Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Lanie
I was still on the porch with Mark’s parents, trying to comfort them while fighting an almost overwhelming urge to find Mark. If these were my parents, I’d want someone with them.
His mother was still pale and shaken. She pressed her lips together before saying, “We did tell him, remember, Gene? He was three and asked where babies came from. It didn’t feel right to lie to him, so we told him the truth. He was so upset. He told us he didn’t care if he had other parents out there—he’d chosen us.”
“He was angry with us for days. He said he didn’t want other parents.” Mark’s father cleared his throat. “We were told he didn’t have relatives out there, so we let the subject drop. We didn’t know what else to do.”
His mother continued, “So, when a good while went by, maybe a year, and he asked us again where babies come from, we didn’t tell him about the adoption again. We didn’t want to hurt him again.” She swallowed visibly. “We were wrong.”
I blinked back tears. What should they have done? I didn’t know either. If they were wrong, they were wrong for the right reasons.
His father’s voice was rough when he said, “He’s my son. I don’t care nothing about DNA. And I’m not worried—he’ll be back. We’re a family. Nothing can change that.”
I hugged my arms around myself, processing his words. Could it really be that simple? That when we made mistakes, the people who loved us still chose us?
I wanted that to be the love that found me.
The distant sound of an approaching engine broke the quiet, a low hum that grew louder as it neared. Mark’s mother left her husband’s side to lean on the railing. His father straightened beside her, his expression full of hope. My heart leapt into my throat.
Mark. It had to be Mark.
I took a shaky breath, my pulse quickening as the sound deepened, tires crunching against gravel of the long driveway.
“I told you,” his father murmured, a small, relieved smile breaking across his face. “He knows how much we love him.”
A rush of emotion hit me so fast I could barely process it. Without thinking, I ran down the steps, heart hammering, feet kicking up dust as I rushed to the driveway.
But something wasn’t right.
It was a car.
Not Mark’s truck.
A cold wave crashed over me.
Mark’s mother let out a soft, uneasy sound, stepping closer to her husband. I slowed, my steps faltering as dread coiled in my stomach.
The car kept coming.
Too fast.
Oh, hell, no. Not on my watch. I stopped in the middle of the driveway, my breath frozen in my chest. “It’s not Mark,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. The tension stretched, thick and suffocating, as the vehicle approached.
Mark’s father told me to rejoin them on the porch, but I stood rooted where I was. The car finally slowed a few feet from me. The engine idled, with a low, almost menacing sound.
The driver’s door opened.
I swallowed hard, my hands clenching at my sides as I braced myself for whatever was coming next.
Dylan.
He stepped out, looking as angry as before, but something in his stance felt off—like he wasn’t sure why he had come back. His gaze flicked toward the house—toward Mark’s parents—before he masked it with indifference.
“Where’s Mark?” he asked, his tone sharp, but I caught the tension in it.
I crossed my arms. “Taking the moment he needs.”
Dylan scoffed. “Great. Here?”
“No, he left as well.” I studied him. He was furious, but beneath it, I caught something else—hurt. I wasn’t sure if he even recognized it in himself. “You’re welcome to wait with us until he returns.”
Dylan clenched his jaw. “I don’t know why I came back. I don’t owe him anything.”
“How long have you known about Mark?” I asked.
“I suspected it when we met at my ski lodge, but it was confirmed yesterday.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Listen, I really don’t want to wait around for someone who probably isn’t coming back...”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t say that about Mark. You might be blood-related to him, but you don’t know him. Sure, he left... who wouldn’t? This is crazy. But he’ll be back. He’s a good man.”
Someone needed to call Mark. I tried while pacing the driveway. No answer. I tried again. Nothing.
Dylan scoffed, already stepping back toward his car. “I love that you have faith in him, but believing in anyone is a wasted effort.”
My chin rose. “I don’t believe that.” I nodded toward Mark’s parents behind me. “Nor do they.”
He swayed a little at that, and for a second his mask slipped and, like I had in Portsmouth, I glimpsed a sadness he hid behind anger. Without being told, I knew the dare he’d made with Mark hadn’t been a prank.
“Did you ask Mark to go see someone for you?” I asked in a rush.
His head snapped back as if I’d slapped him and coldness returned to his eyes. Making a circular motion with his hand, he snarled, “Tell yourself whatever you have to, but none of this is real and the truth is uglier than even I could have imagined.” He gripped the door handle of his car. “I have information Mark needs to know. When he’s ready to talk, he knows where to find me.”
He climbed in, then hesitated—only for a moment—before shaking his head, slamming his car into reverse and peeling out of the driveway again.
Mark’s mother exhaled softly from beside me. “Someone hurt that boy. Only hurt people hurt people like he does.”
I nodded.
Mark’s father appeared at my other side. “After I gave his ass a whooping, I’d give that boy a hug. He needs one.”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod.
“Well,” Mark’s mother asked, “are you going to wait for Mark to come to you again, or are you going to finally step up and go to him?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know where he went.”
She studied me, her voice gentle but sure. “I bet you do. A woman’s heart always knows the location of the man she loves. That is—if you do love him.”
My breath caught. I wanted to argue, to say I wasn’t sure of anything, not how I felt, not what the hell I’d witnessed. But the truth settled in my chest. I did know where Mark was.
He’d go to where we went when we needed to talk.
Even when he didn’t think we could be together, he’d choose us.
He always had.
I turned to Mark’s father. “Can I borrow your car?”
He didn’t hesitate. He pulled the keys from his pocket and held them out to me. I hesitated. Dylan’s words about things being so much uglier than even I could imagine still rang in my ears.
What did that mean?
I pictured Mark, standing on our bridge, yearning for what we had—the same way I had when I realized my mother no longer needed me.
“Bring him home,” Mark’s father said gruffly.
Home. Was that here?
The house he’d built with me in mind?
Or wherever we were together?
I decided the answer was a combination of all three.
“Oh, I will!” I closed my fingers around the keys, inhaling sharply.
No more shame.
No more doubts.
My man needed me and I sure as hell was going after him.