight with unexpected emotion. “Thank you, baby.”
The simplicity of this moment, this glimpse of what we could be, hurts more than any shouting match ever could. I torched this with one misguided decision when I was barely older than a kid, myself.