Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Damian
We pulled off the winding coastal road and turned through the stone gates of Hopewell Boarding School. The sign was modest, but the campus stretched wide beyond it, framed by the rolling Malibu hills and the hazy blue line of the Pacific in the distance.
I eased the SUV into a visitor parking space near the administration building, cutting the engine.
Beside me, Juliette pressed her hand to the window, her gaze drinking in the sun-dappled quad where a few students passed a soccer ball back and forth.
In the distance, the faint toll of a chapel bell drifted on the breeze, mingling with the scent of eucalyptus and salt air.
We’d just left the real estate broker’s office in Santa Monica—final signatures, wire transfers, a handshake too cheerful for what it meant.
Like the board had recommended, one of my California properties was officially sold.
The proceeds would go toward salvaging The Cut of Her Jib from bankruptcy.
A lifeboat for the brand. And a step toward restoring the confidence I’d lost—both from the board and from myself.
Now, as we sat in the stillness, about to see Mateo for the first time in months, that other weight pressed in—less financial, more personal, I wasn’t sure which one was heavier.
“Wow,” she murmured, her lips curving faintly. “It’s beautiful here. He’s lucky.”
I followed her gaze, my stomach tightening in that familiar knot. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “He is.”
Juliette turned toward me, her eyes warm but searching. “Are you nervous?”
A small, rueful smile tugged at my mouth. “A little. Haven’t seen him since winter break. He’s growing so fast—every time it’s like meeting a new version of him.”
She leaned back in her seat, thoughtful. “Me too. Nervous, I mean.” Her hand brushed lightly through her hair. “This feels… big.”
“It is,” I said, reaching across the console to squeeze her knee. “But you’ll be great with him.”
She covered my hand with hers, squeezing it back before letting go, her gaze drifting again toward the quad. “I hope he likes me.”
“He will,” I promised, though deep down I knew it wasn’t really about liking . It was about fitting . About bridging two halves of a life I’d been too afraid to merge before now.
I climbed out, circled around to open her door, watching as she slid out, her hair catching the sunlight in soft waves. She tipped her head back, closing her eyes for a second as the breeze kissed her face.
God, she looked like she belonged here already—like she belonged everywhere I wanted to go.
The sound of kids laughing filtered across the lawn, and I watched a group of boys dart across the grass, a soccer ball arcing between them, Mateo not among them but easy to imagine somewhere in the mix.
Juliette touched my elbow, her voice gentle. “Ready?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. Let’s check in.”
We walked toward the admin building, the sun warm on our backs, footsteps muffled by the neatly manicured paths.
Inside, the office was cool and tidy, wood-paneled walls lined with framed photos of graduating classes and plaques of academic honors.
Behind the front desk, a cheerful receptionist smiled over half-moon glasses.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she greeted warmly. “Welcome back.”
I nodded, returning the smile. “Good to be here.”
“We’ve got everything ready for you—just head on back, and Mr. Reyes in accounting will help you take care of Mateo’s financial needs.”
“Thanks,” I said, glancing back at Juliette as we followed the hallway deeper into the building.
She paused at a display case filled with student artwork, tracing a finger along the glass. “These are incredible,” she murmured, her voice laced with admiration.
I watched her for a second—how naturally she gravitated toward beauty, how easily she found something to appreciate wherever she went. “I’ll be quick,” I promised.
“Take your time,” she said, her smile soft, supportive.
Inside the accounts office, I handled the logistics—final tuition payment, a quiet bump to Mateo’s expense account for end-of-year needs, nodding politely through small talk with Mr. Reyes while my mind stayed half-anchored in the hallway where Juliette waited.
When I emerged, she was sitting on a bench beneath a large oil painting of the school’s original founders, her phone in hand, thumbs scrolling idly. She looked up as I approached, sliding her phone away.
“All set?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I hesitated, the weight of what was ahead pressing against my ribcage. “Want to sit for a minute?”
She patted the spot beside her. “Talk to me.”
I dropped down beside her, elbows braced on my knees, staring at the tile floor for a long moment before I found the words.
“I was nineteen,” I said quietly. “Freshman year at Miami University. My roommate convinced me to go with him to the fertility clinic to donate. He needed the money. I went for moral support.”
Juliette’s brows lifted, but she stayed silent, waiting.
“They offered me a payment too. I figured—why not? I wasn’t thinking long-term. Hell, I wasn’t thinking at all.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “Didn’t know if they even used it.”
Her hand brushed against my arm, anchoring.
“Six years later, Valencia was handling some of my real estate deals—he’d been my business attorney for a while, long before he ever became a judge.
One afternoon, after closing a deal, he pulled me aside.
Told me about Mateo’s mother. How she’d passed unexpectedly.
How he’d been helping sort out the estate and custody.
And that while reviewing some sealed clinic records, my name had come up. ”
Juliette’s fingers slid down to thread with mine.
“I wasn’t prepared,” I admitted. “Didn’t know how to be a father. I’d barely survived being a son.” A bitter laugh escaped. “I spent years just… funding him. Tuition, nannies, summer camps. Every time I tried to get closer, something in me froze.”
“You’re here now,” she said softly.
“Come on,” I said, standing and offering her my hand. “Let’s go meet him.”
She rose, sliding her fingers into mine.
The courtyard stretched wide before us, framed by tall palms and neat rows of brick pathways leading toward the playground at the far end. A breeze carried the faint tang of the ocean, ruffling the edges of Juliette’s hair as she stood beside me, shading her eyes with her hand.
“Where is he?” she asked softly, scanning the crowd.
I swallowed, my gaze sweeping across the lawn. There were groups of kids everywhere—playing soccer, sprawled under trees with books, two boys tossing a frisbee back and forth. But I’d recognize that quick, determined stride anywhere.
“There.”
A flash of movement between the benches. A backpack bouncing. Sneakers pounding over the pavement.
Mateo.
His grin widened the second he spotted me. “Dad!”
The word hit like a lightning bolt.
For a second, I froze—half stunned, half overwhelmed. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it… but it was the first time he’d shouted it like it wasn’t a secret. Like it wasn’t something to be tucked quietly between paperwork and polite titles.
I crouched just in time to catch him as he barreled into me, arms flung tight around my neck, the force of him nearly knocking me backward.
“Hey, buddy.” My voice came out rougher than I meant, choked around the sudden swell in my chest. I held him tight, breathing in the faint scent of shampoo and sunshine and cafeteria pizza. “God, you’ve grown.”
Mateo pulled back, beaming. “I’m almost taller than you.”
I laughed, ruffling his hair. “Not yet, but you’re getting there.”
He turned toward Juliette then, curiosity bright in his dark eyes. “Is this her?”
Juliette offered her hand with an easy smile. “I’m Juliette. It’s really great to meet you, Mateo.”
He shook her hand solemnly, then grinned again. “Dad talks about you.”
“Does he now?” Juliette shot me a playful glance before turning back to Mateo. “All good things, I hope.”
Mateo nodded emphatically. “He said you’re smart. And that you’re bossy.”
Juliette laughed, delighted. “He’s not wrong.”
They started talking then—about art, his favorite project from his history class, a mural he’d helped paint for Earth Day.
I watched them, struck dumb by how easy it was, how Juliette met him exactly where he was, without fumbling or awkwardness.
Just warmth, curiosity, and that quiet confidence she carried like armor.
For a moment, I didn’t say a word. I stood there, hands braced on my knees, watching the two volley back and forth like they’d known each other longer than the five minutes it had been.
And something inside me shifted.
I’d always worried this part of my life—the complicated part, the part wrapped in secrets and contracts and unexpected fatherhood—wouldn’t have room for anyone else. That no woman would willingly step into it, let alone belong there.
Yet while watching Juliette beside my son, listening to them trade questions, stories, and dreams… It didn’t feel like I was forcing two worlds together. It felt like she’d been meant to stand here all along.
Mateo grabbed Juliette’s hand, tugging her toward the playground. “Come see the mural! I painted a dragon!”
Juliette shot me a look over her shoulder, a sparkle in her eye. “Don’t worry, we’ll be right back.”
I stood still, my heart still hammering, the echo of Dad still vibrating in my bones.
And as I watched Juliette and Mateo walk ahead—her laughing at something he said, him practically bouncing at her side—I realized:
This wasn’t the life I’d inherited.
This was the life I’d chosen.
Soon, we were sitting outside on the terrace of a casual café built into the cliff’s edge, the kind of place with weathered wood tables, string lights overhead, and a view that made conversation feel secondary.
The ocean crashed gently below, steady and blue, like the rhythm of a life I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.
Mateo slurped down his second root beer and leaned across the table with a sly grin. “So… did you kiss at the wedding?”
Juliette laughed, nearly choking on her water. “We did.”
“Was it gross?”
“It was very dignified,” I said dryly.
“Romantic,” Juliette corrected with a smirk. “Turns out your dad is a closet romantic.”
Mateo raised his brows, stunned. “Seriously?”
“She’s exaggerating,” I muttered.
“Am I?”
I shook my head, and Mateo grinned between us like he was watching a sitcom unfold live.
“You gonna have kids?” he asked next, mouth full of fries.
Juliette’s hand found mine under the table. She didn’t flinch, didn’t gloss it over. “We’re trying.”
Mateo sat back, eyebrows high. “Really?”
“Really.”
A huge grin broke across his face. “That’s so cool. I always wanted a brother. Or a sister. But I’d prefer a brother. You know. For balance.”
Juliette chuckled. “We’ll pass along your request.”
He bounced in his chair a little. “Can I help name them?”
“We’ll see,” I said, my voice catching just slightly.
God. The way he said it—casual, hopeful, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Like we were a family and not three people stumbling their way toward something bigger than all of us.
My throat tightened as I watched him swipe the last fry off his plate and stuff it into his mouth, like it was just another day.
But it wasn’t. It was everything.
After lunch, we walked the stretch of the beach down to the pier, the three of us side-by-side. The surf competition had already started—students lined up with boards, spectators on benches, a small tent handing out shaved ice and branded towels.
Mateo quickly introduced Juliette to half a dozen friends, proud as hell to have us there.
She leaned into every conversation like she’d known them for years, asking about their board brands and cheering when one of them caught a wave clean.
I stood behind them both, arms crossed, a smile tugging at my mouth.
I didn’t say much.
I didn’t need to.
Because the sight of Juliette, hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted for a kid named “Westley” to hold his line, was something I wouldn’t forget.
This—this messy, sun-soaked chaos felt more like a life than anything I’d built on paper.
A few hours later, the sun started to dip low behind the campus trees, casting long shadows across the courtyard as we returned to the gates. Mateo walked between us, stuffing his hands inside his pockets like he didn’t want the moment to end.
He turned to Juliette at the gates and threw his arms around her waist. “Promise you’ll come back?”
She kissed his cheek. “Count on it.”
Then he turned to me, wrapping his arms around my neck. “Thanks, Dad.”
Just two words. But they broke me wide open.
We watched him disappear past the security gate, jogging up the steps toward the dorm entrance. He turned one last time to wave. I raised my hand in return, heart lodged somewhere between my chest and my throat.
As we climbed into the SUV, Juliette reached over and threaded her fingers through mine.
“You’re a good dad, Damian, and I love you.”
“I love you, too, Jules.” I brought our joined hands to my lips and kissed her knuckles.
The campus disappeared behind us, the road unwinding in long, quiet stretches between trees and low hills. The horizon was still flushed with the last remnants of sun, gold streaking through violet.
As I drove, I didn’t think about business plans, gala speeches, or whether the board would ever see me the way I wanted to be seen.
Because I wasn’t my father’s son anymore, I was Mateo’s dad and Juliette’s husband.
I was finally the man I wanted to be.