11. Chapter 11 #2
“Yeah.” He nods quickly. “Sitting sounds good.”
I take the lead and feel his eyes on my back all the way up the steps until I pick a spot near the edge. He slides in beside me, leaving a little space between us.
Out on the grass, Zach is already showing Ella how to set her feet, and Reese is tossing easy spirals to a line of kids who are looking up at him adoringly. Then all of a sudden, I feel… awful. They’re in the thick of it with Ella, and I’ve got Jamie benched at my side when he’s her dad.
He notices where I’m looking. “I can go down there,” he offers, his voice low and a little hesitant. “Help collect balls. Encourage the kids, or I can stay up here. Whatever makes it easier for her.”
The knot in my chest loosens a fraction. “You’re fine here.”
His mouth tips, and there’s a small, grateful almost-smile. “Okay.”
We sit together as we watch Ella, who’s laughing hard at something Zach said. Jamie’s leg is shaking so fast, I can feel the vibration through the bleachers. I don’t call him out on it. Feels a little harsh since he’s openly watching his daughter for the first time.
“I feel like I should be down there,” he says after a beat, his eyes focused on her. “Earning it.”
I gently place my hand on his knee, and he jerks his head in my direction, clearly surprised. I keep my face neutral, ignoring the tingles running up my arm, and say, “You are earning it. By doing what I asked.”
His body relaxes, and his jaw unclenches. “Right.”
He turns his attention back to the field, and I subtly watch him, watching her—no flinching, no checking his phone, just a guy taking in every second.
“After the drills,” I say, more to myself. “When they break for water, you should go down.”
He exhales, but keeps his focus firmly on Ella. “I’ll be ready.”
For a few minutes, we sit in a comfortable silence and watch the play on the field. Ella throws a ball toward Reese, It hits his leg, and he pretends to fall over, flailing with exaggerated drama. She bursts into laughter, and even Zach cracks a smile before throwing another ball her way.
“She looks like you,” he says.
I let out a dry laugh. “Not even close. She’s a carbon copy of you.” His stare burns against my skin, but I refuse to turn. It’s easier to watch the game than to face him. “You’ve got the same face. Same cheeks. Same smile.”
“You think so?” he asks quietly.
I nod, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Honey mentions it all the time, and I guess I see it now.”
He draws in a sharp breath, leaning back on the bleachers. “Bet Honey hates that.”
“Not as much as you’d think,” I say, giving him that small mercy. “She’s not bitter. Not about you, at least.”
His mouth opens slightly like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. Maybe because he knows he doesn’t deserve any kind of sympathy from Honey. Maybe because no amount of small talk can help the fact that we know nothing about each other except what others have said.
It’s funny. When I met him that night, Zach hadn’t transferred to South Point Prep, I had no idea who Honey was, and yet, all of this happened. We were connected before anyone even knew it, and our friends have to. It’s almost like fate’s been playing a sick and twisted game with our lives.
“Looking at you now, I realize my genes never really stood a chance,” I add after a beat, my tone lighter as I try to defuse the heaviness settling between us. “She came out all Nicks. Strong-willed and stupidly beautiful.”
His throat bobs. “Nah. She got that last part from you.”
And just like that, my heart does a traitorous little stutter behind my ribs.
“And she’s not a Nicks,” he adds.
There’s so much venom in the way he says ‘Nicks’ I can practically feel it sear the air between us, and suddenly I see it. The weight of being brought in, molded into a product, and used like a pawn in a legacy that never really belonged to him.
“She’s mine,” he repeats, “not theirs. Not that last name I never asked for. I don’t care what it says on paper, she’s mine.”
“Jamie—” I start, but he shakes his head.
“She’s the best thing I’ve ever done in this world,” he says, still focused on our giggling daughter, “and I’ve had no part in it. She might look like me, but she’s got your heart and your strength, and she’s too perfect to ever be considered a Nicks.”
“You’re right.”
“Thank you for agreeing to let me meet her.”
“I almost didn’t.” The honesty slips out before I can stop it. “I still don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“It’s not,” he says without missing a beat. He’s still focused on Ella. “Not for me, anyway. My dad’s cut me off. Frozen everything. Cards. Trust. Even the fucking car I rented got towed back this morning.”
I blink, completely thrown off. “Because you’re here?”
“Because I chose her.”
His voice is calm and measured, but the weight of the statement hangs heavy between us. He’s given up everything for just a chance. That’s it. I haven’t promised him anything, and yet, he’s willing to blow it all up just in case I let him see her.
“They offered me a way out,” he continues. “Sign a few papers. Pretend she never existed. They’d make it all go away. I told them to go to hell.”
A slow, hot burn starts behind my eyes.
“Do you regret it?” I ask, the question barely above a whisper.
“The only thing I regret in life is not getting your number that night,” he says it without flinching. No hesitation. No wink. Just his truth laid out.
I open my mouth. Close it again. My brain scrambles to process the whiplash of it all—rage, heartbreak, and now… that. The words hang between us, heavy, unrelenting, until the shrill blast of a whistle pulls my attention back to the field.
Ella makes another attempt at kicking the ball, this time with slightly more success. Her triumphant “I did it!” carries across the field, and Jamie's face breaks into a smile so genuine it transforms him.
“She's amazing,” he says, the awe in his voice is unmistakable.
“She is,” I agree, unable to keep the pride from my voice. “She's the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Jamie's expression turns serious. “I want to be part of her life, Tiff. However you'll allow it. I know I have no right to ask for anything, but—”
“You’re her father, Jamie. I would never stop you from claiming the time that’s rightfully yours.” It hurts to say because for so long, I’ve been everything to my daughter, but I can’t bear thinking about Ella living a life where she feels unwanted.
“I’m not here to claim anything. I’m here to earn it.”
I bite my bottom lip, and I can’t help myself, and I ask, “What happens when the money runs out and your father offers to reinstate your trust fund?”
He laughs darkly. “That’s not going to happen.”
“You say that now,” I murmur. “But everything’s different when it’s not theoretical. When the bills are real and the job market sucks and Ella’s got a fever at three a.m. and no one’s around to help you make the call. You say you’re here for the long haul, but the long haul isn’t pretty.”
“I don’t need pretty. I need real.” Jamie leans forward, his elbows on his knees, voice low and unwavering. “Even if my father offered me everything, I wouldn’t go back. If that was who I was, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Everything he says makes sense, but there’s still something holding me back. I’m not sure what.
“I'm here for the long haul, Tiff. For as long as you and Ella will have me.”
I look away, not trusting myself to maintain eye contact when he's saying things like that.
A high-pitched giggle cuts through the thick silence between us. I glance up just in time to see Ella sprinting toward the bleachers, her curls bouncing with every wild step. Zach and Reese trail behind her, tossing a ball lazily between them, their pace deliberately slow.
Ella barrels toward me, skidding to a stop right in front of the bench. Her cheeks are flushed, her smile blinding.
“Mama! Can you come play too?” she asks, breathless and beaming.
“I’m talking to Jamie right now, baby.”
Her brow scrunches, her mouth tugging into a curious little pout as she turns her head toward him. “Who’s Jamie?”
Jamie goes very still beside me.
I swallow hard. There’s no guidebook for this part. No easy way to say he’s your father, and this clearly isn’t the time. I look at him and the ache in his expression is so visceral it feels like it might splinter me from the inside out.
Before I can answer, Jamie shifts forward, clears his throat, and says, “I’m someone who’s wanted to meet you for a long time.”
Ella peers at him curiously, her head tilted just slightly—his tilt, the same one I’ve seen when she’s trying to figure out a tricky puzzle or when she doesn’t trust the broccoli on her plate. My chest tightens.
“Are you Mommy’s friend?” she asks.
Jamie’s mouth lifts at the corners, but it’s not quite a smile. More like something fragile and breaking apart behind his eyes.
“I’d like to be,” he says honestly. “But more than that… I’m someone who’s really lucky just to be sitting here.”
Ella dances on the spot, studying him. Then she steps forward and, with the complete lack of hesitation only a four-year-old can muster, holds out her tiny hand.
“Wanna come play football with us?”
He lets out a little breath of air, because she has no idea how big her offer is. It’s a simple, innocent request, but for him, it’s world-altering.
“I’d love to,” he says, voice rough.
She grins, grabs his hand, and tugs. Just like that, he follows.
I watch them go, the backs of them—her in her grass-stained shorts, him in his scuffed boots—walking toward the field, tethered together by something bigger than either of them can fully name yet.
She doesn’t know who he is, but she’s already accepting him, and I can only be happy for her.
Then why do I feel this sense of dread deep in my stomach?