Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
MAX
The SUV’s engine is a low rumble as I navigate through the city's streets. Jason is in the backseat, his sneakers kicking the back of my seat, but it’s not irritating.
His chatter about a new video game is a bright thread in my head.
Amelia sits beside me in a pink dress, her blonde hair catching the glow of passing streetlights.
I steal a look at her. Her profile is soft in the dim light, her lips parted as she watches the city blur by.
She’s calm, but I see the slight tension in her shoulders.
I'm having the time of my life, but I'm not oblivious that she is fighting the same demons that I am about what we are and what we are doing.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low, rough, barely audible over the engine.
She turns, the green lakes of her eyes catching mine.
They are glowing as if in the setting sun.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice soft, a small smile curving her lips.
“Just… glad we’re doing this.” Her hand rests on the console, inches from mine, and I fight the urge to touch her, to lace my fingers with hers like I did all that summer. Our little secret.
“Me too,” I say, and swivel my gaze back to the road.
Jason’s voice pipes up, asking about pizza toppings.
Amelia answers, and I nod, half-listening, my mind on Amelia’s body under the pink dress.
The skating rink looms ahead, its neon sign flashing red and blue.
It's a family place I haven’t been to in years—not since Sara and I stopped even trying to pretend we were that kind of couple, that kind of family.
I pull into the lot, tires crunching gravel, and cut the engine.
The sudden quiet is heavy with anticipation.
I turn to Jason. He is hopping with excitement. “You ready, buddy?”
“Do ducks swim?” he responds, unclipping his seatbelt.
Amelia and I laugh. And it occurs to me that Amelia and I are that kind of couple, that kind of family.
Inside, the rink is alive, the air is scented with the smell of greasy pizza and popcorn, and the thud of bass from pop music vibrates through the wood floor.
Kids zip by on skates, their laughter easy and casual, weaving through families at tables piled with pizza boxes and soda pitchers.
Jason’s eyes light up, his gray gaze darting to the rink, and Amelia smiles, ruffling his curls.
“Ready to skate, huh?” she asks, her voice warm and playful.
“You bet,” he nods, bouncing on his toes.
We grab a table near the rink, the red vinyl booth creaking under us.
The waitress, a teenager with a ponytail, drops off menus, and Jason orders a pepperoni pizza.
I watch him with surprise. His voice is louder than usual, and his excitement has broken through his normally shy demeanor.
He is never like this. He looks almost like a different boy.
I turn toward Amelia and watch how she is with him, the way she leans in, listening to his chatter about school, her smile genuine.
She’s so good with him, so natural. I hate to even think it, but even better than Sara is with him.
It hits me like a punch then, and causes a fierce ache in my chest. She’s not just my half-sister—she’s the mother I wanted for my children, she’s everything I’ve wanted, everything I can’t have, and seeing her with Jason, like she belongs here, tears me apart.
The pizza arrives, steaming, cheese stretching in gooey strands, and we dig in.
It’s good pizza, the crust crisp, the pepperoni spicy on my tongue.
Jason munches happily, sauce smearing his cheek.
Amelia laughs, wiping at it with a napkin, her touch gentle.
I can’t stop watching her, my eyes tracing the curve of her jaw, the way her dress hugs her body, the memory of her under me this morning a fire.
I try to ignore the thoughts that fill my head, but it’s relentless, fueled by every move she makes.
Jason’s voice cuts through, small but curious. “Why do we never go out like this with Mommy?” he asks, his mouth full of pizza, his eyes flicking between us. “We never go out to eat like this. Not together.”
I freeze. The question hits like a jolt, and Amelia’s eyes snap to mine, surprise flashing through them. She sets her slice down, her fingers brushing the napkin, and leans toward him, her voice astonished. “You guys don’t do stuff like this? As a family?”
Jason shrugs, his gaze dropping to his plate, a shadow crossing his face. “No.” His voice is quiet, almost sad, and it twists something in me, a guilt I didn’t expect.
I swallow, my throat tight, and force a casual tone. “We’re busy, buddy. You know that. Work, school, stuff. We’re on vacation now… so it’s different.” The words feel hollow, a weak excuse, and Amelia’s searching stare pins me like she sees through it.
She tilts her head and looks at me. Her eyes hold mine, a quiet question, and I feel the weight of it, the unspoken, undeniable truth—that our marriage is a shell, a routine that bleeds and infects the child.
Without the warmth. Without love. I never realized how withdrawn Jason had become until now.
Soon, I will have to face my part in this strange arrangement I have made with Sara and make changes.
Big changes that will ultimately benefit Jason.
I don’t want Jason to grow up in a loveless household and think that is what a family should be like.
I lean closer, my voice low, just for her. “I lost my way, Amelia. I will find it again. For Jason’s sake.”
Her eyes fill with tears and concern for me.
And my heart fills with warmth at her love for me and Jason. Leaning back, my hand finds hers under the table. I give it a quick squeeze. Her fingers are warm and soft. She squeezes back, her touch like a promise.
The meal ends, and we head to the rink. We rent skates from a counter cluttered with laces and disinfectant spray. Jason’s clumsy, his skates wobbling, but Amelia takes his hand and guides him onto the polished wood. Her movements are so fluid and graceful. I don’t join them straightaway.
Instead, I lean against the railing, watching, my breath catching as she glides, her pink dress flaring slightly, her hair swinging like a golden curtain.
She’s a beautiful skater, just like when she was younger.
She laughs, helping Jason find his balance, and he giggles, his face happier than I’ve seen him in months.
My heart swells, a fierce love for her, for them, and it’s violent, this feeling, a rage at the life I’ve built without her.
I don’t understand it—how can she do this to me?
How can just a few days with her upend everything?
I realize my life’s totally different with her in it, alive in a way it hasn’t been ever since I left her.
Jason’s different, too, laughing, open, his shell cracking under her warmth.
I don’t remember hearing laughter like this in our house, not from him, in fact, not even with Sara, and it kills me.
It’s like a sharp ache that makes me question everything.
Why is he so quiet with us?
Why is our home so still, so empty of this joy?
I watch Amelia spin, her smile radiant, Jason clinging to her hand, and I’m so angry—at her father, at myself, at the world that kept her from me.
I love her more every second, and I’m starting to care less and less about the consequences of us being together.
This, I acknowledge, is a very dangerous shift. It scares me, but I can’t stop it.
“Max, come on!” Amelia calls, her voice full of laughter, pulling me from my thoughts. She waves, her eyes sparkling under the rink’s flashing lights, and Jason echoes her words, his face split into a wide grin.
I shake my head, a grin tugging at my lips despite the storm inside. “I will, but I’m good just watching for now,” I call back.
“Spoil sport,” she mouths and sails away with my son, and my eyes don’t leave her, tracing every move, every laugh.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m falling, deeper, harder, with no way back.