Chapter 35
Tyler
We slept through the night and late into the next morning, waking up at hour intervals no matter how grumpy Stella was about it.
Sleeping naked proved to be convenient by the time we decided to get up for good, me rolling her onto her back and plying her sleepy body with my fingers and tongue until she was turned on enough to take me.
I’d rocked into her slow but deep, committing the sound of her little gasps to memory, loving the way her pussy clenched down on my cock whenever I pulled back, like she was desperate to keep me inside her.
All my time studying people for tells came in handy as I learned what she liked, what she loved.
The way her thighs shook around me when I hit a certain spot, the way her breath caught when I brushed my thumb over a nipple.
I made her come twice before I let myself, and afterward I carefully settled my weight down onto her while she held me close.
Eventually, we found the willpower to get out of bed and cleaned up.
I’d only booked the room for one night, and Stella probably couldn’t afford to be gone from work for more than a day or two.
She hadn’t said anything, but I knew she must have lost money from how much she had to cut back on hours because of me.
Just another reason to be pissed off at myself.
There was no way to go back and change how I’d behaved, so I’d have to find some way to make it up to her, maybe intercept Runa’s medical bills or take a page out of Junior’s book and secretly pay off her mortgage.
“Do you mind if we stop by the cemetery?” I asked as we packed up. “It’s on the way back, and it’s been a while since I visited.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Stella said. “And I’d like to come with you, to see her, if that’s okay. But I understand if you want time alone, too.”
I shook my head. “No. I want you there.”
Together, we checked out and got back on the road, driving forty minutes south before taking the exit for the sleepy little lakeside village that Mom had always loved.
The church was small and humble, but the white paint was fresh, and it had a nice view of the water.
I led Stella to the top of the hill where Mom was buried, glad to see that the flowers by her headstone were still fresh and making a mental note to text Mr. Ansel a thank-you.
“Mom, this is Stella,” I said. I knew she wasn’t still around, knew she might not even be able to hear me from wherever she might be, but it always felt right to talk to her. “She has very kindly not murdered me despite the fact that I gave her several good reasons to.”
“It was touch and go there for a while,” Stella said, speaking straight to the headstone like she didn’t think it was weird at all.
We stayed there for an hour, Stella eventually wandering away to give me some alone time, and when I was done saying my goodbyes, I knew what I needed to do next. My mother wasn’t around to tell me what happened all those years ago, but my father still was.
I threaded my fingers through Stella’s as we walked back to the car, grateful that I didn’t need an excuse this time, recognizing that I’d spent the last month constantly looking for reasons to touch her.
“Is it okay if we make one more stop before I drop you off?” I asked, holding her door open for her.
“Sure,” she said, sinking into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”
“To see Richard,” I said. “I can go alone, but . . . I’d rather have you there.”
Her expression softened. “I’ll go with you.”
■ ■ ■
Night was falling by the time we made it back from our road trip.
I expected Richard to live in some sky-top palace, or on a grand estate like Stella’s parents, but she directed me to a neighborhood right in the heart of the city.
It was still a nice neighborhood, the streets lined with private brownstones, the landscaping immaculate, but it wasn’t even close to the most expensive in the area, and that surprised me.
“He lives here?” I asked.
Stella snorted. “Now who’s the snob?”
“No, I just mean, he could live anywhere. Why here?”
She shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself, but he’s always been pretty private.”
Easier to get away with being a fucking asshole when there aren’t any eyes on you, a dark thought bubbled up.
Shit. I was obviously still harboring a lot of anger toward this man. Was I really ready to face him? Maybe it was too soon, and I should give myself more time first.
Stella touched my shoulder, her voice soft, obviously sensing my hesitation. “We don’t have to do this.”
I shook my head. “No, I want to. The sooner I can start piecing together the truth, the better.” Speaking to Richard was the right move, the starting point I needed to regroup and decide where I went from rock-fucking-bottom.
I dragged in a deep breath as we exited the car, and together, we took the stairs up to Richard’s front door. He met us there, Stella having texted him that we were on our way.
“Hey, you two,” Richard said, pulling the door open. He was dressed in dark slacks and a white button-down.
A knee-jerk wave of anger rose within me at the sight of him, but I quashed it. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said, shutting the door and following us into the wood-paneled foyer. “And I have to say, I’m curious what you want to speak to me about. Stella was vague on the details.”
Stella looked from him to me, and I could see the silent offer of help written on her face. I gave her a subtle head shake, telling her I had it, and she stepped close, wrapping an arm around my waist in a show of support.
I refocused on Richard, finally admitting to myself how much we looked alike, letting myself see all the things I’d been ignoring. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. His jawline. His hairline.
I cleared my throat. “My mother was Meg Neumann.”
Richard paled and took a step back. “I thought I was going crazy.” His eyes raked over me.
“I thought I’d spent so much time trying to find her that I was starting to see pieces of her everywhere I went, even her features in strangers’ faces.
The first time we met, I took one look at your eyes and almost asked if you knew her, because they’re exactly the same as Meg’s. ”
Yikes. That wouldn’t have gone well.
“You weren’t imagining things,” I told him.
He eyed me the same way I’d eyed him a moment ago, as if comparing all our similarities. “Are you . . . mine? My son?” he asked, and the hopeful note in his voice, paired with his sincere expression, was like a knife to the gut.
“I am, but I can take a DNA test if you’d like.”
He shook his head. “I don’t need it. I mean, we should do it for record purposes, but, god, you look just like us. Just like a child of ours would. And . . . Meg? Is she here, too?”
The knife twisted deeper. “No, she’s . . .” I took a deep breath. “She passed nine years ago from ovarian cancer. I’m sorry.”
His eyes glassed over, a broken note entering his voice. “No, I’m sorry. This is all my fault. Please. Give me a chance to explain.”
I nodded. “That’s what I came here for.”
Stella held my hand while he led us to the living room.
My head spun. It wasn’t like I’d been expecting a huge blowup with the man—he was so even-tempered and laid-back the other times we’d interacted—but his easy acceptance still jarred me.
Maybe because this was so different from all the confrontations I’d imagined.
The way I’d planned to laugh in his face when I told him I was the cause of his downfall, the way I’d hoped he’d plead, beg for my mercy, just for me to tell him I didn’t have any.
He lifted a hand, gesturing Stella and me toward a couch, and I noticed the fine tremble in his fingers, the color on his cheeks, the moisture gathered in his eyes. The news of my mother’s passing had torn this man apart, and he was barely keeping it together.
Fuck.
How had I been so wrong about everything?
Stella and I sat. Richard dropped into an armchair opposite us, took a deep breath, and told us what had happened.
Between his lack of tells and the brutal way he didn’t spare himself, I believed him, believed this was the real story.
He described meeting Mom, admitted that he knew he was in trouble from the first time she smiled at him.
He even recognized the age gap, saying that while she was na?ve in some ways because of how she’d been raised, she was also such an old soul because of what she’d been through with her family.
His marriage was already over by that point; he and his wife just hadn’t filed the paperwork because they both knew how messy it would be.
Mom had been a breath of fresh air for him.
Open, honest, guileless, so different from most people he knew.
He promised himself after meeting her that he wouldn’t go back to her café, because she deserved better than a thirty-five-year-old married man who couldn’t make her any promises.
He lasted a week before he returned, and even though he told himself that it would really be the last time, every lunch break from then on found him at Meg’s table.
“I should have immediately told her I was married,” he said.
“I’m not proud that I didn’t, and I’m not making any excuses for myself.
At the time, I doubted anything would develop between us.
I was convinced she was sweet to me because that’s how Meg was with everyone.
She was the kindest person I’d ever met. ”
I squeezed Stella’s hand, and she shifted closer to me on the couch.